The thigh was pressed firmly against Tony's. The throbbing heat of it penetrated Margo's sheer red dress and sent disturbing shivers up Tony's lean legs and into the center of his desire.
Tony shifted uneasily on the car seat. He took a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his none-too-clean T-shirt, lit one and glanced at Race who was hunched over the wheel, a silly, intoxicated grin on his face. He seemed to be smirking at some secret joke. The light from the dashboard washed across Race's pale, gaunt face, making it stand out skull-like in the shadows of the car. He wore a wide belt with a large, flat silver buckle. Two racing cars were engraved on it.
Margo shifted on the seat beside Tony, inching closer until the delightful curve of her buttocks was hot against him. Her short skirt crept up six inches past her knees, exposing most of her thighs. Her legs were well tapered and looked smooth and soft as silk.
Margo glanced at Tony out of the corner of her eyes, a slight, impish smile on her face. She probably had been a very beautiful woman five years ago. Now she was like a slightly faded Christmas tree on New Year's Day. Even the thick makeup couldn't cover the hard lines about her mouth and between her arched eyebrows. But she still was one hell of a sexy broad.
A groan of frustrated agony rose and died in Tony's throat. God, how he wanted her! His fingers itched to touch those hot, silken thighs, to work their way up, gently stroking, to the thatch of her womanhood. He had an almost uncontrollable impulse to grab her shoulders, lean her back against the seat and kiss her hard on the lips; then strip the flimsy silk dress from her body and blend his bullish hardness into her soft womanly warmness.
Tony shifted again on the seat, stretching his long legs. Margo turned and leaned toward Tony, smiling. Her green eyes glinted evilly. "Are those Levis getting too tight for you, honey?" Her hand moved to his thigh and pinched. She tossed her hair back and laughed teasingly. Then she moved away abruptly, toward Race.
Tony swore to himself. Dammit! She was Race's woman, but he wanted her so badly his thighs ached.
Tony glanced at Race again. The man's thin lips were still curled in that mysterious smile, his small black eyes squinting into the darkness, following the headlights along the twisting highway. The speedometer needle crawled past ninety, and the tires sang on the hot pavement. Tony could hear Dobber snoring on the mattress in the back of the Chevy station wagon.
Tony looked out the side window at the blur of night landscape. His thoughts, too, seemed blurred and out of focus. This morning he had walked to school like millions of other high school seniors and tonight he was half-stoned and headed for Florida with a couple of people he had known only a few hours.
Race flexed his fingers on the wheel. "Pass me the embalming fluid, baby. The old body is starting to feel some aches again." He had the deep, vibrant voice of a radio announcer.
Margo leaned forward, snapped open the glove compartment and pulled out a pint of whisky. Her red dress was cut very low and a half-bra jutted her lush breasts up and out. Her hair too coarse to be naturally blonde brushed Tony's face. Perfume filled his nostrils in a sickening sweet cloud. Another groan rose and disintegrated in Tony's throat. Those lovely tits! He'd give his right hand to get his hand on one of them.
Margo uncapped the bottle, took a long pull at it and passed it to Race. She squirmed on the seat, wiggling so close to Race she was almost sitting in his lap. The red skirt rolled up higher and she made no effort to pull it down. Tony could see the frilly lace edge of her panties. Damn her! Didn't she know what she was doing to him?
Margo's hand moved to Race's thigh and stroked, slowly moving up, to that area of a man's greatest sensitivity, brazenly massaging.
Race drained the bottle and tossed it out the window. He looked at Margo and grinned. "You got hot pants again, baby?"
Tony felt his face redden in embarrassment. He leaned nearer the opened side window to let the breeze flow across his head and shoulders, pretending not to see what Margo was doing with her hand.
Margo leaned over and kissed Race behind the ear. "Aren't you tired of driving, honey? Why don't you let Tony take over for a while and we'll get into the back and ... rest."
Race's thin lips twisted into a shallow smile. If he had been better groomed he would have looked a lot like Jack Palance. But his teeth were yellowed from tobacco and he needed a shave and haircut. His nose had the reddish glow of an alcoholic's with little blue veins throbbing noticeably.
Race slowed the car, then pulled off the highway. Gravel drummed beneath the fenders as the car stopped.
Race opened the door and got out. "Take over, will you Tony baby?"
Margo slid out the driver's side, thighs spread. Her skirt rolled up, showing most of her panties. They, too, were red. The pulse pounded at Tony's temples like little men with drums. He moved under the wheel and took it with damp hands.
Race opened the back door, reached in and shook Dobber roughly. "Come on, hophead. Up front."
Dobber stirred awake, whining. He raised, digging at his eyes with grimy fingers. He was skinny as a scarecrow with a face like a parrot. His eyes were glassy, wild. Tony knew he had taken a shot of H before they had gone downtown in the late afternoon.
"Whatsamatter?" Dobber protested. "Are we in Florida yet?" His voice even sounded like a parrot with a high clipped inflection.
Race shook Dobber's bony shoulder again. "Naw, stupid. Get up front."
Dobber rose to his knees shakily and clambered over the top of the seat beside Tony. He took a pair of thick-lensed glasses from a shirt pocket and pulled them over his beaked nose. He blinked into the darkness.
The rear door closed. Tony put the car into gear, pulling back onto the highway. He heard movement in the back of the car. There was no rear seat, only a worn mattress on the floorboards. Clothing rustled.
Tony glanced at Dobber. "Better watch the road," he whispered.
Dobber shrugged. "Give me a cig, Tony."
Tony reached into his pocket and tossed him the wrinkled pack. Dobber's skeletal hands shook as he took out a cigarette and struck a match. The flame wavered about the cigarette. Tony reached out and steadied Dobber's wrist so he could light it. "You got any more H?"
Dobber shook his head. "I'll have to get some soon, Tony, or I'll get the chills." He looked desperate. "You'll help me get the money, won't you, Tony? There's got to be pushers in Miami."
Tony nodded grimly. Somehow Dobber had always seemed like a younger brother to Tony. They had attended the same schools in Brooklyn until Dobber dropped out two years ago. His father operated a small dry cleaners.
Margo moaned, then giggled in the back of the station wagon. Tony glanced into the rear-view mirror. The light from the dashboard cast a dim glow over the back of the car. Race was on the mattress with Margo astride him. She was bending over to kiss Race, her back to Tony. Her dress was pulled up past her waist and Race was stroking her sassily curved buttocks which jutted out into skin-tight panties.
Tony's hands tightened on the wheel until they whitened. His right wrist began to throb. Tony looked down at it, then flexed his hand, wondering if it were sprained. Tony liked the pain because it brought back a satisfying memory: The smug, smiling face of that rich kid the school's social leader as he crawled from his white Lincoln convertible; then Tony's fist, knotted hard as a gnarled tree stump, smashing into the kid's face. Tony could still feel the impact of the blow in his hand, feel the nose bone snap under his hard knuckles and the hot blood squirt between his fingers. The kid had bumped Tony's battered motor scooter which was parked at the curb, then made a sarcastic comment about the dilapidated chariots of the lower classes.
Tony hadn't even tried to explain the situation to the little bespectacled principal when he was expelled from school that afternoon. After all, what good was his word against that of a rich businessman's son? He'd learned the hard way what little regard school officials and the cops had for a slum-section kid with a name like Martino.
Bodies shifted in the back. Margo giggled. Tony glanced again into the rear-view mirror. Margo had shed her dress and was astride Race wearing only her red bra and panties. Race's hands were at the elastic band of her pants, rolling them down. Her smooth flesh was nicely suntanned, and she must have gotten it in a bikini. As Race rolled her panties lower, the tan ended and the milk-white, silken flesh of her lower buttocks appeared. The contrasting white-tan made her delightfully rounded buttocks stand out in the gloom, sassily inviting a pinch. Race rolled the pants a little lower. Margo long, naked legs rippling turned sideways on him, grasped the elastic band of the panties and stripped them down, hunching her body up as the pants rolled down her lower buttocks. Little muscles flexed across her satiny lower stomach as she stripped the panties down her slender legs and tossed them aside. Tony caught a quick glimpse of misty blonde hair as she twisted back astride Race, her hands moving to his belt buckle.
Perspiration broke out on Tony's forehead as he reluctantly glanced back to the road. God! God! God! He'd never wanted a woman so badly. He'd crawled atop his share of little high school girls who'd wanted to explore the mysteries of sex but Margo was a fully developed, lush and hot sexpot who obviously knew how to take a guy into moaning, cursing ecstasy.
Tony flexed his damp thighs nervously. He glanced at Dobber. "Do you think we should have left a note with our families to let them know where we were going? They may have the cops after us." He was trying to take his mind off the sex orgy in the back with a little conversation.
Dobber shrugged. "My old man couldn't care less. He's probably figuring up the money he'll save on my board right now."
Tony smiled bitterly. "My old man stays drunk all weekend. It'll be Monday morning before he misses me." Tony's mother had been dead for several years. A fleeting thought of his older brother, Tom, passed through Tony's mind. He'd promised Tom, a first class petty officer in the Navy, that he would finish high school.
Dobber leaned toward Tony. "What kind of big deal do you think Race has working in Florida?" he whispered.
Tony shook his head. Race was one of those irritatingly vague guys who liked to be mysterious. He'd only told them that there was big money and a lot of young, hot women waiting for them in Miami.
Tony knew next to nothing about Race and Margo. He had only heard Race talk about being a rock 'n' roll disc jockey and a stock car driver at one time. Dobber and Tony had met them in an East Side bar that afternoon after Tony was expelled from school.
Tony had run into Dobber on a street corner and they had gone into the bar to "celebrate" Tony's dismissal. Knowing they were under age, the bartender had refused to sell them drinks. Race had invited them to his table and offered to buy them beer if they would pay the entire tab. They sat at a table with Race and Margo most of the afternoon with Tony spending the last of his money.
Tony glanced into the mirror again. Margo was leaning forward, her back to Tony, reaching around to unhook her bra. Her white buttocks flared in the semigloom. She unsnapped the bra and her breasts blooped forward heavily. The bra slipped and snagged just above her nipples. She twisted to one side, peeled off the bra and tossed it away. Her naked white breasts spilled down in lush quivering fullness. The brown nipples, surrounded by an aurora of pink, were large as pecans. The size of her breasts shocked Tony. The little pointed breasts of the high school girls he'd squeezed scarcely filled one hand. But these were tremendous--a double handful--like soft, quart-sized scoops of vanilla ice cream on her suntanned torso. Tony could see Race's naked chest on the mattress. Margo, still kneeling astride Race, bent forward. Race reached up and grasped a breast in each hand. Margo glanced over her shoulder, smiling straight into the rear-view mirror.
Tony hastily cut his eyes back to the road. Goddamn her! The bitch knew he was watching.
Dobber yawned, leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes. Unlike Tony, he couldn't have cared less what was going on in the back of the car. Heroin was his only lust.
Sounds rose from the rear of the car fleshy noises. "Oh ... Oh," Margo moaned. Tony couldn't keep his eyes from the mirror. Margo was kneeling astride Race, leaning back with her hands grasping his ankles, breasts jutting out. Her flaring white buttocks rotated in little circles.
Tony reached up and twisted the mirror around. He wiped his arm across his drizzling forehead and locked his eyes on the road. He was breathing hard. Hell, a guy could only take so much. He reached over and flicked on the radio to cover the glutinous sounds of their coupling. He glanced at the gas gauge. It was hovering near empty.
Ten minutes passed, then Race moaned loudly as if someone had jerked out one of his molars. Margo cried out. "Oh God ... God Gawd!"
Then there was silence in the rear of the car. The music purred on the radio, it's sound blending with the hum of the tires. The skies began to lighten around the edges as dawn approached.
Race rose in the back and leaned over Tony's shoulder, looking at the dashboard. He'd put on his clothes. "Goddamn, kid, you drive like an old maid. We'll never get to Miami at this clip."
"We're going to need gas soon."
"Nuts! You got any money, kid?"
Tony shook his head. "I'm flat. Spent it all on the drinks."
Race gestured toward Dobber who was snoring with his mouth open. "How about hophead here?"
Tony shook his head again. "He's flat, too."
"Cripes! I've gotten myself hooked up with a couple of deadbeats." He looked back. "Margo, you got any money?"
Margo raised up, smoothing back disheveled hair. She had put on her dress. She shook her head. "Don't you have any of that fifty left that we got from the trick with that Arizona rancher?"
Race snorted disgustedly. "Naw, I dropped it on that slow-motion nag in the third." He shrugged, then smiled mysteriously. "I'll think of something. Now get out from behind that wheel, Grandma Moses. I want to make a little time."
Tony slowed the car and pulled off onto the road shoulder. Race slid behind the wheel and Tony climbed into the back. Race jammed the car into gear and spun the wheels as he pulled back onto the highway. Tony settled down on the mattress. He glanced at Margo. She was leaning against the side of the car smoking a cigarette. Through lazy, half-closed eyes she watched him like a cat gazing at a bird on a low limb. One of her long, slender legs was raised, bent at the knee. Her skirt crept up high on her thighs. Tony saw her undergarments which were rolled into a little red silken ball beside the mattress. Desire was a burning thrust in his lower stomach.
Margo snubbed out her cigarette on the floorboard and blew twin streams of smoke through her nostrils. She leaned toward Tony, smiling impishly. "How was the show?" she whispered, eyes glittering.
"What show?" Tony said, pretending ignorance.
Her mischievous smile broadened. She stretched her long legs cat-like. "I saw you watching in the mirror. Do you like the way I do it?"
Tony felt his ears burning. His Adam's apple seemed large as a grapefruit. He swallowed noisily.
She touched his thigh, leaning closer. "I'll bet I could teach you a lot of things -- things you'd like." Her voice was a low purr. "I'll bet you're a good bed athlete, aren't you?"
Tony's throat was dry as sandpaper. He gulped again.
She winked. "Wait until we get to Miami "
She leaned back on the mattress and closed her eyes.
"God, I'm bushed." Tony looked down at her, wondering if her breasts, unchecked by a bra, were going to pop out of the low-cut dress when she breathed. They didn't, but it defied the laws of gravity.
Tony turned away, drew a deep breath and watched as the sun inched above the horizon. Damn! A guy could only take so much!
The lower rim of the sun had just appeared when Race peered ahead up the highway, then slowed the car. He smiled, pleased. "Great, great! Just the break we need."
Tony raised to look over Race's shoulder. Two hitchhikers were standing beside the highway. They looked young, with college stickers on their suitcases.
Race glanced at Tony. "I'm going to pick up these two weeds, kid. You get up here and drive. Back me up when the time comes. You understand, kid?"
Tony opened his mouth to ask a question, but Race had stopped the car and the two guys were running over with their bags. Race grabbed Dobber and shook him. "Get into the back, hophead."
Dobber groaned. "Goddam, why doesn't someone make up their minds?" He slid over the seat and lay down on the mattress, his back to the sleeping Margo.
Race and Tony got out of the car just as the two guys ran up, breathless.
"Get into the front seat, fellows," Race said. "We may want you to do a little driving for us."
Tony slid under the wheel as the two guys got into the car. He took their bags and passed them to Race in the back.
The two guys looked typically collegiate, with short-cropped hair, clean, square features and healthy, well-fed bodies. They wore New York University T-shirts, brown slacks and soft suede slip-on shoes.
One of the college guys turned to Tony. A ruddy scalp showed through his closely cropped blonde hair. "You people going all the way to Miami?"
Tony nodded.
"That's great," the other said. He had reddish hair and a few freckles. He leaned down and pulled up his socks. "We'll be there in time for the Saturday night blast."
Race leaned over and rested his arms on the back of the front seat. "You college kids out of school for the spring holidays?"
The blonde kid nodded and smiled. It reminded Tony of the sardonic, superior smile of the kid he'd slugged the day before. Tony had an immediate dislike for the two guys. They were too clean-cut, too healthy he doubted that they had worked a day in their lives. He knew they never had to get up at 3:30 in the morning to pedal down ice-coated streets delivering newspapers or had to steal a loaf of bread so as not to go hungry all day.
"Yes, it's sort of an annual flight of the lemmings," the blonde kid said. He glanced into the back where Margo's tanned thighs glistened.
Tony disliked the kid's high-flown Boston accent, his imagine words. Tony guessed that both kids probably had Cadillac convertibles back at college and were only hitchhiking for kicks.
Out of the corner of his eye Tony saw Race reach for something in his pocket. The highway curved and intersected with a dirt road up ahead. Race's thin lips twisted into an ugly smile. He lurched forward, circling the blonde youth's neck with an arm. A switchblade knife shot open in his other hand and he pressed the honed blade against the kid's ruddy throat. The youth's mouth gaped like that of a fish out of water. "What ... wha," he croaked.
"Don't move, college boy, or we'll have a little bloodletting." Race's hard voice sent chills up Tony's spine. "Turn off that road," he ordered Tony.
Tony wheeled the car off onto the dirt road. The red-haired youth found his voice. "Where are you taking us?"
"Shaddup," Race growled. He gestured for Tony to pull over to the weed-choked ditch.
Tony stopped the car. He was scared. Stealing a loaf of bread was one thing. But robbery-
The red-haired youth jumped forward, his hand streaking for the door handle. Race released the blonde kid, flipped the knife over in his hand and rapped the butt end against the redhead's temple. The youth sagged forward, stunned. The blonde kid twisted around, his hands grabbing for Race's wrists. Before Tony knew what he was doing his rock-hard right arm lashed out backhanded, his knuckles slashing across the youth's mouth. Tony felt teeth snap under his fist. The kid bent double in pain. He moaned, spitting blood and broken teeth on the floorboard.
"Nice going, kid," Race said. He gestured with the knife. All right you two weeds. Outside."
The two kids climbed out of the car groggily. All their fight was gone. Race rose from the car and gestured with the knife. "Okay you weeds, strip. Toss your rags over here."
The two youths looked at him flabbergasted. Race slashed the air with the knife. "Come on, dammit!"
They reluctantly stripped down to their shorts, throwing their clothes to Race. "All the way, you weeds. I want to see your naked asses shining in the sun."
The two peeled down their shorts and tossed them to Race. The blonde kid was overweight, with the beginning of a beer belly. They looked ridiculous standing there, like a couple of fat, plucked roosters. Tony laughed.
Race threw the clothes into the car and crawled in beside Tony. "Let's go, kid."
Tony wheeled the car around and headed back toward the highway. He glanced into the rear-view mirror and saw the two kids squatting in the weeds by the roadside ditch.
Race went through the clothing and took out their wallets. He flicked each open and hastily counted the money. "Not bad, not bad. Almost two hundred. I wonder why those weeds were hitchhiking?"
The car hit a sharp bump as Tony turned back onto the highway. Dobber groaned and Margo raised up in back, sleepy-eyed. "What's going on?"
Race held up a fistful of bills. "We just had a visit from the Good Fairy, sweetheart. And look what she left us. But this is just chicken feed. Wait till we get to Miami, baby."
CHAPTER TWO Margo the Nymph: A Lesson in Sex
Tony walked into the bathroom unbuttoning his shirt. It was well after midnight and he was dead tired. He'd had to drive all the way to Miami after Race had bought more liquor and gotten stinking drunk. Dobber's shakes were worse and Tony had been afraid to trust him behind the wheel. They had arrived in Miami a half hour ago and Tony checked them into the first motel he saw. It was a nice place, fronting on the beach. Tony had taken two adjoining apartments, one for Race and Margo, the other for Dobber and himself.
Tony peeled off his shirt and turned on the water in the shower. He walked to the lavatory and took a bar of soap out of the medicine chest. He looked at his face in the mirror. He needed a shave, but he hadn't even had time to pack a razor. He smoothed a hand through his thick, rumpled black hair. A girl had once told him he looked like Richard Conte and sometimes he found himself putting on the actor's cocky, self-confident air. But Tony was stockier, his shoulders broader than the star's. Tony's eyes were dark and his smooth, sleek skin had the dusky hue of his Italian ancestors.
Tony unbuttoned his trousers, skinned them down. He stepped out of his shorts and climbed into the steaming shower, closing the glass door to the stall. He peeled the wrapper off the soap and lathered his broad, muscular chest. The hot water felt good on his tired muscles.
A light tap sounded at the door. Tony frowned. He'd left Dobber passed out on the couch. Tony closed the water and reached for the latch of the fogged shower door. He heard the bathroom door open.
"Tony?" It was Margo's voice.
Tony's pulse began to pick up speed. "I'm in the shower, Margo."
He heard the door close. "Mind if I use your bathroom, sweetheart? I want to wash my hair and Race has tossed up his guts all over ours. God, what a mess."
Tony leaned over to the frosted door and wiped away a little patch of the fog. "Sure, Margo."
Tony's pulse stepped up to a faster clip. Margo was wearing only her red silk panties and bra. She'd let her hair down and the blonde tresses fell well past her shoulders. She was carrying a bottle of shampoo. Tony watched as she put the bottle on the lavatory, then ran a basin of water. Margo's build looked even better in the light than it had in the gloom of the car. God, she was a sexy broad. Her lush curves stretched the red silk tight.
Margo glanced at the shower. "I'll bet you're tired from all that driving."
"A little." Tony turned the shower back on, but kept an eye near his peephole. Margo bent over, wetting her hair in the basin. Her large breasts overflowed the bra, until it seemed only the nipples were hanging inside.
Tony lathered his body vigorously. He'd never fooled with another man's woman, but hell, he couldnt take much more of this.
Margo's ample breasts jiggled in the loose bra as she lathered her hair. She opened the faucet and turned sideways as she rinsed off the lather. In the bright light, her panties were almost transparent, a misty golden triangle showing through the thin silk.
Tony rinsed off the lather and closed the shower. Margo squeezed the water from her hair and flicked a towel off the rack. She glanced at the shower door and smiled. "What's the matter, Tony, are you too embarrassed to come out?"
Tony's hand touched the door latch, then he hesitated. "Throw me a towel, will you, Margo?"
Margo laughed, then tossed a towel over the shower door. "Chicken!" she called, then made the sounds of a clucking hen.
Tony dried himself, his hands nervous. Was she going to get the hell out, or stand there and wait for him to come out? He finished, wrapped the towel around his lean loins and opened the door.
She was standing by the lavatory, hands on curving hips, watching him with that familiar naughty twinkle in her cat-green eyes. "Sa-a-a-y, you have a gorgeous build, Tony. I'll bet you even look better without that towel."
Tony felt his ears burn. He shuffled, feeling awkward. She smiled and took a step toward him. She thrust out a slender, tapering leg and rocked her hips from side to side. "What do you think of my build, sweetheart?"
Tony gulped, breathing hard. "It it's very good. But you're Race's girl," he added hurriedly.
Margo tossed back wet strands of hair and laughed. "Is that what's stopping you? Well, Race couldn't care less. He even fixes me up with other guys. We're sort of business partners. You really like my build?"
Tony nodded, reddening. The smell of liquor was heavy on her breath.
Margo smoothed her hands down her hips and across her slightly curved tummy. "I used to be in burlesque, you know. Would you like me to strip for you?"
Before Tony could answer, she turned her back to him, raised her arms toward the ceiling and ground her hips. Her buttocks flexed under the tight silk. She glanced back over her shoulder and smiled. "I could do better with music."
Tony felt awkward standing there, so he sat down on the edge of the commode. He couldn't take his eyes off her.
She bent over and grasped her ankles, moving her legs up and down pneumatically. Her ripe buttocks, on a level with his face, jiggled alluringly.
Smiling impishly, she raised and turned slowly to face him. She rolled her shoulders and her breasts rose and fell heavily inside her bra. She turned her back to him. "Unhook me, will you Tony?"
Tony reached out like a mechanical man who'd had his button pressed. He fumbled with the bra, finally got it unhooked. She turned sideways to him and shook her shoulders. The straps crept off her shoulders. The bra snagged on her nipples. She turned fully toward him, took a deep breath and expanded her breasts. They popped out of the bra, jutting out at Tony like loaded 38's. They were lush and creamy with tan nipples that looked like delicious pecans topping giant vanilla cupcakes. Tony's throat closed and he stopped breathing.
Margo looked down at him, eyes half closed, savoring the lust in his face. "Look at me, Tony. Look at my breasts. Aren't they beautiful?" She stroked them and fingered the tan nipples. Her teasing mischievousness was gone, her voice throaty, passionate. She was breathing heavily, perspiration glistening between her breasts. She ran a pink tongue over her lips. "You make me hot, Tony baby." She looked down at his toweled loins. "And you want me, too, don't you, Tony?"
Tony lurched forward and filled his hands with the soft, hot flesh of her breasts. He buried his face in them and kissed the silken flesh. God! God! God! What a woman! He found a nipple with his lips and outlined it with his tongue. It curled into a little hard orb, thrusting forward excitedly like a ripe cherry ready for picking. Margo embraced his neck, pulling his head into her breasts, smothering him in the hot, throbbing flesh. Her fingers plucked at the knot in his towel and it dropped away. Her hands explored his hot body. "Oh you do want me badly, God, do you want me!"
A fury, fired by passion, tore loose in Tony. She had teased and taunted him long enough. Now it was his turn. He kissed her lips hungrily, their tongues touching, curling together. Her hot, elastic breasts pressed against the hard muscles of his chest. His hands slid down her back to her sassy buttocks, cupped them and massaged. She bit his ear lobe. "Oh God, Tony, I'm hot. Lay me! Hurt me!"
Muscles corded in his strong arms and he lifted her, hands on her buttocks. Her long legs encircled his waist, locked. He bent her back onto the tile floor. Her hands went to the elastic of her red panties, pulling them down. He stripped the pants down her legs and hurled them aside. He stroked the smooth skin of her inner thighs, the way he had dreamed of a few hours before. His hand worked higher and Margo spread her legs, squirming on the tile. Her arms reached up and pulled him down. Her mouth was hot and moist on his, then her heat and glutinous moistness permeated his lower body.
The fury of his pent up frustrations and passions drove Tony's loins like a pneumatic battering ram. He'd teach the bitch to tease him!
"Oh Lord, honey ... Lord!" Margo groaned. Her long legs inched up his thighs and locked about his waist like the coils of a python. His loins were vicious, yet she absorbed his strokes, her hips and buttocks rising from the tiled floor to roll and thrust back. The animal sounds of their coupling filled the small room heavy breathing, little grunts and moans, the glutinous, fleshy sounds of their sweating bodies meshing and parting. A burning rose in Tony's loins, like molten lava bubbling upward. His loins slashed down viciously.
"Oh Lord," Margo moaned, "I can feel you everywhere." Tony heard a cry and realized it was coming from his own lips.
"No, not yet," Margo whispered huskily. Her hands reached down, and sharp pain stabbed into Tony's lower being, dulling the edge of his passion. He squirmed in agony, trying to pull away from her strong hands and sharp nails. He tore free of her cruel fingers and his body heaved down on her, more brutally than before. "Oh ... oh ... oh!" she cried. "Gallop, wild stallion, gallop ... and buck . . and buck ... and I'll ride you ... Goddamn you!"
Her hot sweating buttocks rose six inches off the tile to meet his thrusting body, her burning tummy slapping against his. Her eyes were closed, lips parted. Perspiration ran down her breasts and hips in little streams. Her breasts seemed taut with bursting inner pressure that pushed them up and out. Her arms coiled about his neck, nails slicing into his back. "Oh ... oh ... almost!" she cried. Her long legs closed tighter on his waist: a python crushing the bones of its victim, squeezing out the blood. His hands were on her buttocks, pinching, massaging. She moved them to her breasts. "Oh, Tony!" she cried. "Hurt me! Squeeze me! Twist them! Bite them! Torture me!" Muscles bulged in Tony's forearms as his fingers bit into the soft flesh. He twisted the breasts cruelly until the tan nipples seemed about to pop out of the hot flesh. "Oh Oh! Oh!" she cried. He leaned down and took a lush nipple into his mouth and bit it. He could feel a pressure building in her lower tummy like a balloon inflating. A strangling, guttural cry parted her lips and her body arched up a foot off the floor. Her stomach went crazy under him, breaking into spasms of hiccups. Shafts of fire burned his loins again: lava bubbling to the surface of a volcano. This time there was no holding it back. Tony's muscles rippled and corded under his sleek tan skin. His lower body plunged down in one last great thrust, then broke into ecstatic spasms. She rode him, slender, sensuous legs squeezing, demanding more, her burning, nipping pressure draining every last ounce of strength from him hungrily.
Tony sank down on her, breathing hard. He could feel the strong drumming of her heart against his chest. They lay there gasping, savoring the glutinous, warm aftermath of each other's body.
Finally Tony raised and turned his body slowly, reluctantly breaking their warm bond. He lay down beside her on the cool, damp tile, reached out and took one of her hot, moist breasts in his hand, massaged it lightly. He noticed several minute, circular scars near the nipple.
Margo opened her eyes and studied him through heavy lids. She smiled. "God, I feel like I've been raped by a tornado. You make love like a wild man."
"You had me all fired up. That'll teach you to tease, damn you."
She reached out and stroked his biceps. "I enjoyed it, though. And I guess I did have it coming." She glanced at him impishly, then laughed. She moved her hand to his shoulder. "I'll teach you other ways. Slow ways that'll make you pass out. I like to teach young guys. They're always so cooperative. They'll do anything I tell them. The older guys well most of them are only interested in their own kicks."
Tony's gaze lowered to her creamy tummy. "I thought you were one of those peroxide blondes, Margo. You're the first real blonde I've ever "
She laughed, pinching his shoulder playfully. "How many girls have you thrilled, Tony? Three? Four? You're inexperienced, but I know damn well you're not a virgin."
Tony looked away in embarrassment. "Six maybe, but they were all brunettes."
Margo leaned close to his ear. "I'll tell you a secret, Tony," she whispered. "I'm really a brunette, and it stings like hell to make myself a one hundred per cent blonde."
Margo giggled and sat up abruptly, her large breasts vibrating. Her eyes flicked down the length of his naked body. "God, you've got a nice build. You look like Tarzan. How did you get all those muscles so young?"
"Tossing around crates on the dock, I guess." Tony's chest expanded in pride. He felt as if someone had pinned a medal on him. She was all woman every last curving inch of her. And he made love to her and she had enjoyed it.
Margo rose, picked up a fuzzy bath mat, rolled it and placed it under his head. "You rest, get your strength back, sweetheart. There'll be another time for us. Lots of times, if we're lucky, and I want to be lucky with you. I really do."
Gently as a mother, she kissed him on the forehead, smiled, turned, then was gone. Tony let her go. The cool of the floor would soothe him, he thought, and perhaps sleep would take him and black out the present the present of Race and Margo and Dobber, the present that he sensed would lead to nothing but trouble. But now he wouldn't think about it now he would rest.
He turned on his side and promptly fell asleep. Dreams invaded. They were all vicious as if they were meant as a warning, one that he should but could not heed.
It was as Tony awoke that he heard the door to the other apartment open and close. Someone, probably Margo, had left the apartment. He remained still for several long minutes, feeling the new coolness that had come to his body. It made him remember the heat of Margo, that and his own heat as he had given himself to her. Finally, he forced the memory from his mind.
Tony arose from the floor. He felt shaky. His knees were suddenly like wet sponges. His calves were red and marked from threshing on the hard tile.
Slowly, he walked into the other room. There were shades of light that told him he had slept longer than he had thought. And there was his friend, Dobber, flat on the bed and snoring.
Tony walked over to the couch. He flopped on it and fell into a deep slumber that was akin to death in its exhausted soundness.
CHAPTER THREE Frankie Dances a Titillating Watusi
Someone was moaning as if in intense pain. Occasionally a chattering noise, like a pair of dice rattling in a cupped hand, punctuated the moans.
Tony felt as though he was floating underwater in a warm, tranquil sea. He made a half-hearted effort to stir awake, then gave up and sank back into the soothing warmth.
After a while, the moaning stirred Tony again. This time it was more intense, interrupted by guttural curses and chattering. Tony turned over on his back, stretched and opened his eyes. Dobber was on the couch, knees drawn up, writhing in pain. His body trembled mightily and perspiration beaded on his gray parrot face.
Tony rubbed his eyes, slid out of bed and pulled on his pants. Dobber looked up at him. Pain fired his wild, glassy eyes. "I've got them bad, Tony," he croaked. "I've got to get a fix or I'll go crazy. Help me, Tony ... please." A chill seized his body and he doubled up, teeth chattering.
Tony wheeled around, suddenly angry. "Goddamnit, Dobber, why did you ever get started on that stuff? It's like grabbing the rope of a runaway horse."
Dobber moaned again, body shaking. Tony's anger vanished. He'd smoked marijuana himself for kicks and he, too, would probably have been on heroin now if he hadn't seen what it was doing to Dobber.
Tony walked over to the dresser and took a glass out of its waxed paper covering. He reached for a half-empty whisky bottle and poured it half full. He walked over and pressed the glass to Dobber's pale lips Dobber took several gulps, then coughed.
Tony set the glass down on the floor by the couch. "Finish that. Maybe it'll help some. I'll see if Race will give us money for a fix."
Tony walked over to the door adjoining the apartments. He tapped on it lightly. No answer. He tried the knob. It was unlocked. Tony opened the door and stuck his head inside. "Race? Margo?"
The place was empty and stank like a sewer. There was a dark circle of vomit on the carpet near the door to the bathroom.
Tony closed the door and walked back to the couch. Dobber was sitting up, sipping from the glass, held in trembling hands. Tony leaned down and picked up one of the suitcases they had taken from the college kids. He placed in on the couch, flicked open the lid and rummaged through the clothing. Dobber rose shakily. He reeled over to the dresser and poured himself another drink.
Tony pulled out a pair of swim trunks and held them to his waist. A little large, but maybe they would stay on. He skinned down his trousers and pulled on the trunks. "Feel better?" he asked Dobber.
Dobber took a long pull at the whisky and nodded uncertainly.
"Feel up to walking on the beach? With all these wild-assed college kids down here, there must be some pushers working."
Dobber drained the glass. "What'll we do for money?"
Tony shrugged. "We'll roll some sonofabitch if we have to."
Tony walked over and opened the outside door. It was late afternoon and very hot. The humid air smelled of seaweed and salt water. Tony stepped outside. Dobber set his glass down and followed at a rubbery gait.
They left the motel and walked toward the beach. Quite a few people were out, stretched under umbrellas, tossing beach balls or splashing in the blue-green surf. The water looked good to Tony: it had been a long, frigid winter in New York.
The beach was filled mostly with college kids, many of them bronzed, willowy coeds wearing brief bikinis. Tony had a feeling he was going to like Florida.
Tony glanced up and down the beach, looking for a red bikini. Finally he spotted her, stretched out on the sand near the surf, an admiring semicircle of men clustered about. They sat on towels and leered at her body which was 98 percent naked. Tony walked over to her and Dobber tagged behind, like a friendly dog.
Margo was lying on her back on a beach towel looking up at the sky through sunglasses. Her bikini pants couldn't have been more than two inches above her pudendum, the halter less than that above her nipples.
Tony leaned down and scooped up a handful of sand. He sat down beside her, held his hand over her beautifully curved tummy and let the sand trickle through his fingers, spilling into her elongated navel. Her semicircle of admirers leaned forward, watching Tony enviously. She sat up and took off her sunglasses.
"Oh, Tony. Did you just get up? Isn't this beach wonderful?"
"Been in the water yet?"
She laughed. "Are you kidding? This bikini wouldn't last a minute in the water."
It was strange. Only a few hours before Tony had seen her naked. He'd teased her tits with his tongue and his hands had fondled and explored every part of her body. Yet, somehow, in the brief bikini, she seemed sexier than she had been with no clothes.
Margo glanced at Dobber. "God, you look like a ghost. You really had the shakes bad last night when we got here."
Tony leaned nearer Margo. "Where's Race?" he whispered. "Dobber needs a fix in the worst way and we don't have a dime."
Margo shrugged. "He left several hours ago. He's out working on his big deal, I guess. How much do you need?"
"Two ten spots should do it."
Margo reached out and touched his raw skin. "That tile floor was hard, wasn't it?" She winked at him. "I'll get the money for you, Tony. It'll be repayment for the kicks you gave me last night."
She rose, picked up her beach towel and shook the sand out of it. Her green eyes flicked casually over the ring of admirers. Her gaze settled on a balding man with a little pot belly and thick, black hair on his chest and stomach. He had an expensive-looking diamond ring on his little finger.
Margo smiled at the small fat man and walked toward him slowly, curves vibrating. Tony noted with curiosity that when her left breast jiggled, there was an equal and opposite counter-jiggle in her right buttock.
Margo spread her towel on the sand near the little bald man. She bent over to smooth out the towel, and her breasts looked as if they were going to pop out in the fellow's leering face. She manipulated her curves onto the towel without slipping out of the bikini and smiled at the little man again.
Tony rose. "I'm going to take a dip," he said to Dobber. He strode toward the surf. God, it was a funny feeling to have a woman sell herself for you. Almost like being a pimp.
Tony waded out into the ocean. The water was warm and tingled his skin. When the surf was waist deep, he drove into a breaker, surfaced and swam with strong overhead strokes for about fifty yards. Then he stood and smoothed his hair back out of his eyes. He glanced back to shore. Margo was sitting next to the hairy, fat man. They were talking.
Tony turned, dived into the surf and swam parallel to the breakers, head down.
"Watch out!" a girl shouted.
Tony rolled over, splashing water wildly. A girl swept past him on a surfboard, missing him by inches. Surprised, Tony turned to watch her as she moved in toward shore on the wave, tottering precariously at the front of the board. She had long, straight red hair which fell half-way to her full, curving buttocks. Her bikini was wet and most of her buttocks were out of it. She twisted sideways on the board to retain her balance and Tony's eyes widened. She had the largest set of tits Tony had ever seen on a woman. The skimpy halter had all it could do keeping them inside. No wonder she couldn't keep her balance.
The breaker began to turn choppy as it neared the beach and the surfboard shot out from under the girl. She hit the water on her back, went under, then surfaced laughing. She retrieved her surfboard and waded ashore. Two fellows on surfboards streaked past Tony. They almost made it all the way to shore before they lost their balance and went in. They retrieved their surfboards and followed the girl onto the beach.
Tony had never surfed, but it looked like fun. He stood in the chest-deep water and let the breakers rock him in toward shore. He couldn't keep his eyes off the redhead. God, what a set of tits! And he'd been impressed by Margo's.
The redhead pulled up her sagging, wet bikini and stretched out on her board. Her unbelievable breasts arched up like twin Pike's Peaks over the brown curving slope of her stomach. The two fellows sat down beside her on the sand. All looked like college students.
Tony glanced back down the beach. Margo and the little man were walking together toward the motel. She was a head taller than he. Tony grinned. That little guy was going to find out he'd hooked up with more woman than he could handle.
Tony felt a strange, hollow feeling in his stomach. Again he considered that he'd never had a woman sell herself for him before.
Tony waded ashore and flopped, dripping, down beside Dobber. "I guess Margo found a client. Damn, it makes me feel rotten to have to get money that way."
Dobber shrugged. "Do you think it's any worse than rolling some cat?" He wiped beads of perspiration from his face. "What did you do to her last night to make her come through for us like this?"
Tony felt his earns burn. "She's a good lay." Tony settled back on the sand and looked up at the cloudless blue sky. The sun was dropping toward the horizon.
It couldn't have been more than twenty minutes later when Margo, long legs rippling, walked to where they lay on the sand. She sat down beside Tony and pressed some bills into his hand. The money was worn and very dirty. Tony took it reluctantly. "Thanks, Margo. We'll pay you back later."
Margo shrugged and lay down on the sand. "It was nothing. I didn't even work up a sweat."
Dobber gripped Tony's arm. "Come on, Tony, let's go. I need one bad. I can't last another night without it."
The sun was setting and people were leaving the beach. Tony and Dobber rose. "We'll see you later, Margo," Tony said.
Margo smiled. "Don't forget. We still have lesson Number Two."
They sauntered down the beach toward a string of refreshment stands.
"Keep your eyes open, Dobber. You know these guys better than me. If this were the Bronx, all we'd have to do would be to find a beatnik and ask him where he gets his."
"How much money did she get?"
Tony unfolded the filthy bills. "Twenty-five dollars."
They walked over to a soft drink stand where several young people were gathered, munching hot dogs.
Tony unfolded a five dollar bill and put it on the counter. "Two cokes."
A balding, middle-aged man who needed a shave badly drew two drinks and gave Tony his change. The man wiped his hands on a grease-spotted apron and leaned over and thrust a plug into a socket. Lights flared on across the top of the stand. It was getting dark fast.
Dobber picked up his drink, bringing it to his lips with both shaking hands. The proprietor eyed him with curiosity.
Tony's eyes flicked over the crowd. Most of the kids looked like college students. None had the appearance of dope addiction. Tony thought he heard rock 'n' roll music coming from somewhere up the beach. His eyes moved along the shoreline. About two hundred yards up the beach he saw the flicker of a campfire and the wavering shadows of people dancing.
He motioned to Dobber. "Looks like a little action up that way." They finished the cokes and moved along the shore toward the fire. A fat, yellow moon was rising over the ocean, reflecting off the whitecaps as they roared into shore. The music grew louder, punctuated by shouts and giggles. A cool, moisture-laden breeze was blowing in from the ocean.
As they neared the fire, Tony saw several surfboards and inflated rubber rafts scattered about. "Looks like the beach set's having a shindig. I've heard they're pretty wild. Maybe we can find a contact."
The girls were in bikinis or short beach jackets, dancing the Watusi, Frug and Swim with bronzed young men in slit-leg bathing trunks. A battery-powered record player was blaring full-blast.
Tony and Dobber paused on the fringe of the flickering firelight and watched the dancers. One deeply tanned brunette in a short terry cloth beach jacket was dancing the Jerk with abandon, her long straight hair whipping about her head and shoulders. As she raised her glistening thighs, the beach jacket flared up and Tony caught a brief glimps of a shadowy triangle.
Either she had on a very brief dark bikini, or she was all set to go bare-assed swimming later that night. The girl spun around, pumping her arms and wiggling her hips. Her short jacket whipped up and naked white buttocks winked at Tony.
Tony watched the brunette's twinkling fanny with admiration until another dancer caught his eye. It was the redhead who had almost knocked his head off with her surfboard. She was still in her bikini, still slightly damp, dancing the Swim with a tall, bony guy who looked like a basketball player. As she pumped her arms, her mammoth breasts arched out, flexing and vibrating under the bronze flesh. Large nipples thrust forward, outlined against the tight, wet fabric of her brief halter. She was short, but built like a brick outhouse.
Tony's eyes followed her as she danced. How he envied that bag of bones she was dancing with.
The record ended and Mr. Basketball walked over to a cooler and took out a couple of beers. Tony moved away from Dobber and edged up to the redhead. "You owe me a dance," he said.
She turned, surprised. Her eyes flicked over his bronzed, muscular body. "Really? Why?"
"You almost killed me a while ago with your surfboard."
She laughed, eyes twinkling. "Was that you? It would have served you right. Only a damn fool swims with his head down with surfers around."
Someone put on another record and the music blared out again. Tony looked at her questioningly. She shrugged and began dancing the Swim. Tony danced with her, finding it hard to keep his eyes off her bouncing breasts. And she knew where he was looking. Smiling coyly, she shook her hips and shoulders and every curve trembled.
Tony moved closer to her, chest almost touching those vibrating breasts. "I'm Tony Martino from Brooklyn. We don't do much surfing up there.
She broke into the Jerk, leaning far over. Her halter slipped down a bit and little half moons of un tanned, creamy flesh appeared. She glanced up and smiled at him. She ran a pink tongue over exceedingly white teeth. "Frankie Wyler. What's your alma?"
Tony looked at her, puzzled. She was amused at his befuddlement. "What's your school?" she repeated.
Tony felt a touch of embarrassment. "I I'm not in school right now. You a coed?"
She nodded. "Florida State. Journalism major." The beat of the music stepped up. She turned her back to him and bounced her hips. Her ripe buttocks flexed and trembled in the bikini, the wet material crept up to expose little areas of white, un tanned flash. Desire mounted in Tony and he hoped it didn't show through his brief swim trunks. Through the corner of his eyes Tony saw Mr. Basketball watching them, two beers clutched in his large, bony hands.
Frankie spun around to face Tony again, Frugging like crazy. Tony sensed the record was about over. He decided he'd better ask her now, or lose his chance.
"Where can a guy get a little horse around here? I've got a friend who needs some in the worst way."
She stopped dancing, eyes turning cold, unfriendly. "How should I know? Listen "
"Wait " Tony caught her arm as she turned away. "I'm on the level. See that skinny kid over there?" He nodded toward Dobber. "Look at his hands."
Frankie eyed Dobber suspiciously, then turned back to Tony.
"I'm not a cop," Tony reassured. "Look ... if my friend doesn't get some tonight, he'll go crazy."
"I guess if you were a local cop you'd have more sense than to swim with your head down." The suspicion left her eyes. "Ask the man with the whiskers at the soft drink stand near the pier for some joy weed."
The record ended and Mr. Basketball started toward them, holding the two beer cans like hand grenades. "You'd better shove off," Frankie warned. "He's awfully possessive."
"I don't see anything that could make me leave," Tony said cockily.
The guy ambled up and handed a can of beer to Frankie. "Your beer's getting warm." He eyed Tony coldly. "Do you have an invitation to this shindig, buster?"
Tony spread his legs, planting them firmly in the sand. He looked up at the guy who must have been at least six five. Tony's right fist knotted.
Frankie moved between them. "I invited him over, Marvin. And stop acting like a goddamned hodad. Get Tony a beer." Her proud red head scarcely reached his bony chest, yet she was ordering him about like a Marine master sergeant.
The big guy's giant knobby fingers flexed, his eyes hard with jealous hate. Tony knew the guy wanted to knock his head off and dribble it around the beach.
Mr. Basketball turned reluctantly and shambled back toward the beer cooler.
"God, where did you pick up Frankenstein?" Tony asked.
She smiled. Her eyes flicked again over his strong build. Tony saw a spark of interest fire her eyes. "Can a guy rent a surfboard around here?" he asked.
"Sure. You thinking of taking up the sport?"
"Yeah. It looks like fun. Will you be on the beach tomorrow?"
"Maybe." Her eyes were teasing, yet interested.
"Frankie!" someone called from the other side of the campfire. She smiled at him, turned and ran through the crowd of writhing dancers.
On the edge of the firelight near the surf a girl screamed, then giggled. Several guys had spread a beach blanket down on the sand and two of them were trying to force the girl down on it. She was brunette, in a striped bikini with her pony tail tied with a red ribbon. The guys dragged her over to the blanket and all three fell down on it in a squirming heap.
The girl squealed again. "Charles, you sonofabitch!"
One of the guys rose, laughing. He held up a striped halter. "Anybody for a game of bounce-a-titty?"
The other guy scrambled up. The girl lay on the blanket giggling and covering her naked breasts. Each of the four guys grabbed a corner of the blanket and heaved. The girl shot into the air, arms and legs flailing. Her naked little breasts, outlined by her dark tan, glistened like polished ivory in the firelight. Her pink nipples, large in contrast to her breasts, had the waxy glow of rose petals.
The girl plunged into the blanket and the boys, laughing, tossed her up again. She did an involuntary somersault and landed on her back in the blanket. Yelling, the guys dropped the blanket to the sand and one of them leaned down and grabbed the threshing girl. They struggled a bit, then he rose, triumphanty holding a pair of striped bikini pants over his head, waving them like the Star Spangled Banner.
The guys grabbed the corners of the blanket again, set their heels in the sand and heaved. The girl shot skyward, trying vainly to cover herself with her arms and hands. She plunged back to the blanket on her back, arms and legs outstretched. The long, thick, gleaming hair of her head also carried over to her lower regions. Yelling, the guys pitched her into the air a couple of more times, then lowered the blanket to the sand, tossed its folds over her and ran.
A clammy hand gripped Tony's arm. "You find out anything, Tony?" Dobber asked, his parrot voice quavering.
"Yeah. The fellow at the soft drink stand sells it." Tony turned reluctantly from the beach gaiety. They drudged back along the beach. After a hundred yards, they came to a small lagoon.
"Let's take a short cut," Tony said. Instead of following the beach, they cut across the rocky, shell-laden shore of the lagoon. The moon was directly overhead now, its dim yellowish glow lighting their way.
They rounded a large boulder and Tony stopped suddenly. There, in the shallow, clear waters of the lagoon was a giant flat rock. Stretched out on the rock, her damp, bronzed flesh glistening in the moonlight, was a naked girl. She was brunette and suntanned all over, even down to her proud, finely formed breasts which arched up toward the moon as if bathing in its soft glow. As Tony halted, his foot hit a seashell, sending it clattering down the embankment and splashing into the quiet water. The girl looked up, startled. She had a beautiful oval face and her dark hair fell well past her shoulders. Tony got only a glimpse, before she spun off the rock and dived into the water, long hair trailing.
Dobber trudged up, and bumped into Tony. "What what's the matter?"
"Didn't you see the girl?" Tony asked. "What girl?"
"The one on the rock," Tony snapped. "Didn't you see her?"
"Naw, I didn't see anyone, but I was trying to watch where I was stepping."
"You did hear a splash, didn't you?" Tony persisted, beginning to doubt his sanity. He'd been so preoccupied with sex the last couple of days, he was wondering if he wasn't conjuring up images of nude mermaids on rocks.
"Yeah, I heard a splash. I thought it was a fish. Tony, are you sure "
"Come on," Tony said, irritated. "We'd better catch that guy before he closes up for the night."
They skirted the lagoon and cut back toward the beach. Tony glanced over his shoulder at the large rock, protruding from the gleaming water of the lagoon like the ghostly back of a water dinosaur. Damn, had he been seeing things?
They trudged back to the beach through deep white sand that sucked at their ankles. The proprietor was getting ready to close up his stand for the night as they walked up. A solitary customer, a teen-ager munching a hot dog, stood at the counter.
The unshaven proprietor glanced up at Tony and
Dobber, annoyed. "I'm closing."
Tony leaned over the counter. "We want to buy some joy weed."
The man's little blood-shot eyes narrowed. "I don't know what you're talking about, kid. I only sell soft drinks and sandwiches."
"Frankie sent us," Tony persisted.
The man took off his filthy apron, rolled it into a grimy ball and stuck it under the counter. He studied Tony suspiciously. "Frankie who?"
Tony thought for a moment, then remembered. "Frankie Wyler."
The man leaned toward Tony. "Describe her."
" A redhead, short, with big knockers."
The teen-ager finished his hot dog and walked away.
The man leaned nearer. He smelled of onions and garlic. "What kind of weed you need, man?"
"Horse."
The man reached under the counter and probed into a cigar box. "I only got one packet left."
"How much?" Tony asked.
The man looked at Tony, then glanced over at Dobber's trembling hands. His little eyes narrowed shrewdly. "Fifteen dollars."
"You sonofabitch, that's robbery," Dobber protested. "I get it half that price in Brooklyn."
The man reached into the cigar box and brought out the packet of white powder. He smoothed his greasy fingers over it, watching Dobber's face.
Dobber's eyes widened like an owl's. He ran his tongue over pale, dry lips.
"Fifteen dollars," the man repeated.
"We'll take it," Tony said. He tossed the money on the counter and took the packet.
The man turned out the lights at the stand. Tony and Dobber headed back toward the motel. Dobber reached for the packet. "Let me hold it, please Tony. Gawd, it seems like a year since I had a fix."
Dobber took the packet and ran his fingers over it tenderly. He was breathing hard, gasping. "Oh baby, baby, baby," he said exultantly, talking to the packet as if it was alive. "You're going to make me grow, grow, grow! I'll be big as a mountain and I'll ride the world with spurs!"
CHAPTER FOUR Lesson Two: Sex With a Belt!
Tony couldn't take his thoughts off the naked nymph on the rock in the lagoon. She was like a seductive love goddess in a dream, vanishing just as you reach out to fondle her glorious body.
Tony and Dobber stamped the sand from their feet and entered their apartment. Dobber was still clutching the packet of heroin as if it were a bag of precious stones. He was breathing hard, an expression of perverted anticipation on his pinched, parrot face. It was as though he was about to enter the bed chambers of a waiting mistress.
Tony walked past the closed door to Race and Margo's apartment. There was a shaft of light under the door, and Tony could hear the blaring noise of a TV set.
Dobber rummaged through several bureau drawers, then found what he was looking for a soft drink bottle cap. Hands trembling, he took out a pocket knife and pried the cork lining out of the cap and threw it away.
Tony had watched Dobber cook his heroin several times. It always made him sick to his stomach.
Tony walked over to the door of the adjoining apartment. He was getting tired of all this mystery about a big money deal. He intended to ask Race straight out just what he was planning. Tony rapped on the door.
Race yelled something, voice inaudible over the racket of the TV. Tony opened the door cautiously and peeked inside. Race was lying on a, couch in his shorts reading a racing form, a can of beer balanced precariously on his white, bony chest. He waved Tony inside.
Margo, still wearing her red bikini, was lying on the carpet in front of the TV. She was sprawled on her stomach, legs in the air and crossed like a teen-ager's. She looked up and winked at Tony.
Tony sat down in an easy chair near the couch. The motel's maids had cleaned the vomit-splattered carpet, but the apartment was still a mess. Newspapers, racing sheets and empty beer cans were scattered about.
Race said something to Tony, but the blaring TV drowned out his words. Race turned to Margo. "Goddamn it, turn that idiot box down!"
Margo reached up and quickly lowered the volume. She reached back, unhooked her tight halter, then lay down again on the floor, breasts pressing into the carpet. Damn her! Tony knew she was teasing again.
"What's on your mind, kid?" Race asked. His voice was thick and slurred from drinking. Little blue veins stood out against his reddish nose, throbbing.
Tony leaned forward. "I was wondering, Race how is your deal coming on?"
Race took a gulp of beer and frowned. "It's shaping up okay, kid. I'll let you know when I need you."
"I was hoping I could help you some way to maybe speed things up a little," Tony persisted.
Race's frown deepened. Irritated, he ran his fingers through his thick, dark hair. "Hell, kid, get off my back. There's only one brain to any trick and I'm it. When I get every angle figured, I'll tell you what to do."
Tony was getting a little peeved himself. "It's just that I need some money, Race. I want to get it myself, not have to let Margo get it for me like she did today. I-" Tony saw Margo stiffen on the floor. He knew he'd put his foot into it.
Race's small, dark eyes hardened like ball bearings. He slammed the beer can down angrily on the table and liquid spurted out the top.
"Whadda you mean, kid?" he snapped. "Did she give you money that she got for a trick?"
Race leaped to his feet, wheeled around and glared down at Margo. She was struggling to get her halter hooked, eyes wide with fear. "It was just a twenty-five dollar trick, Race. The hophead was about to crawl out of his skin."
Race's contorted face was like that of a gaunt, snarling wolf. He reached out to a chair where his trousers were draped, fingers groping for the wide belt with the large silver buckle.
"No, Race! No!" Margo screamed. "I won't do it again! I swear it!" She cringed on the floor still trying to fasten the halter.
Race stripped the belt from the trousers and advanced on Margo. His arm streaked up, then down and the belt lashed against her thighs. She squirmed on the floor, the halter dropping away. The belt flashed up, then down again, lashing across her naked, upturned breasts. Margo cried out in pain. Race coiled the belt in his hand, letting the buckle end hang down. He bent over her threshing body, the belt blurring as he lashed it down again and again across her white breasts. The buckle made little fleshy thuds as it bit into the soft flesh.
Margo's face, at first wild with pain, changed amazingly. Her features contorted in ecstasy, eyes half closed, lips parted. She breathed in little gasps. Guttural animal sounds, half moans and half cries, came from her throat. At first she had shielded her breasts from the cruel blows, now she thrust them forward in perverted rapture, offering them to the lash as she had offered them to Tony for his mouth-teasing. The buckle flashed down again and again.
Sickened, Tony could take no more. He was stunned, but now he leaped to his feet. "Race! Stop it!"
Race's hand darted to a table and came back holding his switch knife. He flicked the blade open. "Keep out of this, kid. Or I'll spill your guts out on the floor."
He swung the belt again, lashing it down across Margo's buttocks and naked upper thighs, leaving cruel red streaks.
"Stupid, goddamned bitch!" Race shouted.
He gave her several more strokes with the belt, then stalked over and pulled on his pants. His anger seemed to have departed as quickly as it had risen.
Race sat down on the couch and began putting on his shoes. He glanced up at Tony. "Sorry, kid. These goddamned broads get me mad."
Margo rose unsteadily and reeled into the bathroom. Her breasts and thighs were a mess of welts.
Race clamped a shoe onto a sockless foot. He jerked his head in the direction of the bathroom. "Broads like that are a dime a dozen. I can go into any bar, any night of the week and pick up one just like her."
"I didn't mean to get her into any trouble. Dobber was about to crack up and we needed cabbage for a fix. She volunteered to get it for us."
"The bitch," Race snorted. Tony thought Race was going to get mad all over again. Little droplets of perspiration from his exertion glistened on his gray, beard-shadowed face. There were elongated scars across his upper cheeks which looked like wounds from a woman's nails.
Race clamped on his other shoe. "If you ever let these broads start giving money to some other weed, first thing you know they've packed their goddamned diaphragms and gone. Then you've got to find another meal ticket. Do you know how I got that bitch?" He jerked his head again toward the bathroom.
Tony shook his head.
Race laughed, harshly. "I walked into this bar in Kansas City one night and there this bitch was, sitting on a stool, her skirt half way up to her navel. I'd just lost my little redhead. Some sailor gave her a good dose of the clap, the bastard. I just walked over, slapped my hand down on Margo's thigh and said, 'Baby, you're going to work for me.' She was a stripper at one of those riverside dives and the manager of the place was with her. He started making static so I punched him in the gut with my elbow. Then I just walked out with her, and the broad's been pulling off tricks for me ever since." Race looked down at his feet, musingly. "But I think I'm about ready to dump her. She don't hustle as good as she used to."
Tony shifted self-consciously. "At first I thought that you two might be married."
Race tilted his head toward the ceiling and roared with laughter. "Married? Me? God, kid, matrimony is for damn-fool weeds who can't get a trick any way else. All women are whores. That stupid broad in there sells herself for $35 or $50 a trick. But that church-going social set of bitches is smarter. They trap some poor bastard into matrimony and make him pay through his Goddamned nose for the rest of his days. Then the poor bastard probably has to shell out to a whore every two weeks to get his horns trimmed."
Race rose and pulled on his shirt. "I'm going out to get a little air, kid."
"Race," Tony said hurriedly, "do you think it'll be much longer before we cash in on the big money? Dobber's going to need some more stuff pretty soon."
Race's eyes hardened again in anger. "That Goddamned hophead! If you're smart you'll drop the bastard. He's nothing but trouble. Dopies can't be trusted any further than a midget can throw an elephant. Get rid of him, kid. We can pick up some other weed to help us on the job if we have to."
Tony shook his head firmly. "He's my pal."
Race walked over to the door. "Pal!" he snorted disdainfully. "He's going to get you into big trouble, kid. Big trouble."
Race slammed the door.
Tony sat there for several minutes, watching TV. The story was about a guy who had amnesia and was trying to find out who he was. Tony found himself identifying with the character: He, to, felt that he had lost his ties with the past, that he was in a canoe rushing into the future in a raging current and he had dropped the paddle overboard.
There was the sound of water running in the bathroom, then the tap was closed. Tony rose to go back into his own apartment.
"Tony?" Margo called from the bathroom.
Tony turned and walked over to the partially opened door. "You okay, Margo?" He glanced inside. He saw her red bikini on top of the commode. She was wrapped in a yellow bath towel, sitting on the closed lid of the commode. She was smearing ointment on the red welts crisscrossing her upper thighs.
She looked up at Tony. "Come on in. I won't bite you."
Tony moved inside nervously. "Margo ... I'm sorry. I didn't know he would take it like that. It was a dumb thing for me to say."
She shrugged and the towel slipped low on her breasts. There was a U-shaped bruise on one of them. "It's not the first time he's lost his temper with me."
Tony remembered the thin scars on her breasts. "Why do you put up with it?"
She smiled introspectively. "I don't know. He's a liar, cheat and a cruel, sadistic bastard. I almost killed him once. He'd hit me with his fist and I had a knife at his throat. But I didn't have guts enough to drive it in." She studied her nail-polished toes reflectively. "I guess I stick with him because he ... he's so dominating. He tells me what to do." She crossed her legs and the towel split open. Tony admired her blonde dye job.
Tony stared at her. She looked up at him and smiled. Then she said, "Don't look so concerned I'm not worth it."
"But well, you should never stick with somebody who abuses you," Tony said.
"Are you suggesting that you wouldn't abuse me?" she asked.
Tony was quiet a moment. During it he realized that he could never live with a woman such as Margo, even that he could not stand a long, personal relationship with her. There was too much of youth and vitality and hope around yes, hope, he thought to become tied to a woman who had had her day, who would never have another truly good day in her life.
As Tony thought of this, another invaded his mind. He remembered the girl on the rock, her beauty and allure, the way she had seemed to have come from the sea as a nymph to lure men to their destruction through love. He could not rinse his mind of her. And even as he looked at Margo, the towel open at her front, he remembered that other girl and her quick escape into the sea.
"You're pretty thoughtful," Margo said. "But don't worry, Tony, I'm not pressing you for an answer to my silent question I know you could never have much to do with me for long. So, skip it."
"You you know that, eh?" he said.
"Yes."
"But it wasn't what I was thinking. Honest."
"It doesn't matter, Tony," she said. "Don't start acting noble not to me. There's only one kind of nobility I know and that's of the flesh. So ... run along. Go to the beach do anything, but have a ball, baby, have a ball."
"See you later, Margo," Tony said slowly.
"Sure you will," she replied.
He turned and left the room. Slowly, he returned to his own apartment.
Dobber was sitting in a chair, rubbing a needle-marked forearm. His eyes were glassy, a twisted, crazy smile on his pinched face. "Tony," he murmured, as if speaking from another dimension. "What's going on, baby?"
"Nothing," Tony said, irritably. "Go to sleep."
Tony went over to the bureau, took out a bottle of whisky and poured himself a stiff drink. He sat down in a chair and sipped the drink, musingly looking out a window at the moonlit night. In his imagination he saw the raven-haired nymph on the rock in the lagoon and saw her dusky body turn and dive into the shimmering water. Had he been dreaming or seeing things?
Tony finished his drink and poured another. But he couldn't shake thoughts of the nymph from his mind. Dobber nodded in his chair, then began to snore bubblingly.
Tony put his empty glass down on a table and rose. He had to find out about the girl if he wanted to get a wink of sleep this night.
Tony left the apartment and walked down toward the beach. It was quite late and the sands seemed deserted. The only sounds were of crying sea birds and the rhythmic slap of the waves upon the shore. The moon was going down.
Tony cut across the beach toward the lagoon. The cool night air, with a faint salty tinge of the sea, cleared his head a bit.
Tony arrived at the lagoon. The water was darkening as the moon disappeared. Tony spotted the large rock. There seemed to be an object on it.
Tony waded into the warm water. He almost expected to hear a splash beside him and look down to see the smiling face of the brunette mermaid. He was waist-deep in water when he reached the rock. He groped for the object, then picked it up. It was a large white bath towel. Tony held it up to his nose. It smelled of a woman's perfume. The scent was new to Tony spicy, exotic like something from Egypt or the Middle East.
Tony folded the towel carefully and, carrying it, waded out of the lagoon. He felt sort of relieved. He wasn't losing his marbles after all. There was a mermaid and he had her towel. Maybe it would give him an excuse to meet her if he ever saw her again.
Tony headed back to the apartment.
CHAPTER FIVE Frankie Teaches And Learns
Tony awoke with the early morning sun streaming onto his face through a window. He blinked and yawned deeply. Dobber was asleep in the chair with his head cocked to one side, as if his neck was broken. His bloodless lips were tightened into a slight, blissful smile.
Tony stretched and slid out of bed. He pulled on his swim trunks and padded into the bathroom. He winced at his bloodshot eyes in the mirror, then took a comb and ran it through his thick, tangled hair. He turned on the tap and splashed cold water over his face to tear away the cobwebs in his brain.
Tony dried his face and returned to the living room, pausing at the dresser. He pulled open a drawer and took out what was left of the money Margo had given them. He tucked it into the small pocket of his bathing trunks and left the apartment.
"Hey, kid!"
Tony glanced around. Race walked up, a racing form folded under his arm. "Where you headed, kid?"
"I thought I'd go surfing." Tony still felt a little nervous around Race. Despite what Margo had told him of Race's callousness, Tony couldn't believe the man wouldn't blow his top if he found out Tony was making love to his woman free of charge.
"Say, kid, can you work a movie camera?"
Tony shook his head, puzzled. "I never have. Why?"
"I got a little deal, kid. It might tide us over until the other trick comes through. You sure you never worked a movie camera?"
"I can't even operate a Brownie," Tony confessed.
Race shrugged. "Well, hell, I guess I can learn now. We'll let you get the kicks." He opened the door to his apartment. "I'll let you know about it, kid." He closed the door, leaving Tony mystified.
Tony shrugged and walked down to the beach. It must have been about ten o'clock and the area was just beginning to fill with people. He wondered if Frankie and her crowd were out surfing this early. He walked up to a refreshment stand and ordered a hamburger and coffee. It was the same place he and Dobber had bought the heroin the night before, but another guy a gray-haired man with an artificial leg was behind the counter.
The fellow brought the hamburger and poured Tony a cup of coffee. "Where can a guy rent a surfboard around here?" Tony asked, tossing a dollar bill on the counter.
The fellow nodded tward a pier. "Down there."
Tony finished the hamburger and coffee. He strolled toward the pier, keeping an eye peeled for Frankie.
As Tony stepped onto the pier, he spotted an open shed with surfboards and rubber rafts piled about helter-skelter.
Tony was surprised to see a familiar face behind a battered desk in the middle of the equipment. It was the little brunette in the striped bikini who'd gotten tossed in the blanket the night before. She still looked a bit jaded from the bouncing. As Tony walked up, she put down the magazine she was reading and smiled. Her willowly, bronzed body was still encased in the tight, striped bikini.
Tony almost asked her how she liked her blanket ride, then changed his mind. "I'd like to rent a surfboard."
"Sure," she said cheerily. "What size."
"Size?"
She laughed. "You must be a gremmie."
"A what?" Tony asked, ears reddening.
"A novice, a beginner," she said patiently. "How much do you weigh?"
"About a hundred and eighty."
She rose and walked over to a stack of surfboards that had seen better days. She touched one with her toe. "Try that one. That's a ten footer. And it's nice and solid. It'll be easier for you to stay on."
"How much?" Tony asked.
She walked back to the battered desk and opened a ledger. "There's a five-dollar deposit. It rents for a dollar an hour."
Tony paid her and lifted the board to his shoulder. "Where are Frankie and her crowd surfing today?"
The girl glanced up, surprised. "Frankie? Frankie Wyler? Do you know her?"
"I met her last night."
The girl tossed her head, flicking her pony tail over a shoulder. She smiled at him coyly. "Did you see me ride the blanket?"
Tony shuffled uneasily. "It looked like fun."
She shrugged. "You can get wiped out if you don't land right." She pointed up the beach. "Frankie and her safari should be up that way, around the cove. They were going to try some new surf today."
Tony nodded. "Thanks." He turned and walked away, the board across his shoulders.
"I'll be off work in a couple of hours," the girl called. "I'll probably see you there."
Tony waved to her and trudged down the beach. He was surprised at the weight of the board. He wondered how the surf bunnies managed to carry them around.
Tony passed within a hundred yards of the lagoon where he had seek the naked nymph. He strained to see the giant rock, but couldn't. He thought about the perfumed towel he had carefully rolled and placed in a bureau drawer. He wondered if he would ever see the girl again, to return the towel.
Tony rounded the cove and saw several figures bobbing in the surf. The waves seemed higher than yesterday, capped by frothing white. Tony recognized a familiar figure with wildly flying red hair. She was riding a board in on one of the waves.
Drawing even with the surfers, Tony put his board down on the sand, leaned against it and watched as Frankie glided in.
As the wave neared shore, Frankie shifted her weight to her rear foot, and pivoted the board deftly out of the wave. She jumped into the water and dragged her board to shore.
Tony walked over to her. "You make it look easy."
She glanced up. "Oh, hi. You going to try it?" She tugged up her sagging, wet halter. Damn, what breasts! They drew Tony's gaze like magnets.
"How's the surf?" Tony asked, trying to sound like a pro.
She sat down on her surfboard and shook the water out of her long red hair. "It's a little heavier than usual today. We're having a wild time." She looked at his surfboard. "God, where'd you get that thing? It looks like part of somebody's backyard fence."
Tony grinned. "The chick gave me one I couldn't bust up, I guess."
The guys and a girl came in on a foaming, roaring wave. The girl lost her balance and did a belly flop into the surf. Frankie laughed. "That's the third time she's been creamed today." She glanced up at Tony. A mischievous little smile crossed her face. "Well, aren't you going to try it?"
Tony shrugged and wadded into the water with his board. The three other surfers dragged their boards onto the beach and sat down beside Frankie. They watched him, smiling.
Tony looked out into the surf where a guy had just pulled himself atop his board. The fellow lay prone on it, looking over his shoulder as a wave swelled behind him. As the crest of the wave rolled beneath his feet, the surfer stroked rapidly several times. The wave caught the board and he began his long ride into shore.
Tony waded out further, pushing his board ahead. This surfing didn't look too difficult. He turned parallel to the waves, grasped the board and heaved himself on top of it. But he was too far to the rear and the front of the board rose to a 45-degree angle. The board shot out from under Tony and he hit the water on his back. A huge wave roared in and broke over him, ramming salt water into his mouth and nose. Tony regained his footing, sputtering. He heard laughter from the shore.
Tony waded after his bobbing surfboard, swearing to himself and feeling like a fool. Frankie rose and tugged her damp bikini over her buttocks. "Well, I guess I'd better teach this gremmie to surf before he drowns himself."
Tony retrieved his board and waded in to shore. He grinned in embarrassment. "It's not as easy as it looks."
Frankie reached out and ran her hand over the surface of his surfboard. "God, this is like glass. Didn't they tell you that you're supposed to put some paraffin on it for surer footing?"
Tony shook his head, feeling foolish. Frankie walked over to a striped beach bag on the sand, reached into it and brought out a slab of paraffin. She came back, took Tony's board and laid it down on the sand. She began smearing on the paraffin in little circular strokes. Her forty inchers, flexed and bobbed inside the brief halter. The other surfers rose, took their boards and waded back into the surf.
Frankie finished with the board and tossed the paraffin back into the beach bag. She picked up her board and took Tony's hand. "Come on, this is no place to learn. You need to start in low surf to get the feel of the board."
Tony picked up his own board and they walked together along the beach. Occasionally one of her rippling thighs brushed Tony's leg, making his skin tingle.
"Where's Frankenstein today?" Tony asked, grinning.
She smiled. "He'll be out in a little while." She pouted prettily. "And don't call my boyfriend Frankenstein. You should see him on a basketball court. He was honorable mention Ail-American last year.
"I'll bet a giraffe could have done better," Tony said sarcastically.
She smiled and punched him playfully in the side with her elbow.
They passed a sandbar. On the other side, the surf was calmer, with small, widely spaced waves. Frankie tossed her board down on the sand. "This should be about right."
She took his hand and led him into the water. "Now grab your board just past the center," she instructed. Tony did this. "Now just roll yourself over onto it." Tony heaved himself up, almost slipped, then slid onto the board. He hung on, bobbing in the quiet surf.
"Good," Frankie said. "Now we'll just paddle around a bit. Reach ahead with your arms and pull down deeply." Tony tried it and the board careened wildly. "No," she chided. "Pull down, not out and around."
Tony tried it again and the board plowed ahead smoothly. "Good," Frankie complimented. "You'll make a good surfer. You've got such strong arms and shoulders."
Tony paddled around on the board for a while, gaining confidence. She showed him how to drag one foot in the water and pull harder with the opposite arm to turn. Tony was trying hard to be a good student, and she seemed to enjoy teaching him.
After an hour of paddling around, she decided he was ready to try a wave. She took hold of the board just below his knees and pushed him out into deeper water. Once, when she bent forward to shove the board ahead, one of her enormous breasts blooped down and touched his thigh. The feel of it aroused Tony.
She turned him in toward shore. "Now, the trick of catching a wave is to wait until its crest hits your toes, then paddle like hell for about three or four strokes, so that your speed will match the wave's. Got that?"
"Yeah, I think so."
She held onto the board, looking back over her shoulder at an approaching wave. Tony felt the wave slap into his ankles. "Pull! Pull!" Frankie shouted, shoving the board forward. Tony stroked mightily, then felt the force of the wave catch the board. He rode it to within twenty-five yards of shore before he lost his balance and slipped off the board.
"Nice going!" Frankie yelled.
She worked with him through the morning, teaching him how to crawl to his feet on the board, legs spaced wide apart. It must have been about one or two o'clock when they finally waded ashore. Tony walked to a refreshment stand and brought back hamburgers and cold drinks. They relaxed on their surfboards and ate the food.
"You're doing pretty good for a gremmie," Frankie said. She stretched out on her back on her surfboard. She crossed her legs and little muscles flexed across her flat, tanned tummy.
"Do you think I'm ready for the big surf?" Tony asked.
"Maybe lying down on the board, but not standing. You'd do a pearl dive the first thing." She smiled up at him, running her tongue over her dazzling white teeth. "And I'd hate to see you get a bump on that handsome head."
"You're real good at surfing," Tony said, looking down admiringly at her nut-brown body. He noted that her eyes were a bluish green, the color of the sea. "Been surfing long?"
She shrugged. "Not very. I eat and sleep surfing right now, but I'll probably lose interest before long and take up something else. I think a person should experience every sensation there is. If he doesn't, he's not really living. Might as well be embalmed and put six feet under."
"Every sensation?" Tony teased.
She looked directly into his eyes, meaningfully. "Every sensation," she said with emphasis. "My family are middle-class bores. Sometimes I think they're not real people at all, just straw people, controlled by disgusting middle-class morals. I'm the black sheep." She laughed reflectively. "You should have seen my old man's face when he read that essay I did for the college magazine, expounding the virtues of free love."
"Free love-I'm for that," Tony said jokingly.
"My thesis was that with no Victorian sex mores, there'd be fewer frustrated neurotics, fewer rapes and sex crimes."
"Sounds reasonable," Tony said, although he wasn't sure what "mores" were.
Frankie rose suddenly and picked up her surfboard. "Come on. I want to get my kicks in before the big surf peters out."
Tony picked up his board and trotted behind as she ran along the beach near the water, playfully dodging the waves as they gushed up to die on the sand. Her breasts and buttocks were tumultuous in the tight bikini. He thought about how he'd like to give her a little of that free love she was so hot for.
The other kids were still out in the high surf, riding waves in, then rushing out again to catch another as if they expected someone to pull the plug on the ocean any minute, draining it.
Tony saw a gangling, familiar figure. It was Frankenstein, riding the back of a towering wave. Tony was surprised to see that he was rather graceful on a surfboard despite his size. Mr. Basketball swung his board to one side, sweeping along parallel to the wave, weaving. He moved to the front of his board.
"Look, he's hanging ten," Frankie said admiringly. She waded into the surf, flopped down on her board and paddled out toward the breakers.
Tony followed her into the water and rolled onto his own board. But he found the going tougher in the larger waves. He hadn't gone twenty-five yards before a breaker slammed into his board, spun it around and upended it. Tony struggled to his feet, reaching out to grab his board before it got away.
Tony glanced up and saw Mr. Basketball roaring in on his wave, looking tall as Goliath. Marvin glanced down and saw Tony bobbing in the water. His face twisted into a snarl-smile. He shifted his weight and the board twisted around, heading straight for Tony.
Tony tried to sidestep, but the board, kicking up spray, zeroed in on him like a missile. An instant before the sharp stem of the board could split his head open, Tony leaped and dove for the bottom. The board sliced over his body, the fin bruising one of his thighs.
Tony surfaced, sputtering. He was mad as hell. He saw Mr. Basketball pivot his board out of the wave, lie down on it and start paddling away from shore. Half-swimming, half-running, Tony splashed toward him, forgetting his own board. Tony strained forward, grabbed Mr. Basketball's board and twisted. The board turned over and the guy hit the water on his back, his bony legs pumping in the air. Tony sprang on him before he could regain his balance, grabbed the guy's long arm and twisted it behind his back. The fellow yelled in pain. Tony, angry blood roaring through his head, shifted his weight and fell down on top of Mr. Bones, driving him underwater and holding him there with knees on his back. The guy struggled to free himself, but Tony's solid legs were like two pile drivers ramming him into the sand of the ocean bottom. Through the roaring in his head, Tony vaguely heard Frankie yell something. But the words were lost in the roar of the surf.
If a giant wave hadn't knocked Tony loose from his death grip on Mr. Basketball, he might have drowned him. The guy struggled to his feet, strangling and coughing. He lurched to shore, fell to his knees on the sand and vomited. The knobby bones of his spine stood out under his skin as he heaved. Then he fell to his stomach on the sand, moaning.
One of the other surfers, a short, stocky guy with a crew cut, waded up to Tony. "I saw him try to run you down," he said. "The bastard had it coming."
Mr. Basketball got to his feet shakily and walked, rubber-knead, away from the beach, rubbing one of his bony arms. He hadn't even bothered to retrieve his surfboard.
Frankie paddled up to Tony on her board. "Well, muscle-bound, did you satisfy your brute lust for blood?" She sounded a little put-out, but Tony noted that her eyes were sparkling with excitement.
Tony retrieved his surfboard and together they paddled out into the breakers. Lying prone on his board, Tony rode a few waves, then became cocky with self-confidence. He tried to get to his feet on the board and learned what Frankie had meant by "taking a pearl dive." He got off to a late start on a wave and it caught the stern of his board just as he was crawling to his feet. The turbulent water drove the prow of the board into the water, throwing Tony overboard. He fought his way to the surface, just as the wave flipped the surfboard over on top of him, smacking him across the backside.
Tony and Frankie spent the rest of the afternoon in the surf. Frankie's crowd seemed to have accepted Tony as a replacement for Mr. Basketball and gave him pointers on surfing techniques. The sun set, then darkness dropped rapidly over the beach. Somebody built a fire.
Tony and Frankie waded ashore, exhausted from their exertion. They sat down near the fire, thighs touching. One of the fellows took out a ukulele and began to strum it. The brunette who had rented Tony his board rose by the fire and began to dance the hula.
Frankie reached out and took Tony's hand. She placed it against one of her warm, smooth thighs and held it there, gazing into the reddish-yellow flames of the fire.
Tony glanced around at the rest of the group. They had been a single fun-loving unit that afternoon, but now they were pairing off, male and female.
There was heavy petting going on at the edge of the firelight. One girl with long beautifully-shaped legs was lying with her head on a guy's stomach. His hands were inside her bikini halter.
Tony moved closer to Frankie. He put his arm around her waist and she snuggled to him. His hand rested lightly across her tummy, just below the navel. He felt the muscles tremble slightly.
A yellow, full moon rose sluggishly over the ocean, casting a pale whitish glow over the beach. Couples were leaving the fire, melting into the shadows of the sand dunes with blankets under their arms. No one put more wood on the fire and the blaze flickered and went out, its coals glowing like bright red rubies in the darkness. Tony leaned down and kissed Frankie behind her ear. She turned and her hands glided up his chest to pull his head down to her warm, sensual lips. Her tongue wiggled through his parted lips, a hot little lance of desire which sought, then found his. Her lips tasted fresh, like a ripe tomato from the vine, with a faint tinge of salty spray. Tony embraced her tightly, and her lush, prodigious breasts were warm mounds against his chest.
'Oh, Tony," she whispered. "Let's go for a walk."
They rose and Tony reached down and picked up a blanket. Embracing, they strolled down the moonlit beach.
They had walked about fifty yards when they heard a splash and a giggle. Tony saw two wet, naked bodies gleaming in the moonlight. It was the brunette with the gorgeous legs and her boyfriend. They were knee-deep in the surf, playfully scooping up water in their hands and hurling it at one another. The guy moved toward her and they embraced as the surf frothed at their knees. His hands moved to her naked white buttocks and she locked her arms around his neck.
Her long, thin legs slid up his thighs and entwined his waist. They fell into the curling white water.
Pretending to ignore the pair, Frankie led Tony away from the beach and into the sheltered shadow of a large dune. Tony spread the blanket on the sand, then raised and embraced her roughly, his hands sliding down to cup her full, arching buttocks. She didn't protest. Instead, she rose on tip toes in the sand and thrust her over-sized breasts against his chest. She kissed him open-mouthed, her mischievous little tongue finding his, luring it like a hypnotized bird into her own mouth, then nipping it playfully with sharp white teeth.
Frankie moaned deep in her throat and they sank down slowly on the blanket. Tony embraced her again and her body thrust forward to press against his, hotly responsive from breasts to thighs. Her long red hair was a wild, unruly storm cloud about her neck and shoulders. Tony raised, his eager, nervous fingers fumbling to unhook her halter. He couldn't find the hook, but most of her lush breasts were out of her halter anyway, so he grasped the upper cups of the garment and tugged down. He moved his hands to her naked breasts and was shocked at what he found. They felt even larger than they had looked in the halter. His cupped hands couldn't begin to cover them: She had more tit than two average women could offer a man. The halter still encircled her chest just below the breasts, thrusting them up and out like an uplift bra. Her breasts were burning to his touch as if heated by a fire inside. His fingers found her nipples and explored them incredulously. They were large as the end of his thumb. As he touched them they came alive, twisting, distending until it seemed they were an inch long, as large as the over-sized nipples of a baby's bottle. He rolled them between his fingers. She squirmed on the blanket. "Oh, Tony ... Tony."
He bent forward and found a nipple with his lips. Moaning, she embraced his neck, pushing his head down into her hot, throbbing mounds as if trying to smother him. His tongue found a nipple and pressed it deep into the heart of her abnormal breasts, massaging. Her body tensed as if electrical current had slammed into it. She had super-breasts and they were super-sensitive. "Tony ... Tony ... oh ... oh."
Tony's hand slid down to her lower stomach. Trim little muscles corded there, straining. His tongue moved in fast little circles and her shoulders raised from the blanket as she sought to crush her breast against his face. Her little tummy heaved under his hand as she gasped and squirmed. Tony took her other nipple in his fingers and pinched it gently. The little muscles of her tummy corded, hard as iron. Her hips thrust up from the blanket and a guttural cry rose from deep within her throat. Her tummy contracted, then distended, contracted again in a spasm of nipups.
Tony leaned down. "Honey, did you?" he whispered, doubtful that her emotions had climaxed solely from his teasing.
"Yes ... oh, yes!"
Tony's loins were burning. He wanted her badly!
His hands moved to strip down her bikini pants. She caught his wrists. "No, Tony ... no. Not here on the beach. There are too many sex maniacs around. Last week a girl was mangled horribly. Let's go to my apartment. You can wait a little while, can't you?"
"You're worth waiting for, Frankie," he said. But Tony was swearing under his breath. Damned, illogical women. Here she was lying on her back, naked knockers jutting up like the twin peaks of Everest. Did she think that wouldn't be enough to set off any sex maniac?
Frankie pulled her halter up and rose. Tony picked up the rumpled blanket, shook the sand out of it and folded it under his arm.
Frankie's motel was a five-minute walk up the beach. She shivered as they trudged along in the sand and Tony wrapped the blanket around her shoulders. It was getting late and the breeze from the ocean brought a chill with it.
The motel was set well back from the beach amid grotesquely shaped sand dunes. It was a pink stone structure with asphalt walkways insetted with varicolored sea shells.
Frankie led him up to an apartment marked "7." She opened her beach bag and rummaged inside, looking for her key. Movement at the window caught Tony's eye and he glanced up. The drapes parted, then quickly closed. Tony caught a glimpse of a blurred female face.
Frankie was having a hard time finding her key.
"Will your uh roommate object to your bringing me in?" Tony asked.
Frankie glanced at the still-oscillating curtains. "She won't mind. She'll be in bed."
Frankie finally found the key and inserted it in the door.
"Does she go to your school?" Tony asked.
"No ... she's a Vassar girl," Frankie said impatiently, as if anxious to change the subject. She opened the door and they stepped inside.
The room was dimly lighted by a great stone table lamp in a corner. The apartment was more elegant than the one in which Tony was staying. This one had thick white carpets. Several ornate mirrors hung on the pink stone walls. It apparently had two bedrooms, but the door to one was closed. There was the faint odor of perfume in the apartment.
The scent was strangely familiar, but Tony didn't take time to think about it. He moved to embrace Frankie, but she side-stepped, smiling. She headed for the bedroom. "I'm going to take a quick shower to get the sand out of my hair," she said. She waved toward a small portable refrigerator in a corner. "Fix us a drink."
Tony walked over and opened the refrigerator. There was a decanter of orange juice and a fifth of vodka inside, both frosted. He took a couple of glasses from atop the refrigerator and poured them three-fourths full of juice. He topped off the juice with vodka and closed the refrigerator door.
Tony heard a shower sputter, then come on. He took a sip of his drink and glanced at the closed bedroom door. A shaft of light came from under it.
"Bring my drink in, Tony," Frankie called above the noise of the shower.
Tony carried the drinks into the bedroom. The bathroom door was open and the light was on. Tony glanced hopefully at the door to the shower stall, but it was of opaque glass. He walked into the bathroom. "Here we are. Two screwdrivers."
The shower door opened a crack and a suntanned arm came out. He passed the drink to her and the arm disappeared inside the stall.
Tony had an impulse to drop his trunks and jump into the shower with her, but he decided Frankie might not be as unconventional as Margo.
"Put on a record, Tony," Frankie called, "I'll be out in a minute."
Tony walked back into the living room. He found a portable record player and flicked on a switch. He noted that there was still a light in the other bedroom.
He heard a noise and turned. His eyes widened. Frankie was in the doorway, wearing a short black transparent negligee and black spike-heeled shoes. The garment scarcely covered her lower stomach and did little more than add a tinge of dark coloring to her nakedness. Her prodigious breasts jutted loosely into the wispy material, the pecan-sized nipples plainly visible. She had combed her flashing red hair back and tied it with a dark ribbon of the same material as her negligee. She smiled alluringly at Tony, then turned around sharply, the flimsy nightie curling about her body like puffs of thin smoke. His quick eyes caught a glimpse of white, naked buttocks.
Tony followed her into the bedroom like a hypnotized zombie. Vaguely he was wondering if the adage were true that red-haired women were hotter, more passionate bedmates.
Dim light from the living room spilled into the bedroom, leaving it in semigloom. Frankie was lying on her back on the bed, one leg raised seductively. She was still wearing her spiked-heeled shoes.
Tony kneeled by the bed and embraced her hungrily. Her body was sweetly perfumed and freshly talcum powdered. She embraced his neck, pulling his lips down to hers. They kissed fervently, tongues touching, caressing.
Tony's eager hands went to her glistening thighs, stroking, massaging. He lifted the hem of the nightie and pulled it up to just below her breasts. The fiery red hair of her head was closely matched by the lustrous fire below. He leaned down and kissed her tummy and felt it shiver deliciously under his lips. The flesh the bikini had covered was creamy white and satiny to his touch. There was an oval-shaped strawberry birthmark two or three inches below and to the right of her oval, deeply inset navel. Her eager fingers twisted in his air, guiding his head up her body to her throbbing, super-sensitive breasts. Tony kissed her mounds through the wispy material, then eased the garment up and over her head. Her lush breasts creamy white and outlined by tan jutted up at him, throbbing with an inner sexual pressure. Tony's throat constricted with longing. "They're beautiful, Frankie," he whispered, "beautiful...." In the light the nipples looked even larger than they had felt. They were like two great, oversized strawberries blood red with a waxy glow. Breathing heavily, she reached up and pulled his face to her breasts. He teased first one, then the other, massaging the strawberry nipples with his lips. She moaned, body stiffening. But this time Tony wanted more from her. He reached down and skinned away his swim trunks. He moved down until her hot, restless thighs touched his. She winced. "Oh...." Then her body heat seemed to be setting fire to his lower being.
Tony sensed at once that Frankie was relatively inexperienced compared to veteran Margo. Her hips were uncertain, defensive. It was going to be a pleasure to teach for a change. Tony's body took up a slow, slow rhythm, like the ageless rolling of the sea against the land. He grasped her nipples between fingertips, rolling and pinching them. Her hesitant hips became more demanding, her legs more restless. Her ankles crossed over and locked around his upper thighs, the spiked heels jabbing into his flesh like leather spurs. "Tony," she whispered urgently, "Oh, Tony ... dearest."
Through a fog of passion, Tony thought he heard a noise in the living room. He had a feeling that eyes were on them, watching.
He felt a pressure building in her lower tummy: like water mounting against a weakening dam. Her hips and buttocks rose from the bed to match his rhythm and thrust back demandingly. Tony retreated from her, leaving her moaning, gasping, teetering on the brink of a plunge to ecstasy through pink and purple perfumed clouds. Her hips became more pneumatic, almost vicious, as she sought to throw herself headlong into that glorious plunge to rapture. Her ankles crawled higher on Tony's thighs, jabbing ruthlessly as she sought to spur him over the brink. But each time she wavered on the edge, Tony retreated from her. She moaned and cursed and tinned her head to bite the pillow. "Tony ... please..." she pleaded urgently. "I've got to ... if I don't I'll die." Her searing heat set Tony's own body afire. And this time as they approached the edge, he couldn't hold back. He gasped and moaned with her as their bodies beat against one another like two gladiators in combat, each seeking his own desperate release. "Tony ... Tony!" she cried. Her face turned again and her strong white teeth clamped down on the pillow. Her tummy broke into rapturous spasms and a moment later he followed her in that long, retching plunge that drives the nerve ends crazy.
They lay for a long while entwined in their love embrace, savoring the warm, delicious aftermath as their racing hearts slowly subsided. Frankie drew a deep, quavering breath, then sighed deeply. "Oh, Tony," she exulted. "Where did you learn to make love like that? I've never been so close to passing out before."
Tony grinned with cocky assurance. "I've had a good teacher."
"I'll bet you have," she said, pouting with a bit of mock jealousy.
Tony rolled gently to one side as she reached for a pack of cigarettes on a night table. "God, I've got to have some joy weed to soothe my nerves," she said. "Want one?"
Tony shook his head. "The stuff makes me sick to my stomach."
Frankie took out a cigarette and placed it between her lips. She picked up a heart-shaped lighter, flicked it into flame and touched it to the reefer. She sucked the smoke into her lungs hungrily, sighing deeply as she exhaled.
"I could use another drink, though," Tony said. He rose from the bed, pulled on his swim trunks and walked into the living room. He found a fifth of bourbon on a shelf near the refrigerator, poured a glass half full and walked into the kitchen to fill it with water.
Tony stopped short in the doorway. A delightfully curved bottom, encased in skin-tight blue stretch shorts, was leaning against the sink. Buttocks vibrated as the brunette girl rinsed off dishes under the tap. She wore a white silk halter with large blue polka dots. Her raven-black hair, brushed straight back and tied with a polka dotted ribbon, gleamed with spitting, metallic luster under the overhead light. The suntanned skin of her shoulders had an almost olive-golden hue. Her legs were long, slender, beautifully shaped.
She sensed Tony's presence and turned sharply. Her oval face looked surprised as it had when Tony had barged upon her on the rock in the lagoon.
CHAPTER SIX Race Makes a Proposition
For at least a hundred times Tony must have thought about what he was going to do and say if he ever met the fascinating nymph in the lagoon. And now that he faced her, he could only gawk like an idiot.
Her eyes were cold, almost contemptuous. She turned back to the sink without a greeting.
Tony took a hesitant step into the room. "You ... uh ... must be Frankie's roommate."
"Brilliant deduction," the girl said sarcastically, without looking up from her dishwashing. Her voice matched her icy dark eyes.
Tony knew she must have seen Frankie and himself entwined on the bed when she had walked from her bedroom to the kitchen. Was she upset because they hadn't closed the door?
He wanted to tell her he had found her towel, but couldn't think of a good way to do it. "Need some help with the dishes?" he asked.
"No, thank you," she said, voice frigid as a polar bear's breath. Tony watched the movement of her trim, lovely shoulders as she rinsed glasses in the sink.
Tony sipped his drink and shuffled awkwardly. Damn! He had never wanted to score so badly with a girl in all his life. But he had the futile feeling that he was trying to melt a glacier with a birthday cake candle. He turned reluctantly and walked out of the kitchen.
Tony glanced into the bedroom. Frankie had finished her cigarette and had slid under the covers. She looked as though she was sleeping.
He finished his drink and put the empty glass down on top of the refrigerator. He turned and left the apartment, fighting down an impulse to slam the door. Hell, why wouldn't the brunette talk to him? What was she so huffy about?
Tony walked back toward his motel. The night breeze off the ocean was downright cold now. He reached the deserted, moon washed beach and stepped up his gait to a jog. When he arrived at his apartment, his body was goose bumped from neck to ankles. He opened the door and went inside.
Dobber looked up from the chair where he was sitting. His face brightened when he saw Tony. He was in a bad way. He looked as if all the blood had been pumped out of his body; his face was ashen, flecked with perspiration. An empty whisky bottle lay at his feet on the floor. "Tony ... Damn, I'm glad you came in. You got any cabbage? I need a fix bad, man."
Tony shook his head. "I'm flat again."
A muscle twitched in Dobber's pale cheek. He looked as though he was about to bawl. "What am I going to do, Tony? I can't last the night without it. I'll crawl out of my hide." The twitching in his face spread, and his whole body trembled.
Tony sat down wearily in a chair. He shook his head. "I don't know, Dobber. I don't know."
The door to the adjoining apartment opened suddenly and Race strode in, wearing only his shorts. His face was hard in anger. "I thought I heard you come in, kid. Goddamn, where you been? I had a camera and some lights rented and Margo was all hot to trot, but we couldn't find you."
"I was out surfing with some kids." Tony frowned, puzzled. "What kind of deal did you have cooking, Race?"
"Hell, kid, I thought I told you. It's a sex movie. I found a contact who'll hand across half a G for a good film. That's a pretty fair price, although I used to get eight hundred or a thousand in the Bronx."
"Sex movie?"
"Hell, kid, you've seen them. The middle-class weeds show them at their stag parties."
Tony still didn't understand what Race was driving at. "What did you wartt me to do, Race?"
Race clapped a hand to his forehead. "Goddamn! Do I have to spell out everything for you, kid. I thought you knew your way around. You'll lay Margo, see. And I'll make a movie of it."
Tony paused in the act of brushing sand from his hair. He gulped. "You mean do do it with a camera going?"
"Sure, why not? I know you've been laying Margo: She's never been around a good-looking young hipster more than a couple of hours before she's got him in bed. And, because you're a good buddy of mine, I let you get it for free. Now, I'm just asking a little favor. All you've got to do is knock off a piece while I run the camera and we're in the dough again."
Tony shook his head bewilderedly. "I don't think so, Race. Hell, I've never done anything like that before."
"There's nothing to it, kid. It's just plain old laying like you've been doing. Margo's made them before. She'll show you what to do."
Tony shook his head again more firmly as he made his decision. "No, Race. People would be looking at the film, watching me do it. Hell, that would be like picking your nose in the middle of Times Square at high noon." He shook his head. "No. I don't want any part of it."
"Gooddamn!" Race snapped, his face livid with anger. Tony thought he was going to stride across the floor and slap him. "Man, I sure can pick some weirdies. I thought you guys had been around and knew the score. And I find I've got myself tied up with a crazy dopehead and a pantywaist." He turned and started back into his apartment, shaking his head.
"Race, can could you loan us a ... little cash?" Dobber asked, sounding like a meek kid asking his father for his allowance. "I'm out of H and I need a fix badly."
Tony winced, waiting for Race to explode.
Race flexed his fingers as if getting ready to wring the neck of a chicken. He glared at Dobber. "Why don't you go drown yourself in the ocean, junkie?" He turned and went into his apartment, slamming the door.
Dobber gulped, then his body broke into a spasm of shakes. Tony rose and walked over to the bureau. He pulled open a drawer and found a quarterfull bottle of whisky. He brought it to Dobber.
"Here, drink this and try to get some sleep. Maybe we can come up with some cabbage tomorrow."
"The movie-" Dobber said, teeth chattering, "he said he'd give us a cut."
Tony shook his head. "There's got to be a better way to get cabbage. Hell, I'd rather rob an old lady than know people would be watching me do it on a screen."
Dobber took the whisky bottle in shaking hands and brought it to his lips. He drained it and dropped it on the carpet. He lurched over to the couch and stretched out.
Tony flicked off the lights, dropped his swim trunks to the floor and crawled wearily into bed. Damn, he was bushed. Surfing alone was enough to tire a cat. But getting tangled up with a bundle like Frankie in-addition was like an extra five miles added onto a twenty-mile hike.
Tony fell into deep, exhausted slumber. But every hour or so Dobber's tortured cries brought him to the surface of wakefulness. Once, after many moans and curses, he heard Dobber pleading for death....
CHAPTER SEVEN The Photographer's Model
Tony awoke feeling like hell. Dobber's moaning had kept him awake most of the night. Tony's eyes were inflamed; he had a headache and his mouth had the taste of battery acid.
Tony sat up in bed and blinked at the glaring sunlight. He stretched, then winced. Each muscle in his body seemed to have its own particular protest. That surfing was more strenuous than he thought.
Dobber was curled and into a writhing ball of pain on the couch. He was sleeping, but now and then he moaned and his body broke into violent trembling.
Tony slid out of bed deliberately. He stretched his stiff muscles, then stood up and pulled on his swim trunks. He walked over to the bureau and opened the top drawer. No liquor. Damn, he could sure use a drink. He moved over to a chair and settled his aching body into it gingerly. He looked out the window, idly watching the sea birds as they soared high over the surf, then swooped down suddenly to grab small shell fish in the shallow water.
A tap sounded at the door to the connecting apartment. The door opened slowly and Margo stuck her head inside. "Is everybody up?"
"Yeah," Tony said wearily. "But I wish I were back in bed."
"Oh?" said Margo with mock sympathy. "Does my little stud horse feel bad today?" Her tongue was thick, her speech slurred.
"God, do I need a drink bad," Tony said. "You got any liquor left?"
Margo stepped into the room, a bit unsteadily. "Surprise!" She held up a half-filled glass with one hand and a fifth of bourbon with the other. "I'm drinking Coke and whisky today. Care to join me, lover boy?"
She was wearing a transparent nylon wrapper. Underneath, Tony could see the outlines of a black-lace bra, black panties and garter belt, and dark, smoky hose. She wore trim, red pumps with spiked heels.
Tony eyed the bottle of bourbon. "You're like a Florence Nightingale."
"Want me to get you a Coke, hon?"
Tony shook his head. "Naw, I need it straight today. God, what a night."
Margo turned unsteadily and looked at Dobber, who was flaked out on the couch. "Dopey here run out of stuff again?"
Tony nodded. He rose, walked over to the bureau and picked up a glass. "We've got to come up with some cabbage for the stuff today or they'll be packing the both of us off to the nut house."
Tony reached for the bottle, but she moved it behind her back mischievously. "Give me something for it," she teased.
Tony grinned. "What?"
She raised an eyebrow impishly. "Maybe a kiss to start."
Tony leaned down and pecked her on the nose. "How's that?"
"Want me to break the bottle over your Goddamned head?"
Tony laughed, leaned down again and kissed her hard on the lips, open-mouthed. His tongue wiggled forward and found hers.
He broke off the kiss and looked into her green eyes. "That good enough for a drink?"
"Hmmmmm," she said, passing him the bottle. She giggled intoxicatedly and weaved over to a chair. She fell into it, almost spilling her drink. She crossed her legs and the nylon wrapper split open to the tops of her black stockings.
Tony poured the glass half full of bourbon and took several deep gulps. The whisky sizzled into his insides resoundingly. He sat down in a chair and looked at Margo's finely sculptured legs. She took a sip of her drink, then, eyes twinkling, smoothed a hand up her calves and along her inner thighs, finally stopping to inspect her garter belt fastenings at the top of her hose. She looked up at him, eyes still twinkling. "You're flat broke again, are you?"
Tony nodded glumly.
She raised an eyebrow. "Did Race ah tell you about the movie? He's willing to give you a good cut out of the deal."
Tony took a long pull at his drink. He shook his head. "Margo, I couldn't do it with people watching."
She tossed her blonde head back and laughed. Then she leaned forward, her green eyes bright with introspective lust. They seemed to be spinning in her head, blurring hypnotically. "Having people watch gives you an added kick. But the real fun comes later when you can sit back and watch yourself being naughty on the screen."
Tony finished his drink and rose to pour another. He felt is if the liquor was setting fire to his bloodstream. "How many films have you made?" he asked, feeling a little sick to his stomach.
She smiled. "Oh, a dozen or so, I guess." She laughed. "I'm a regular Hollywood star, aren't I." She leaned forward, holding out her glass. "Give me a refill, will you sweet?" The nylon wrapper split open farther and Tony saw that she did, indeed, have on black lace panties and a black garter belt.
Tony filled her glass to the brim, then poured himself another stiff one. He could feel his brain starting to tingle, then fade into numbness.
He sat down again, facing her. He couldn't keep his eyes off her smoky thighs. His pulse rate began to climb. "Why aren't they red today?" he asked, the liquor giving him sudden boldness.
She followed his gaze to her black-pantied hips. She smiled and winked at him. "Oh, this is my movie star's costume," she said lightly. "I'm all dressed for my role. Race says the guys who gape at these films like to see black hose and a lot of black, lacy underclothes. Erotic stuff know what I mean?"
Tony nodded. He knew damned well. They were doing things to him-disturbing things. Yet he couldn't understand it. It didn't make sense. He had laid her several times and was intimately familiar with every curving inch of her gorgeous body. Yet, seeing her in the sleek black hose, the spike-heeled shoes, the black lace under things, they all fired his blood again. His hands were eager to strip away the exotic wrapping and reveal the woman underneath, although he knew full well what was there.
He raised his glass but had a hard time finding his lips. When he did, they seemed large as a cannibal's. He knew he was getting stoned. "Is Race going to get some one else for the movie, I mean since I'm not going to be in it?" His tongue felt as if it was tied to the roof of his mouth.
Margo smiled, her green eyes seeming to spin faster. "Race thinks you'll change your mind." She stroked her leg again, and the wrapper split open all the way up to her navel. "He was hoping I could talk you into it."
Tony finished his drink. The pulse throbbed at his temples. He wanted her badly. "And if you don't, do you get another whipping?" His speech was slurring and he had the strange feeling that his voice was coming from someplace else in the room.
Margo shrugged. "Maybe."
Dobber cried out in his sleep and turned over on his stomach. His bony hands clawed at the upholstery in agony like someone in terror trying to climb the vertical walls of a snake pit.
Margo slowly uncrossed, then recrossed her slender legs. An impish smile was frozen on her lips. Tony rose unsteadily and lurched over to where she sat. His head felt like a basin of water with the plug just pulled. He grabbed for her, but she dodged, giggling. He almost fell flat on his face. She reached out and took his arm, steadying him. He embraced her shoulders, standing above her by the chair, swaying. "Margo ... let's go somewhere, to be alone "
She looked up, passion beginning to burn in her eyes. She reached up and ran light fingers through his tousled hair. "You know you do look like my teacher at the state home. He had such gentle hands but they could hurt just at the right time..."
Tony tugged at her drunkenly. "Margo ... let's go somewhere."
"I'd love to, sweetheart but I can't. Race is expecting me back. He's all set up for the movie." Her green eyes were intense. "Come with me, Tony. Make the movie. I'll be even better than being alone with me. There'll be kicks you've never had before."
"Margo ... I ... can't stand the thought that other people will be watching the movie. Maybe even somebody I know."
"Don't worry about that, Tony. Race will shoot it where the faces won't show up too well. And after the film is reprinted a hundred times or more it'll be too dark to make out a face, anyway."
"Margo ... I..."
She rose and embraced him, her cool, soft hands caressing the hot flesh of his neck and shoulders. Her hips pressed against his, hotly. She ground her body against him as though trying to start a fire like rubbing sticks together. Even through her clothing, Tony could feel the heat of her breasts and lower stomach.
Margo took Tony's arm and led him toward the door to the adjoining apartment. He followed her like a lamb with a rope around its neck.
They entered the apartment and Margo tugged him into the bedroom. Race glanced up as they came in. He had pulled the bed out into the center of the room and was fooling with some photographic lights he had positioned around it. A drink in a tall glass was on the floor by his feet. He smiled thinly. "Well, kid, I see you got smart." He moved a light about a foot and repositioned the lamp angle. "I'm just about ready here. Then we can get this show on the road. I found a guy who'll process the film for me, but I'll have to get it to him early this afternoon to receive it by tonight. I'm supposed to meet my contact at eight o'clock. Then we'll have half a grand in our pockets. How's that sound, kid?"
"I need a drink," Tony mumbled thickly.
"Sure, kid." Race picked up a bottle off a table and poured a glass half full of whisky. He handed it to Tony. .
"What gimmick are we going to use this time?" Margo asked Race.
He shrugged. "The photographer-model is always a good one. You still got that camera?"
Margo nodded. "I'll get it."
Tony sat down heavily in a chair. He gulped down his drink, trying to pickle his conscience.
Margo rummaged through her luggage and pulled out a small still camera. Race picked up an extension cord off the floor and plugged it into a wall socket. The lights flared on around the bed and Tony winced, closing his eyes. He felt as though his head was spinning on his shoulders like some crazy top.
Race took a movie camera from a table. He walked over to a chair and turned it around so that its back was to the bed. He sat down, straddling the chair. He rested the camera on the back of it, pointing toward the bed. "O.K. Let's get this show started."
Margo walked over and took Tony's arm. He rose unsteadily. She pressed her camera into his hands. "You just do what I tell you, Tony." She winked. "We'll have a lot of fun. I promise."
She led him over to the bed. It was lighted like a boxing ring at Madison Square Garden. She released his hand and climbed into the bed, spike-heeled shoes and all. She smiled at Tony. "O.K. Now you're the photographer and I'm your model, get it? You're telling me how to pose. Every once in awhile you make a gesture and I'll change positions. Then I'll demand that you take your clothes off, too. After that, I'll make love to you."
"Here we go," Race said. He pressed a button on the camera and it began to whir. It was like a sound of doom to Tony, a symbol of the low, low depths to which he had fallen, a mark of his total capitulation with the ways of a sordid world.
CHAPTER EIGHT Warm Sun, Cold Woman
Voices were all about him: the yells of children, the shouts and laughter of teenagers and the low-toned conversation of adults. Also, there was the noise of the surf rolling against the beach and now and then, the piercing cry of a sea bird.
Tony lay on his back on the beach sand, the sun glaring down on his upturned face. Suntan lotion glistened on his dusky-olive skin.
Tony was only vaguely conscious of the hubbub about him. His mind was out of gear, floating dreamily. Yet, the sickening remorse that had jabbed into his consciousness after the sex movie the night before, still lingered, floating just under the surface of his brain like a cloud of putrid vapor.
Tony tried to put thoughts of the movie from his mind, to pretend it had never happened. But a persistent fear kept worming into his brain: What if his brother Tom should someday view the movie? Tony forced the thought from his mind and concentrated on the stinging heat of the sun. He envisioned the clean, shimmering rays of an expurgating force, baking and cleansing his body and mind of all evil.
After a while, Tony dozed off. But his slumber was fitful, shot through with nightmares. Once he saw himself lying naked on a bed with Margo, white-hot lights sizziling down upon them. Outside the oasis of light was a darkness thick as the void of space. And in the darkness, glimmering faintly, like stars, were millions of eyes, all turned toward the bed, staring.
Tony awakened when a small child, chasing a beach ball, jumped across his legs showering him with sand. Tonys face and hands stung from the harsh heat of the sun. He turned over on his side and glanced around at the people on the beach.
Tony was surprised to see Race standing near a refreshment stand talking to an unusually tall man dressed in dudish cowboy clothes. Race himself, wore a natty new sports outfit with snap-brim hat, narrow tie and expensive shoes. He looked like a prosperous Bronx bookie.
Tony raised on an elbow to get a better look at Race's companion. The fellow seemed strangely out of place among the bikini-clad figures on the beach. He wore a checkered Western shirt with string tie, tight corduroy riding pants and flashy flat-heeled boots. His Western-style hat, however, had a fashionably narrow brim. He must have been at least six-three, with red hair and giant, powerful hands. As Tony watched, the man turned and spat tobacco juice onto the sand.
Tony noticed a short Negro, husky as a grizzly bear, standing near the tall man as if he were some sort of a bodyguard. The Negro was disgustingly gorillalike, with a massive jaw and a great, flat nose with flaring nostrils. His powerful arms were unusually long, seeming to hang almost to his knees. His head was bald, shining greasily in the sunlight.
A small, skinny kid with freckles the same one who had awakened Tony kicked his plastic ball up the beach, then ran after it. The ball bounced twice, then rolled to a stop at the Negro's feet. The man lifted his short gorilla leg and viciously jabbed his heel into the ball, exploding it. The kid stopped short, looking up at the Negro with wide, fearful eyes. The man bellowed with laughter, sounding like a choking bull. He danced about on the sand like an idiot.
The kid pivoted and ran back down the beach, crying.
Tony lay down again, turning on his stomach to give his back a little sun. His gaze passed casually over a pair of shapely legs with a familiar olive-golden hue. His eyes swung back. It was Frankie's raven-haired roommate-the nymph of the lagoon-stretched out under a blue and white striped beach umbrella, not twenty yards away. She must have come out onto the beach while he slept, Tony concluded.
The girl was wearing a blue bikini with sexy lacing down the sides which left little diamonds of golden-tan flesh showing. She wore sunglasses. Her pony tail was tied in place with a blue and white polka dot scarf. Tony noticed something else, too a small, heart-shaped ruby hanging from a fine golden chain between her bikini-haltered breasts.
Tony shifted on the sand to get a better view of her. She held an almost hypnotic attraction for him. Her willowy body although lacking the lush overfullness of Margo's and Frankie's was, nevertheless, very sexy. It was perfectly proportioned fine, slender angles, delicately molded calves, tapering thighs, hips that curved pleasantly, instead of flaring vulgarily; firm, erect breasts; long, graceful neck and a beautiful oval face with delicate, finely boned features. She was reading a book under the umbrella.
Tony sat up. He wanted to talk to the girl so badly it was almost an irresistible urge. Her coolness deflated his masculine ego. He'd never yet encountered a girl with whom he couldn't get to first base.
Tony paused a moment to gather his courage, then rose and walked over to her. He squatted on the sand, looking down at her. "Hi, there. Enjoying yourself?"
She didn't answer: her eyes didn't move from the book. Tony scooped up a handful of sand and let it filter through his fingers. "I'm Tony Martino," he said uneasily. "I met you last night at Frankie's apartment."
Still no reaction. She turned a page of the book and went right on reading.
Tony was getting irritated. What was she teed off about? "Look," he said, "I'm sorry we barged in last night without letting you know we were coming. But Frankie said it was all right and that you wouldn't mind."
She silently turned another page, ignoring him. Tony noticed she was wearing a small silver identification bracelet around one of her trim ankles. He leaned forward and read the engraving on it. He turned back to her. "Evon," he said, "that's a beautiful locket you're wearing." He felt juvenile after he'd said it, but it was the only thing he could think of.
She glanced up from the book. Even through her shades Tony could see the angry snap of her eyes. "The name's E-von, not Ev-on," she said icily. "And this is a pendant, not a locket." Her eyes moved back to the book. "Am I keeping you from something, stupid?" she said, voice bitter with sarcasm.
Tony's hands gripped the sand and squeezed. Lord, how he wanted to wring that beautiful conceited neck! He glanced around the beach, fighting to control his anger. He noticed that Race and the tall, red-haired guy were watching them closely as they talked. The red-haired man's eyes seemed to be locked onto Evon's body like fishhooks.
Tony rose to his feet. He glared down at her. "By the way 'E-von', I have your towel," he said sarcastically. "I'll be glad to return it. You may need it the next time you go bare-assed swimming in the lagoon."
Tony turned and strode away. He noticed that she slammed her book closed angrily. It gave him a feeling of satisfaction to know at least he had stirred up some reaction from her, if only anger.
He walked to the edge of the surf and waded in. He needed to cool off. He sloshed out until the water was almost waist deep, then dove headlong into the incoming waves. He swam blindly ahead, ramming into the breakers, letting them spin him around and roll over his body. God, that woman made him mad!
Tony fought the surf for about five minutes, letting out his aggressions. Then he stumbled ashore and fell exhausted to the sand. He glanced around and saw that Evon had folded her umbrella and left the beach. This added to his satisfaction. That conceited bitch! What she needed was her butt paddled or a good lay to tame her down.
Tony lay there in the hot sun, letting it dry his dripping body. He had almost dozed off. when someone walked up and squatted down beside him. Tony opened his eyes and looked up. It was Race.
"Did you get the money, kid? You were still asleep when I walked in on you this morning, so I put it on your dresser."
Tony nodded. "The hundred bucks sure looked good to us. We got Dobber fixed up with enough H to last him for awhile."
Race adjusted his new silk tie. "The guy wants another film. He said he'll pay us a couple of Gs for this one."
"Race, I "
"I'll tell you more about it later," Race interrupted hastily. "What I wanted to ask you is who was that girl you were talking to over here?"
Tony frowned. "Her first name's Evon. I don't know her last. She's a roommate of a beach girl I'm dating. Why?"
Race leaned down and brushed sand from his gleaming alligator shoes. "I think she may be able to help us with our big deal. Does she have hot pants for you?"
Tony snorted bitterly. "She doesn't care for me much, I'm afraid."
"Hell, slap her around a bit, kid. Show her who's boss. These broads are like horses. They have to be ridden and broken before they're worth a damn."
"How can she help us with the deal?" Tony asked, curiosity aroused.
Race hesitated. Tony could see that he didn't want to be pinned down. "There's a guy who's interested in her," he said, finally. "If we could get her to play up to him, it would help our deal along."
"Is he that red-haired fellow you were talking to a minute ago? I noticed him ogling her."
Race looked out at the surf. "Yeah, that's the one, kid," he said reluctantly. "But don't worry about that. I'll work that angle. All you gotta do is get chummy with the broad, so she'll do what you tell her. Lay her a couple of times, real good know what I mean? That always gets them hooked."
Race rose and brushed off his trousers. "Well, we'll see you around, kid."
"Race," Tony said quickly, "about those movies I don't want any more to do with them. I just don't like to do it that way."
Race scowled down at him. "Suit yourself, kid. You're just throwing away five hundred bucks. That would buy a lot of snappy clothes."
"How would this film be different from the other?" Tony asked, trying not to sound interested. "How come you're getting more for it?"
"The guy wants two couples in this next one." Race laughed harshly. "That's what the reformers call hardcore pornography. I've already got a pair lined up. And if you're not interested, I can find another in about five minutes who'd lay Margo in the middle of town in front of a church for nothing. Since you're a good buddy, I was just giving you first crack at it."
Race turned and trudged off down the beach toward the motel.
Tony lay back on the warm sand and tried to doze off again. But he kept thinking about Race's new clothes and how sharp Tony Martino would look in a suit like that.
CHAPTER NINE The Erotic Circle
Tony sat back in the chair and looked at the fifth of bourbon on the coffee table. It was only half full now and was dwindling as if the bottle had sprung a leak. He drained his glass, leaned forward unsteadily and uncapped the bottle. He poured another stiff one and screwed the cap back on.
He'd come in from the beach about an hour before and found the apartment empty. He guessed Dobber was probably out meeting his pusher. Tony shifted uncomfortably in the chair. His body had a pinkish tinge of sunburn and his skin felt tight, hot and prickly. Tony took another sip of his drink. His insides were rapidly warming to match the glow of his skin.
Tony told himself that he was drinking just for kicks; but under the surface of his thoughts he knew that wasn't true: He was drinking to dull the pangs of his conscience.
Tony drained his glass and refilled it. A door closed in Race's apartment, then he heard voices.
Tony wondered how much Race had spent for his new sports outfit. He was sure those alligator shoes had set Race back plenty. Tony had never had a complete set of new clothes. He had felt lucky if he'd been able to buy a new pair of jeans and a T shirt once or twice a year. On the beach he could get by wearing just swim trunks, but if Frankie ever wanted to go out, he'd have to have some quality clothes.
Tony felt the familiar dullness settling into his mind as though the surface of his brain had been shellacked. He wondered what kind of movie Race was planning this time. Hadn't he said two couples?
Tony remembered a dirty picture some kid in school used to have which showed two men and two naked women on an iron posted bed. He remembered the small billfold size picture had been cracked and faded from much handling, yet it had excited him. Sometimes while in bed at night with the lights out, he thought about the picture, recalling it vividly in his mind down to the last detail.
The warm glow of the liquor spread from Tony's stomach into his loins. Someone tapped lightly on the door to the adjoining apartment. "Come in," Tony said thickly.
The door opened and Margo stepped inside the apartment. Tony looked up at her and blinked blurred eyes. She was wearing her transparent red nylon wrapper, but this time the only thing she had on under it were her black silk stockings. She wore high-heeled red pumps.
Margo walked over to where Tony sat. Her large breasts vibrated loosely in the transparent wrapper. Her nipples looked like fat cherries in a couple of quart-sized highballs. The deeply set navel was an elongated, shadowy orb, set like a dark opal above a misty blonde triangle of allurement.
She stood by the chair, smiling down at him. She reached out and touched his sunburned shoulder with a cool hand. Tony winced.
"Your back looks like the way I like my steaks cooked medium rare. Got any lotion?"
"I think there's a jar of Noxzema over there." Tony pointed toward the bureau shakily and almost dropped his drink.
Margo walked over to the bureau. Her naked buttocks quivered like two soft, plump rabbits nuzzling one another. She picked up the jar of cream, walked back to Tony and unscrewed the lid. She dipped her fingers into the cream and began to smooth it over his prickling shoulders. As she leaned forward, a nylon-sheathed breast pressed lightly, yet hotly, against Tony's back. He felt the heat of it even above his sunburn. "Poor honey," Margo cooed sympathetically. "Margo will fix."
The cream seemed to blot up the heat, cooling the burning flesh. She finished with his back. "Want Margo to get your chest and tummy, sweetheart?" she whispered. Before Tony could answer, she moved around and knelt in front of him. The wrapper split open at the neck and one of her breasts almost thrust out of it. She tugged it closed, smiling coyly. She scooped her fingers into the cream again and applied it liberally to his muscular chest, working down to the ribbed muscles of his stomach. Tony flinched ticklishly and she laughed.
"Margo, what time are you going to make the movie?" Tony asked, having a hard time getting his tongue to form the words.
She finished with his stomach and capped the jar of cream. "The other people are supposed to be here soon. You're going to be my partner, aren't you?"
Tony didn't answer. He gulped some more of his drink.
Margo pouted. "You aren't going to make me do it with a complete stranger, are you?" She giggled. "An actress can't be her best unless she knows her leading man intimately, now can she?"
"Did Race send you in here to talk me into it?"
Margo smiled, eyes glinting evilly. "What gave you that idea?"
Tony grinned drunkenly. "The way you've been bouncing those knockers in my face." Margo leaned close to his face, staring directly into his eyes.
"You aren't going to disappoint me, are you?"
Tony remembered last night vaguely as if recalling a nightmare in the bright reality of daylight. He saw shadowy visions of Margo, naked on the bed. He remembered their passions, the dirty things they'd done. He closed his eyes to shut out the images and gulped down the rest of his drink, almost choking on it.
Margo rose and embraced Tony's neck. A breast pressed hotly into his cheek. Tony remembered the pornographic picture from high school and his thighs began to burn. Gently, as though he were a child, Margo helped him to his feet. The walls of the room seemed to melt, like ice turning to liquid, then swirling dizzily like a whirlpool.
She took his arm and led him into the adjoining apartment, through a bottle-littered living room and into the bedroom. Race was adjusting a photographic floor lamp by the bed. He smiled wolfishly. "You all set, kid? We're going to have a lot of kicks today." He leaned down and plugged in the lights to test them. They flared on around the bed and Tony's head felt as if it had exploded. He blinked his eyes, hard.
Race unplugged the lights and glanced up. "The other people will be here in a minute, kid. We're going to get a couple of Gs for this film. It'll have an extra gimmick. Sit down, kid." He turned to Margo. "Pour him a drink. He's going to need the extra boost." Race laughed harshly, his hard eyes glinting as if at a secret joke.
Margo walked over to a coffee table, uncapped a bottle and filled a glass with liquor. She turned and walked back to Tony. He vaguely realized that she had opened the nylon wrapper and that it was split all the way down the front. Her naked breasts and hips flashed white as the material rippled open, then closed as she walked. She handed the drink to Tony. Her eyes were smoky with passion and her breasts quivered as she breathed hard. "It's going to be a great kick, Tony," she whispered, "but I don't think I can wait until the others get here..."
She tugged at Tony's arm and he rose unsteadily. He took a quick gulp from his drink, tried to set the glass down on a table, but it overturned and spilled. Margo peeled the wrapper back from her shoulders and let it drop into a red flimsy heap on the floor. Naked except for her dark hose and red pumps, she steered him toward the.-b.ed.
Race went into the kitchen to mix a drink. "Don't shoot your wad before we start the camera, baby," he called. Tony heard ice tinkle into a glass.
Margo tugged at the band of Tony's swim trunks with nervous, excited fingers.
Someone knocked at the door. Race walked out of the kitchen and went across the living room. He opened the door. Tony heard a man's voice, then a woman's. Margo stripped Tony's trunks down and they fell to the floor.
"How about a drink?" Race asked the newcomers. "Something like this needs a little warming up for, eh?" He laughed and the others joined him. Tony heard the tinkle of ice in glasses, then Margo rolled over onto the bed, pulling him down with her. "Oh, Tony," she whispered, voice husky with lust. "It's going to be such a rapturous kick. Relax, hon and enjoy it." Her eyes were bright, gleaming like a spider's watching a fly in its web. She kissed him open-mouthed, her lips shockingly hot. Tony's brain felt numb. The room seemed out of focus, as if he were viewing it under water.
Tony was vaguely aware of footsteps approaching the bedroom, conscious also of Margo's hot body pressing against his, her hands busy.
Race came into the room. "Hey, you two. Hold it until I get the camera going."
There was someone with Race. Tony smelled her pungent perfume before he saw her. He looked up from the bed blurry-eyed. In a shocking, electric moment, he realized what Race had meant by an added gimmick in the movie.
The woman was Negro.
A wave of nausea washed through Tony's stomach. But Margo shifted her body and her burning, excited breasts pressed against his chest. Her hips moved forward, searchingly, then Tony felt the sudden animal heat of her in his lower being.
Race picked up a camera and began fooling with it. "This is Edna," he said casually, as though introducing someone in a public gathering. "Her pimp tells me she's the best little hustler in this part of town. He says she's got a motor that's as smooth as a '65 Jaguar. How about that?"
The woman smiled, her eyes flicking over Tony's body. Her tongue moved reflectively across very white teeth.
The Negress was quite attractive, her features more Caucasian than Negroid. Her skin tone was high-yellow, her face fine-boned and delicately shaped. She had dark, flashing eyes.
Tony turned from her, turned from them all. He walked across the room and faced the wall. He felt like a little boy tempted by a dirty act. And that was what he was, he decided. A young, dirty boy, ready to sell himself out again for money more than lust, for gain, more than pride, for the profit of a life he had never known during years of poverty.
"Okay, kid, we're ready," Race called to him.
Tony did not move.
"Hey, kid, are you ready?" Race called again, louder this time.
Tony turned and faced them. Then he said, "Yes, I'm ready ready for anything."
CHAPTER TEN The Persistent Snail
The snail oozed out of its shell, its black, slimy body stretching upward. Its sticky underbody adhered to the brick wall and slowly, almost painfully, the snail dragged its white shell up toward Tony's window.
Tony sat, drink in hand, musingly watching the snail's struggle. He had been sitting in the chair by the window all afternoon. Now the sun was setting and the clouds, low on the horizon, burned a fiery red, as though a giant celestial vein had ruptured, spurting blood all over the sky.
The snail edged upward glutinously, dragging his shell another painful inch. It was almost to the window pane. For almost three hours Tony had watched it haul itself up the wall, its weaving path traced by a thin silver line of fluid left by its sticky underside.
In one last great effort, the snail arched its glistening body, reaching armlessly for the glass pane. The little soulless eyes seemed to bug from the great exertion.
But it was not the snail's day to achieve its goal. The man-made slick surface of the glass was something its animal instinct hadn't considered. The snail's body swung back and forth, hanging by a sticky thread of goop. Then it dropped to the pavement with a metallic click.
Tony felt damned sorry for the snail. The animal had spent the whole day climbing up that wall, only to lose it all in a second. He wondered how many years a human's body would be in the life of a snail. Ten, maybe?
He took a deep pull at his drink and thought about the snail's efforts. Somehow, they seemed similar to those of a slum kid trying to crawl out of the filth and poverty that engulfed him. It was a long, hard pull: and if the cards didn't fall right bang, back you were.
Tony glanced over to the open closet door where his new clothes hung. Three hundred dollars they had cost him, more than he had spent on clothing all his life. There were two imported sports jackets, several pairs of slacks, monogrammed shirts, ties and handkerchiefs, even a couple of pairs of silk shorts. And there was still a couple of hundred dollars in his new wallet.
Tony had yet to wear the clothes. Each time he put them on, disgusting memories crawled into his mind recollections of how he'd gotten the money to buy the clothing. Then they would feel greasy and dirty against his skin and he found himself pulling them off.
Tony leaned forward to see if the snail was going to try to climb the wall again. By God, he was. The animal was inching toward the brick wall, ready to invest another ten years of his life to climb out of the dirt.
Tony finished his drink, put down the glass and rose with determination. Damned if he was going to let a few little conscience pangs dislodge his grip on some of the luxuries most people take for granted. He walked to the bureau, pulled open a drawer and took out a pair of silk shorts.
He heard the outside door to Race and Margo's apartment open and close as someone left. He hadn't seen either of them in the two days since they had made the last sex movie. Tony had avoided them purposely they reminded him of the dirty, disgusting scenes that had been filmed.
Since making the movie, Tony found it difficult to meet other people's eyes, even Dobber's. He felt that somehow they could look through his eyes into his head, seeing the revolting memory-pictures there.
Tony had left the apartment only on brief trips to eat and to buy the new clothes during the last two days. He had purposely steered clear of the beach, not wanting to encounter Frankie or her young crowd. He didn't know whether he could face them. He somehow felt the last two days had aged him a thousand years.
But Tony was fed up with living like a hermif. He wanted some laughs and maybe a little good clean lovemaking not Margo's brand that made your in-sides cringe afterward.
He stripped off his dirty, sagging shorts and slipped on a new silk pair. The door opened and Dobber burst inside. He was excited. His little marble eyes gleamed behind the thick lenses of his glasses and he was breathing hard, as if he had been running. He held a brown package tucked tightly under an arm as if it were a football. He was still wearing the same filthy, rumpled jeans and T-shirt he'd arrived in. There was a three-day growth of beard on his gray, gaunt face.
Dobber held up the package. "Hey, Tony, babe, I got a good buy on some first-grade H. I found a new pusher who says he can get me all I want."
Tony looked at Dobber sourly; he couldn't forget how he'd earned the money for Dobber's fixes.
"Hell, Dobber," he said, irritated. "You're growing into a hundred bucks a day habit, man." He shook his head. "You're going to have to take the cure. There's no other way. I'm through sweating out cabbage to feed your damned monkey."
Dobber looked like a friendly hound who'd been kicked. His nose began to twitch like a sniffing rat's. "The cure's no good for me, babe. I tried it three times. I really intended to stay off the stuff each time I got out, but something always came up, know what I mean? My old man would get on my back for not getting a job and I'd start feeling like, what's the use, man? Then first thing I knew, I'm back with it again."
"But, hell," Tony said, voice bitingly angry. "What happens when you can't come up with the cabbage?"
Dobber's eyes dropped to the floor. "Then I'll make that last fix a super one, crawl into the bathtub and cut my wrists."
Tony knew these were not idle words. They sent little shivers up his spine. It was like a wet blanket on his anger.
Dobber walked over to the bureau and slipped the package inside a drawer as gently as a mother placing a sleeping baby in a crib. He turned to Tony. "You're a real pal, Tony, a real Jack Armstrong, know what I mean? And I want to pay you back for what you've done for me. When we pull this job Race is casing, I want you to have all of my share. When are we going to pull it? Has he clued you in?"
Tony shook his head glumly. "No and I'm getting tired of waiting. I'm going to see him tomorrow and if he doesn't tell me what he's planning, I think we're pulling out. All I know now is that he wants me to get a brunette broad to play up to a red-headed hick."
Tony slipped on his new imported slacks, then ran a gleaming soft leather belt through the loops. He glanced at Dobber's ragged clothes. He picked up his wallet and pulled out a twenty. He handed it to Dobber. "Here, go buy yourself some clothes. God, you look like one of the Bowery bums."
Dobber took the money and folded it inside his jeans pocket. "Thanks, Tony. I noticed your new duds. Real sharp."
"Remember clothes, not H," Tony emphasized. "Sure, sure."
Tony finished dressing and knotted a blue Japanese silk tie. He glanced into the mirror. Not bad. What was it they say clothes make the man? Tony realized with pride that he looked like Richard Conte more than ever now. He was certain that Frankie would be proud to go out with him maybe even her snooty roommate, if he could defrost her icy butt.
Tony looked out the window and saw that it was dark. Dobber rose, walked over to the bureau and took out his junkie tools blackened bottle cap, candle and needle affixed to an eye dropper.
Tony hurriedly combed his dark hair and slapped on some expensive, sweet smelling after-shave lotion. He wanted to get out before Dobber began his ritual. It was disgusting, like watching a geek eat a live chicken at a carnival sideshow.
Tony wondered if he should give Frankie a call. But hell, if Evon learned he was coming over, she'd probably leave. And Tony wanted another chance with her. With his new sharp clothes, she might thaw out a bit.
Tony put his wallet in his pocket, walked to the door and opened it. Dobber, hands trembling in nervous anticipation, was bent over a table absorbed in his preparations. It seemed as though his mind had already entered the junkie's shadowy dream world.
He didn't even know when Tony left.
CHAPTER ELEVEN The Lesbian Affair
It was a pleasant, balmy night. Tony sucked in great lungfuls of salt-tinged ocean air as he strode along the beach, headed for Frankie's apartment. The air smelled good after being cooped up in a close apartment for two days. And the new clothing was beginning to feel luxurious and expensive against his skin; he felt well-dressed, dapper. His old cockiness was returning.
A full moon rose over the ocean, its rays sparkling in the whitecaps as they humped their backs and rolled into shore. Every now and then Tony could see the dark shape of a sea bird, silhouetted briefly against the glowing face of the moon. It was a clear night and the stars hung in the sky like fat clusters of silver grapes.
Tony left the beach and trudged up a sea shell walkway to the swanky motel where Frankie and her iceberg roommate were staying. Some of his cocky assurance began to melt as he walked up to the apartment door.
He couldn't figure the dark-haired nymph. Maybe she hated all men, not just Tony. He shrugged. She couldn't do any more than spit in his eye and slam the door in his face.
Through slightly cracked Venetian blinds, Tony could see a dim light somewhere in the apartment. He tapped on the door, waited a few seconds, then rapped louder. No answer. He tried the door and found it unlocked. He opened it a crack. "Frankie? Anybody home?"
There was no sound in the apartment except the loud ticking of a leather-bound travel clock on a coffee table. Tony stepped inside. The two girls probably were still out on the beach, he decided. The apartment smelled feminine. The odor of Evon's spicy, exotic perfume blended with the more clearly pungent smell of Frankie's. There was also the odor of talcum powder and makeup. It smelled nice exciting.
Tony closed the door. The light came from the giant stone lamp in the corner; the rest of the apartment was dark. The doors to both bedrooms were open, the beds rumpled and unmade. Clothing was scattered about.
Tony hesitated, then walked into Evon's bedroom. The brunette girl still mystified and intrigued him.
The odor of her exotic perfume was strong in the room. Tony glanced down at a chair where a bra and a pair of blue nylon panties lay. Grinning, he picked up the panties. Embroidered across one side was the word, Monday.
Tony's grin broadened. How about that? She had a pair for each day of the week. He wondered what color she was wearing today.
Tony caressed the flimsy, perfumed garment, running the nylon through his fingers. He wished, dreamily, that the woman they belonged to was in them, hot flesh responding to his touch.
Tony reluctantly tossed the panties back into the chair and walked into the living room. He looked around the apartment again, saw no one, and uncapped a bottle of bourbon which was sitting on a coffee table. He found a glass, poured himself a generous drink and recapped the bottle.
Tony wandered about the apartment, idly looking at the assortment of feminine paraphernalia scattered about. He noticed a sliding glass door leading to a patio off Frankie's bedroom. The door had been covered by drawn drapes on Tony's last visit. He walked over, slid the door open and peered outside.
The patio was small, but private. It was tastefully landscaped with several potted plants flanking a curved white shell walkway. It was enclosed by a high redwood fence.
Tony walked outside, leaving the door open slightly. Sipping his drink, he paced about the patio, then sat down in a lounge chair near the door. He leaned back, watching the moon rising above the palm trees. It was quiet and restful.
He finished his drink and set his glass down on the shelled walkway. He leaned back and stretched. The unusual quiet was making him drowsy. He loosened his tie and settled more comfortably into the soft cushions of the chair. He closed his eyes with the intention of resting them for a moment. ...
The naked brunette nymph lay on the rock in the lagoon, propped up on one elbow, smiling at him. She beckoned him to come to her and Tony waded into the warm water. But as he waded toward her, she seemed to grow farther away. He waded faster, but her image continued to diminish. He heard giggling and thought it was the nymph laughing at his futile efforts.
Tony stirred and opened his eyes. He was still sitting in the lounge chair on the patio. The moon had passed out of sight behind the palms. He realized the giggling was coming from inside Frankie's apartment.
Tony leaned forward and peered through the partially opened sliding door. The bedroom was dark, but there was a light on in the bathroom and the door was open. There was more giggling, then a squeal, and several popping noises. Tony saw shadows flitting across the walls in the bathroom.
There was an unusually loud popping sound, followed by a squeal of pain. Frankie, completely naked, backed into the lighted doorway. Her red hair was piled atop her head, secured by a ribbon, as though she had just finished showering. She was holding a white bath towel.
Frankie laughed and swung the towel in little circles, tightening it, her super breasts bounce-dancing. She was having a towel fight with someone.
Frankie flicked the towel out and Tony heard a pop and squeal. Then the end of a blue towel blurred out and caught Frankie across her lush butt.
"Oh!" Frankie cried. "Dammit, Evon, that stung."
Frankie lashed out with her towel in mock ferociousness, then ran into the bedroom. Evon glided through the doorway, her lithe olive-golden body still glistening with droplets from her shower.
As Tony watched wide-eyed, the two girls squared off in the semi-gloom of the bedroom, curling their damp towels, then smacking each other across the hips and buttocks.
Even in the gloom, the girls' bodies were an exciting contrast. Frankie was short, robustly curved, her oversized breasts hanging forward heavily. A delightful opposite, Evon was tall, statuesque, head held high with regal pride, like an Egyptian princess; her willowy body had the slight, yet intriguing, curves of a virgin, her breasts firmly erect and slightly uptilted, capped by tiny pink nipples, fragile as young curled rose buds.
Evon dropped her towel, and, like a fashion model on a ramp, advanced toward Frankie with exquisite grace. She threw her shoulders back, swelling her finely formed breasts, offering her body to Frankie's slapping towel. Evon gracefully sidestepped a flick of the towel, reached out with slender, graceful arms and embraced the red-haired girl's body. Evon moistened Cupid's-bow lips, dark eyes flashing with sudden desire. She looked down where her tannish-golden breasts were pressing into Frankie's white satiny mounds. She lowered her shoulders so that her little nipples touched, then meshed with Frankie's large blood-red ones: cherries touching strawberries in an exotic breast cocktail. Evon bent forward and kissed Frankie full on the mouth.
The taller girl was the aggressor; Frankie submitted passively to her fervent kisses, eyes amused, yet with a hint of smoky passion. Evon's lips moved down to Frankie's throat, slid lower to the arching breasts. Frankie embraced the taller girl's long, exquisite neck, pushing her head down to her hypersensitive nipples. Frankie's mouth twisted in passion. Evon raised her lips to Frankie's ear. Tony saw oval lipstick marks on Frankie's breasts.
"Oh, Frankie, dearest," Evon breathed in the gloom. "I love you. I love you. Let me make love to you. I want to make you moan in happiness."
Evon tugged at Frankie, urging her over to the bed. She grasped one of Frankie's breasts, caressing it, long red nails pressing deeply into the soft, white flesh.
The two girls moved out of Tony's line of sight. He heard springs squeak as their bodies settled onto the bed.
Tony sat transfixed in the lounge chair. A sickening feeling rose in his stomach. Watching their perversion was like seeing a grotesque, warped example of nature at a carnival freak show. Yet his feelings were mixed. He was sexually aroused by the sight of their gorgeous naked bodies. He was sweating lightly in his new clothes.
The sound of a noisy kiss came from the bedroom then a low moan. The bed creaked again as bodies shifted.
Tony heard Evon's husky whisper: "Oh, Frankie, let me make love to you. I can give you more pleasures than those beach boys. I know just where it feels best for you."
The bed creaked again and Frankie moaned in rapture. The odor of their perspiring, perfumed bodies reached Tony's nostrils. His pulse rate stepped up.
How about that Evon a lesbian! His masculine ego surged somewhat: It was good at least to learn that she was cold to all men, not just him alone. Yet his feelings were tinged with bitterness. It was such a damned waste of an excitingly attractive woman.
Bodies shifted on the bed again, then Frankie's husky, passionate voice whispered: "Oh, Evon, that's it. That's it. Oh, Lord!" Her cry faded into a low guttural moan; then there was silence in the room.
The bed creaked and Evon's gleaming, naked body flashed by the door and disappeared into the bathroom.
Tony drew a deep, nervous breath and rose. What was he to do? Scale the fence so they'd never know he'd witnessed their little perverted love scene? He looked at the fence, measuring its height.
A noise at the sliding door startled him. He turned sharply. Frankie, still naked, was pulling the door closed. She glanced up and saw him. Her hand froze and her mouth opened to scream.
Tony took a hasty step toward her. "It's me, Frankie Tony. I've been asleep in the lounge chair here."
Frankie's mouth closed, but her eyes were still wide in surprise. She seemed oblivious to the fact that she was standing there naked.
"How long have you been here?" she asked suspiciously.
Tony knew what she meant. He considered lying, telling her he had been asleep and only had, at that moment, awakened. But bitterness rose inside him, mixed with the pangs of an injured masculine ego that had suffered from seeing two women enjoy intense passion without a man.
"Been awake long?"
"Long enough," Tony said, looking hard into her eyes. He heard the water running in the bathroom.
Frankie became conscious of her nakedness. She leaned down and picked up a towel. She held it to her body, but only succeeded in partially covering her erotic areas. "Come in, Tony."
"How about your roommate?" Tony asked, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
"She's in the bathroom brushing her teeth."
Tony stepped inside and Frankie tugged the sliding door closed. She drew the drapes hastily.
They stood in awkward silence for several seconds, then Frankie looked up at him. "You saw us, didn't you?" Tony nodded.
"I'm not a lesbian," she pointed out hastily. "You must know I'm not after the bout I gave you the last time you were in this bedroom."
He nodded toward the bathroom. "Then why do you let her make love to you?"
She shrugged and one of her strawberry-capped breasts peeked out from behind the towel, like a shy little bunny. "I've told you. I'll do anything for kicks. It's exciting ... and different, you know?" She touched his arm, "I'm not a les, Tony. You believe that, don't you?" It seemed desperately important to her that he not think of her as a queer.
"Yeah, sure, sure." But his voice wasn't very convincing.
In a sudden movement, she whisked away the towel and embraced him, her strong surfing arms squeezing tight around his chest like iron bands. She pulled his head down roughly and kissed him hard on the lips.
Tony's response was cool at first. Somehow, he had the feeling that she was a used woman, tainted by another's perverted lovemaking. But then her wicked little tongue found his and his body warmed as though it had been thrust under a heat lamp. Her eager fingers began to work at the buttons of his clothing. Tony was surprised at the deftness with which she undressed him it seemed only a moment until both of them were naked. She pulled him to her again in a hard embrace and Tony was disturbingly conscious of the hot, outward thrust of her stomach and breasts against him.
She tugged him over to the bed. "Damn you," she hissed. "I'll show you I'm no lez. I'll make love to you until you scream for me to stop."
They fell over onto the rumpled bed, entwined in a tight embrace. Vaguely, Tony heard the water faucet turned off in the bathroom.
Frankie giggled suddenly. She broke free of his embrace, reached down and pulled the covers up over
Tony's head. "We'll surprise Evon," she whispered mischievously. "I've never slept three in a bed before. What a kick it'll be."
Frankie snuggled down beside Tony in the bed, pretending to be asleep. Tony's body was burning with unsatisfied longing. Damn these women! They were as uncertain as the weather.
The bathroom door opened and bare feet padded across the carpet to the bed. Tony felt the bed vibrate as .Evon slipped in beside Frankie. The girl reached out to embrace Frankie's naked body. But Frankie raised suddenly and peeled back the covers. "Surprise, Evon. We have company." She tossed her red hair back and laughed.
Evon's eyes widened. Her lips parted in a little gasp. She screamed and struggled to leave the bed as though it were on fire. But Frankie reached out, grabbed one of her arms and held her fast. The red-haired surf girl was the stronger, and Evon's struggles were in vain.
"Cut it out, Evon," Frankie chided. "It's only Tony. Good God, we're all friends." She shook the brunette girl roughly. "Come on now. Tony's not going to hurt you. We can have a ball. Think of the kicks. Three in a bed "
"Damn you, Frankie!" Evon cried. "Damn you! You know it makes my skin crawl to get close to a man."
Frankie pulled Evon's dark head down to her satiny breasts. She stroked Evon's neck and shoulders, calming her down like a child. Frankie kissed her cheek tenderly.
"Look," Frankie said, patiently, "you stay on this side of the bed and we'll mark it taboo territory for Tony. Okay?"
Evon relaxed a bit, lying down beside Frankie and holding on to her breasts. Unexpectedly, Evon began to cry like an injured child. "I don't want him to make love to you, either," she whimpered. "Don't let him touch you, Frankie. Please don't."
Frankie kissed Evon again, this time on the lips.
"I'm not like you Evon. I just can't be satisfied with your brand of love. I've got to have men, too. You know that. Now hadn't you rather I be open about it, and not try to sneak out for my affairs?"
Evon's hands tightened on the nipples of Frankie's breasts. Her sobs slowly faded. "The bastard had better not touch me," she said, more to Tony than to Frankie. "I'll kill him if he paws me."
Frankie kissed Evon again on the lips hard, passionately, as she would kiss a man. Their lip stick painted lips clung together, stickily resisting separation. Evon's long, dagger-like nails dug into Frankie's giant breasts.
This was more than Tony could take. The sight of the gorgeous, naked women fired his passions, and set his loins to burning. But it was his male ego deeply resentful of lesbian love which spurred him to action.
He reached out and embraced Frankie's flaring hips and buttocks. He slid up in the bed and pulled her hips to him roughly. Hot and ready, she opened to him like a scented flower.
It was crazy, crazy as hell. The scene was a physical representation of Frankie's dual sexual nature. Her orbiting hot hips and lower tummy were man's territory; yet her lips and breasts belonged to Evon. The other girl's head moved down, nodding, as her tongue slid over Frankie's taut, excited nipples, teasing them. Frankie grasped Evon's smaller, firmer breasts and hung on in rapture, moaning. Both facets of Frankie's sexual makeup were being excited to their fullest. In less than a minute her stomach knotted in ecstasy, then broke into rolling spasms.
Frankie's pumping tummy slowly relaxed and her body seemed to cool suddenly as if packed in ice. "God, do I need a reefer," she whispered. "I've got to have one now."
Tony rolled to one side, swearing under his breath. His burning loins throbbed with unsatisfied passion.
Frankie disengaged herself from Evon's reluctant arms, rolled over the brunette girl and got to her feet. She fumbled nervously in a table drawer for her reefers.
Tony raised on an elbow and looked down at the golden-dusky loveliness of Evon. She was lying on her stomach, face buried in a pillow. Her haughty little buttocks taunted him. She was breathing hard in the aftermath of her lesbian passion, one finely chiseled breast rising up, then falling back to the bed rhythmically.
Passion, mixed with anger, was like a fire-brand jabbed into Tony's mind. He growled and lurched toward her. She screamed like an angered fighting cat as his weight thrust down onto her buttocks, pressing her body down into the bed. His strong hands were rough, almost cruel on her buttocks and upper thighs for a moment, then his body lurched forward. A heat, so intense he almost gasped, saturated his lower being. She cried out in pain, then fought him like a spitting, scratching cat. She struggled to rise, but the weight of his body bore down on her. She turned, trying to bite him, but he encircled her neck with a strong arm, his shoulder pressing her face down into the pillow. Tony's hips moved, cruelly pneumatic. She reached back furiously, dagger-like nails bared like a cat's claws. The nails raked Tony's thighs. He felt no pain and his thrusting hips retaliated viciously.
Frankie calmly lighted a reefer and sat down, naked, in an easy chair by the bed. She took a deep drag on the cigarette. Unexpectedly, she threw her head back and laughed. Her lesbian lover was getting laid and Frankie sat in the chair and roared, her laughter washing down over their struggling bodies. It was as though, deep down, she had a hatred for her roommate.
Evon fought him furiously, then Tony sensed a change in her. The heat of her body seemed to intensify. Then suddenly, her nails weren't raking his thighs any more. Instead, her fingers gripped the bed covers. Tony sensed a passion building in her and redoubled his efforts, his loins on fire. Her body ceased threshing and went rigid, as though a thousand volts of current had slammed into it. One of Tony's arms was circling her waist and he felt the little flat stomach turn hard as iron, retch mightily, then break into shivering convulsions. She moaned, then bit the pillow as though she were trying to hide her ecstasy from him. Then his own being shuddered deliciously and plunged into rapture.
Tony's hold on Evon relaxed and she wretched free, leaped to her feet and tinned on him like an enraged tigress. Her fingers curled claw-like as she swung her hands at him. Tony threw up his forearms and the sharp nails raked the flesh. "Goddamn you!" she screamed. "Dirty, filthy bastard!" Her voice choked with emotion and she pivoted, swept up her clothes from a chair and, weeping, ran from the room.
Frankie doubled over in laughter. In a moment, Tony heard the outside door slam as Evon ran from the apartment.
CHAPTER TWELVE The Awakening of Evon
A door slammed in the apartment next door, jarring Tony awake. He stretched, raised on an elbow in bed and looked at his new wrist watch, It was one thirty in the afternoon. It had been almost daylight when he got back to his apartment that morning after his fruitless search for Evon. He wondered if she had ever returned to her apartment.
He felt like a heel. He'd never taken a woman by force before. But, dammit, she'd asked for it with her snootiness. His masculine ego had been bolstered, but he feared her hatred may have hardened for him and he didn't want that.
Tony raised and pivoted out of bed. He reached down, picked up his swim trunks and pulled them on. Dobber was gone. When Tony had come in that morning, Dobber had told him that he was going to be working the beaches with a pusher, earning his own heroin. He seemed elated that he no longer had to rely on Tony's money.
Tony smoothed fingers through his thick, dark hair. He walked over to the door of the adjoining apartment, tapped lightly, then opened it a crack.
"Race? Margo?"
"Come in, kid," Race said. He was sitting in an easy chair in his undershirt, his feet propped up on a coffee table. He was scanning a racing sheet.
Tony walked in and closed the door. He looked about check-rein on his temper. He shrugged. "Oh, sit down, kid. I'll give you the lowdown. But keep your mouth shut, see. You tell that hophead friend of yours and every junky in town will know about it before dark. You can never trust a hophead in a pinch, remember the apartment for Margo.
Race watched him closely. "Margo's got a trick going with a couple of guys from Harvard. They're loaded." Race's dark eyes turned back to the racing sheet. "Want to pick up a little easy cash on a dog race, kid? I got a sure tip on the third race. It's fixed."
Tony shook his head. He sat down on the couch and shuffled his feet nervously. He knew he was going to have to be blunt with Race to find out what was going on.
"Laid the little brunette coed yet?" Race asked, grinning.
"Yeah, last night," Tony said, feeling a surge of masculine pride. "Still, I don't think she-likes me very much."
Race laughed. "What'd you do, rape the little bitch."
"Well, sort of, I guess."
Race's laughter deepened. "Hell, you're learning, kid. First think you know, she'll be back begging you for another throw."
Tony's jaw set firmly. "Race, Dobber and me want to know what's going on. What kind of a job we're going to be pulling, I mean. We want to know, or we're pulling out."
Race's smile vanished. Irritated, he crumpled the racing sheet and tossed it to the floor. "Goddammit, kid. Get off my back, will you? I told you there's only one brain man to a caper and I'm it. I'll tell you what to do when the time comes. I already gave you an assignment play lovey-dovey with the little coed and have her get friendly with the guy I showed you. When that's done, I'll tell you the rest."
Tony shook his head, determined. "That's not good enough." He rose. "Then we're pulling out tomorrow."
"Oh, horse manure!" Race shouted. Then he got a that."
Tony sat down. "What kind of job is it?" he asked coolly, feeling he had faced down the older man.
"The guy I showed you, remember the redhead? He's one of the biggest gamblers in the state. He never sits in a game with a pot less than 50 Gs."
Race drained his beer and grimaced. "Lousy beer," he said irritably. "They don't make beer worth a damn in this country any more. Germany that's the place to get quality beer. And those German broads aren't bad, either. When I was over there in the Army in '51, those big-boned, broad-assed German whores would climb on you and beat you to a frazzle. Perpetual motion motors that's what they had."
"You planning on getting into a game with the cowboy and slipping in a crooked deck?" Tony asked, bringing Race back to the subject.
"Hell no, kid. These guys who play for the big cabbage are real pros. They'd spot anything crooked a mile away." Race scowled. "See what I mean, kid? If I let you figure out a caper we'd be six feet under before dark."
"What's your gimmick, then?"
"We hijack the game, kid. Hell, that's the only way." He laughed. "What can the bastards do? That kind of high-stakes gambling is illegal in this state. They can't complain to the cops. And by the time they get their hoods after us, we'll be in California."
"What's the delay, then? Why don't we pull the job and get it over with?"
Race smirked. "Kid, you're as green as a seasick Marine. You just don't get into one of those high-stakes games that easily. These guys have got to know you. I've talked to Yorty a couple of times, but I don't think the bastard trusts me. A couple of guys and myself hi-jacked a big game in Chicago a few years back and I think he may suspect I was in on it."
"But how about Evon? You think she can get us into the game?"
"I was talking to a bookie the other day who knew
Yorty in Dallas. He-likes his women young and tender and especially has a weakness for coeds. Why, I don't know. Those brainy bitches don't know beans about satisfying a guy. They can talk a good trick, but when it comes to cutting the mustard, I'll take a dumb little blonde bitch who's got her learning beaten into her, flat on her back." He laughed. "Naw, kid, your broad doesn't even have to get us into the game. All she's gotta do is find out when and where the game is and old Race'll take care of the rest."
Tony started to tell him about Evon and being a lesby, then changed his mind. "It may take a lot of persuading to get her to agree."
"You can do it, kid," Race said confidently. "You've got a way with the broads, Just like me. I remember this little redhead whore I used to have I had a five hundred dollar trick lined up for her with a couple of Negro truckdrivers. She wouldn't do it and I was going to kick her out. The bitch cut her wrists in the bathroom. God, what a mess! Did you ever see a bathtub a quarter full of blood?" Race stretched. "What time is it, kid?"
Tony looked at his watch. "Quarter till two."
Race jumped up. "Damn! They must be at the gate now. I'd better rustle my ass if I'm going to place that bet." He picked up the phone and dialed.
Tony rose and walked back into his own apartment. He sat down in a chair and rubbed his chin reflectively. So it was to be a hijacking. He wasn't sure he wanted to go along with it. But hadn't he already been in on another hijacking the two college kids? The cops hadn't caught them for that, had they? And those wealthy gamblers could afford to drop fifty thousand. They'd hardly feel it.
Tony rose. The first step was Evon to get her to cooperate. He shook his head. He didn't think it could be done. Now if it were Frankie he believed he could persuade the surf girl without much trouble. But the cowboy apparently had eyes for Evon's dark beauty.
The whole scheme didn't make too much sense to
Tony. But he would play it Race's way. After all, he didn't have a better plan.
Tony walked over to the bureau, took some money out of his billfold and tucked it into the small pocket of his swim trunks. He left the apartment and walked down to the beach. He turned in the direction of Frankie's motel.
The day was balmy with a strong breeze from the ocean. Unusually high breakers roared into shore, sloshing far up on the white sands.
Tony left the beach and strode up the shell walkway to the motel. He turned a corner and was approaching the girls' apartment when a door opened and Frankie ran out. She was in her bikini. She saw Tony and smiled.
"Hi! You're up awfully early." She winked. "You had quite a night, ti-gerrrr."
"Did Evon ever come back?"
"Oh yes she returned about sunup. She'd been walking on the beach. God, you made her mad! She would have killed you if she'd had a gun last night."
"Yeah, I know. But I was worried that she might run into the maniac you told me about the one who butchered that beach bunny a while back."
Frankie shook her head. "No, she's Okay" Frankie's eyes glinted mirthfully. "Why don't you go in and say hello?"
Tony looked at her doubtfully. "Think it's safe?"
Frankie laughed. "Sure. She's cooled off. I don't think she'll claw you now. In fact she was asking me some questions about you this morning. It's the first time I've ever known Evon to show any interest at all in any guy."
Frankie moved away. "Sorry I can't stay, Tony," she called over her shoulder as she ran down the path. "I've got a sailing date."
Tony waved to her as she ran, vibrating front and back, down toward the beach.
Tony hesitated by the door to the apartment, wondering if Frankie were playing a joke on him. He remembered how she had laughed last night when he had made forcible love to Evon.
Frankie had left the door slightly ajar. Tony tapped on it, then pushed it open. Evon was sitting on a couch doing her nails. She wore denim shorts and a white halter. Her gleaming, metallic black hair was brushed back and cascaded past her shoulders.
Evon looked up from her nails. Her dark eyes still held a trace of anger, but Tony thought he also detected a spark of interest. "If you're looking for Frankie, she's not here." It seemed to Tony that her voice had lost some of its coldness.
"I know I saw her outside. She said she was going sailing."
"Didn't she invite you along?"
Tony grinned. "I guess she had a date."
Evon looked at him saying with her eyes, "Well, what do you want here?"
Tony eased himself down into a chair. "I I was wondering if you wanted to go to the beach."
She tossed her head back and laughed. Tony wasn't expecting that. He looked at her, surprised.
"Frankie said you had a lot of gall."
"Gall?"
"What would you call it? You rape a girl, then come back the next day and ask her for a date."
"Is that so bad?"
Evon shrugged. Her eyes swept up his legs to his thighs. "I really got you, didn't I?" Tony caught a twinkle of amusement in her dark eyes.
He rubbed a hand over a scratched thigh and smiled. "You're a little tigress." He looked into her dark eyes, trying to read her thoughts. "I searched for you after you can out last night. But I couldn't find you."
She looked down at her nails. "I'm glad you didn't. I would have killed you if I could have found a way."
"You don't feel that way now?"
She shook her head, still looking at her hands. "No-" She glanced up, eyes snapping with sudden feeling. "You made me ... feel things I'd never felt before
emotionally, I mean. I'm a sociology major in college, but I've had several hours of psychology. My new feelings interest me scientifically. You understand?"
Tony nodded that he did. But he had no idea what she was talking about. He knew only that she was one of the most attractive women he had ever seen. He remembered last night and he wanted her all over again but not by force.
Evon put the nail brush into the bottle, screwed the cap tightly and set the bottle on the table. She rose and looked down at Tony. Evon's smoky dark eyes had the same look Tony had seen last night when she had looked at Frankie's naked body.
Evon turned and walked slowly to the partially opened door. Her long, slender legs rippled beautifully.
She closed the door and slid the bolt lock closed. She turned and leaned back against the door, looking at him. "When a scientist runs up against something he doesn't understand, he conducts some more tests experiments and experiments again. I've felt something strange, Tony. I don't know whether I like it or not ... but I want to know more about it." She ran a tongue over luscious lips, lightly lip stick painted. "And I want you to teach me ... everything."
She lifted her eyes and walked past him toward the bedroom, chin high, head tilted and body rippling like a fashion model crossing a stage. As she entered the bedroom door she reached back and unhooked her halter.
Tony sat for a moment flabbergasted. He hadn't expected this. He had been prepared to have a door slammed in his face now she was asking him to make love to her.
But only for a moment did Tony hesitate. Then he was following her into the bedroom, his pulse rate quickening with each stride. He stepped across her halter on the floor.
Evon was stepping out of her shorts by the bed, raising one of her long, slender legs and bending over until her knee touched a downspilling breast as she peeled the garment down. She wore nothing under the tight shorts, and her golden body glistened like a lacquered statue. Her ruby pendant hung between her breasts like a drop of rich blood.
Evon sank down onto the bed, rolled over on her back and reached up for him ... Her mysterious dark eyes were half closed, moist luscious lips parted, showing very white teeth. "Tony," she whispered, "teach me to love. Teach me to satisfy you. Make me feel good like you did last night."
Tony dropped his swim trunks and kicked them across the floor. Then her golden body was under him, entwining him, closing on him like an exotically beautiful jungle flower entrapping a bee.
He taught her the intricacies of sexual love, running through the gamut of positions. She was a good student, approaching the lesson as if it were a lab period in her biology class. Coolly, scientifically, she asked him intimate personal questions about the female role in love-making. And she followed his directions to the letter, occasionally experimenting with an impish variation of her own. Her golden hips at first reluctant, uncertain soon found his rhythm, matched it sometimes even stepping it up, surpassing it. As her passions reached the pinnacle, she began to swear, her voice rising almost to a shout, "Damn ... Damn! ... DAMN!" Her long nails sliced his back like sharp knives, his blood staining them a deeper red.
Tony rolled to one side and sighed deeply. Despite her inexperience, their bodies seemed perfectly attuned. She lay for a moment, breathing heavily. Then she stretched her arms languidly, her breasts uptilting.
Tony walked forward and opened his arms. Evon came into them. And for Tony it was like a cloud of joy enveloping him, making him a prisoner forever, a prisoner of love.
They made love a long time and rested a long time. But finally they disengaged their bodies and Evon rose from Tony's side. She went to a bed table drawer and fumbled within it until she found the package of cigarettes that she wanted. She held them out to Tony. "Reefer?" she asked.
He hesitated, finding it hard to turn down anything Evon offered. But he shook his head and said, "I think I'd like a drink."
Tony slid out of bed and walked into the living room. He poured himself a drink and carried it back into the bedroom. Evon was curled up in a white modernistic chair by the bed, head tilted back as she smoked the reefer savoringly. The white chair was like a pale frame about her golden nudity. One of her legs was curled back in the chair under her opposite thigh. The other leg was thrust forward.
Her torso was twisted slightly and the trim little muscles of her flat stomach stood out taut, the curve of her hips melting down into spitting brunette luster.
Tony lay back on the bed. He sipped his drink and watched her. "Did you have fun?" he asked.
She took a deep drag on the cigarette and its tip glowed like a fiery red eye. She expelled the smoke in twin streams from her nostrils. She smiled dreamily. "I had a ball."
Tony felt a surge of pride as if a general had decorated him.
She gave him a long searching look. "You know, I think Frankie probably has the best psychological sexual makeup," she said as if mulling an interesting scientific problem. "She can enjoy both men and women." Evon smiled. "If all guys were like you, I think I might become normal sexually, and just stick to men."
Tony felt a sharp pang of jealousy. Men, hell! He wanted her all to himself.
"You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, Evon. You could have any man you wanted."
She smiled, pleased at the compliment. "Do you like my body?" She snubbed out her cigarette. Slowly, she rose and did a slow pirouette like a fashion model showing off a Christian Dior original.
Tony grinned, eyes moving slowly up the length of golden-fleshed curves. "Lovely ... lovely."
Evon thrust out her breasts, put her hands on her hips and bounced them like a stripper. Her ruby pendant swung from one golden breast to the other. She was an impish little exhibitionist. Tony remembered the first time he had seen her on the rock in the lagoon.
"How do you manage to get tanned all over?" he asked, knowing the answer.
Her smile deepened. "You have to find an isolated stretch of beach and take a pistol with you in case a pack of wolves happen by."
Tony raised an eyebrow. "A pistol?"
"Yes, and you're damned lucky I didn't have it with me that night when you barged up on me in the lagoon. I thought you were the fiend who killed that girl on the beach."
She sat down in the chair again and crossed her legs. An ash from her cigarette fluttered to her stomach. She brushed it away quickly. Tony noticed she had a small, pinkish birthmark shaped like a butterfly with its wings spread on her upper inner thigh.
"Ever been to a nudist resort?" she asked, smiling.
"No," Tony said," but it sounds like fun."
"I go to one in South Florida." She ran her hands down her breasts to her hips. "That's how I usually get my complete tans."
A question rose in Tony's mind, but he hesitated. She might get put out at him for asking it. But he liked her and wanted to know all about her. And he felt somehow however corny the idea seemed that he had given her life a new rebirth, a turn toward the better.
"Evon," he asked, "what made you start with, you know ... with other girls?" He felt his face redden in embarrassment.
Evon lighted another cigarette, took a deep drag on it and looked at the ceiling. She seemed to be mulling the question objectively, as if a professor had posed it in a classroom.
Evon's eyes met his. "I was raped when I was nine. He was my uncle, the bastard. He got drunk one day when he was supposed to be watching out for me. He threw me down on a green velvet couch and raped me." Her eyes retreated into the past. "The couch was covered with blood when he finished. To this day I get sick and almost throw up at the sight of green velvet." She took a deep pull at the cigarette and expelled the smoke in a long sigh. "After that I screamed whenever a man touched me, even my father. I swore I'd never have anything to do with sex. But like any other healthy girl, I had passions, too. But I channeled mine in other directions..."
"When did you first "
"My first lesbian experience? That was with an English teacher at a private girl's school. She saw that I had no boyfriends and seemed to sense my passions. She was strong in will, almost like a man. Yet, her hands were so gentle. And she did things -- things I learned to crave." Evon reached up and touched the ruby pendant. "She gave me this to remember her by when I graduated. She made me promise to come back and visit her every opportunity I got, but I didn't. I found other women with the same passions as mine."
Tony rose and stepped behind her. He reached down to her neck, fingers fumbling. In a moment, the golden chain parted and he stripped the ruby pendant from her neck. He tossed it down on a dressing table. She looked up at him and unspoken thoughts passed between their eyes.
Tony sat down on the bed.
She finished her cigarette in silence, eyes introspective. Tony sipped his drink and watched her. He could never grow tired of reveling in her golden beauty.
She suddenly tossed her head back and laughed as though remembering a long-forgotten joke. She snubbed out her cigarette and rose quickly.
She turned to him. "Come on, lover boy. I've got a boat for the afternoon. Let's go have a few kicks."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN The Proposition
Evon released the cruiser's tie rope and tossed it aboard.
"Hop on," she said to Tony.
Tony followed her aboard. Evon had donned tight blue stretch slacks with a hip-hugger waist, curving down low on her hips and across her tanned, flat stomach, well under the navel. She wore a short, loose blouse of white terry cloth, which rode up high on her torso when she raised her arms. Once Tony caught a glimpse of the golden tan of her lower breasts and realized she wore no bra.
Evon went forward and began messing with some gauges and switches. "Check the gas tank, will you, Tony?"
Tony glanced about, feeling stupid. He'd never been aboard a cruiser before and had no idea where the gas tank might be. It was a large craft with a giant engine at the rear which looked large enough to power an aircraft carrier.
Tony moved to the stern.
"Over there, you landlubber." Evon pointed to the tank, laughing.
Tony leaned down and examined a gauge. "It looks like it's almost full."
"Good," Evon said. She turned a key and pressed the starter. The engine kicked right off.
Without giving the engine a warm-up, Evon slammed the throttle to the wall and they rolled away from the pier, churning water. They turned up the channel separating Miami Beach from the City of Miami.
Tony lurched forward, his shoulder thudding into the side of the boat. Evon looked back and laughed. "Hang on!" She spun the wheel and the boat rolled into a steep turn, spray whipping over the side. Tony edged forward, hanging onto the side of the boat. He moved up beside Evon and braced himself against the boat's instrument panel.
"Whose boat is this?" Tony yelled above the noise of the roaring engine and the drumming surf.
"It belongs to a friend of my father's. He owns an island down here."
Evon shoved the throttle again, making sure it was wide open. They approached a smaller boat pulling a water skier. Evon glanced at Tony and laughed. Her eyes were alive with excitement. Her long gleaming hair, flecked by sea water, whipped in the wind. "Watch me make that guy seasick."
They drew even with the other boat, then passed about twenty yards to the port side. As they slid by, Evon spun the wheel again and cut in front of the boat, missing its bow by scant feet. Their backwash pummeled the smaller craft and it bobbed like a cork in a hurricane. The little boat lurched to one side, slowed and the water skier tumbled into the water. Evon looked back and laughed.
A boat dock jutting out into the bay loomed dead ahead. Tony grabbed for the wheel but Evon turned the boat just in time. The dock flashed by less than ten feet away.
"How's this for kicks?" Evon yelled. Her face was flushed, her lips moist. She looked as though she were on the verge of a sexual climax.
"Great!" Tony cried, hanging on. He wasn't about to let her know she was shaking him up.
Evon saw another cruiser out in the center of the bay. She wheeled their boat toward it. The driver of the other boat seemed to accept the challenge and cut in to meet them. In the last split second before they crashed, the driver of the other boat throttled back and let his boat cross behind them.
"Oh, it's that idiot, Marvin, Frankie's boyfriend," Evon said. She glanced at Tony. "Isn't he a friend of yours, Tony?" She laughed mischievously. "Do you think I should finish the job you started and drown the bastard?"
Tony had been too busy hanging on to notice who was in the other boat. He glanced back and saw a familiar beanpole figure standing behind the wheel. Marvin was wearing a silly hat with a lot of loose, upcurled straws that whipped in the wind.
As they sped along, a small island in the middle of the channel came into view. Evon looked back at the tall basketball player. She pointed toward the island and flapped her arms like wings. Tony realized she was challenging Mr. Basketball to a game of "chicken."
Evon leaned into the wheel and the boat rocked over on its side, straightened, then headed for the island at full clip. The other boat pulled out from behind and inched up abreast to them, also pointed toward the island.
Evon gripped the wheel, excitement burning in her dark eyes like torches. Spray arched over the side of the tossing boat and wet their bodies. Little droplets clung to Evon's golden-olive skin and glittered like diamonds in her ebony hair. Her blouse and bikini-styled slacks were wet clear through and clung to her body like a second skin. Her nipples stood taut against the material of her blouse like hard little pebbles, and she thrust them defiantly into the wind.
The island loomed larger. Tony could see jagged boulders ringing its shoreline. It looked like a formidable barrier nature had erected for ships to rip out their hulls.
They were fifty yards from the island now, both boats bearing down on the rock-strewn shore like metal-robots bent on suicide. It was the old automobile chicken game on water. The first to veer from the island was the chicken.
Evon leaned over the wheel, excited eyes defying the rocks, feet wide apart as if bracing for the inevitable crash. Tony could sense that she would never turn away first, that she'd go all the way in and kill them both if necessary. Forty yards thirty-five. Tony glanced at the other boat. It was still headed in toward the rocks. He could see two girls and another guy squatting in the bow behind Marvin. They were jeering and shaking their fists at Tony and Evon. Tony caught some of Evon's insane excitement. By God, they'd show them who had guts.
"All the way, Evon!" Tony yelled. "We'll die if we have to, but dammit, don't let them beat us." He moved a hand to the wheel, holding it steady with her, the muscle in his strong arm corded hard as iron. His other arm moved about her waist and squeezed her in a silent death compact.
Thirty yards twenty. Tony saw the other boat pitch over on its side and veer away from the island. They'd won! Tony tried to turn the wheel to steer them away from destruction. But Evon's hands were locked on it, heading them straight in. She seemed hypnotized by a death-fascination. Tony lurched forward, shoving her away with his shoulder. He spun the wheel in a desperate bid for survival. The boat rolled heavily to one side as the rudder bit into the water. They were right on top of the rocks. Tony closed his eyes and braced for the inevitable impact. The boat seemed to turn in slow motion, each foot taking an eternity. For a heartbeat, the boat seemed to hang, then it swung away from the island. Tony thought they had made it, then there was a loud bump and a scraping noise. The boat shuddered. Tony and Evon staggered, almost losing their balance. The boat shot on past the island.
Tony grabbed the throttle, chopping it back. The engine coughed and died. The boat glided on, its speed diminishing.
Evon sank to the bottom of the boat, laughing almost hysterically. Tony moved over to the rail and leaned over, looking down at the side of the boat. He saw a crinkled dent and a long brown scratch.
"It looks like we scraped one of the rocks," Tony said. "But the boat doesn't seem to be leaking."
Evon casually shook the spray from her hair. '"Who cares?" She reached over to a beach bag and took out a pack of cigarettes. She smiled strangely, looking as though she were intoxicated. "If we sink we'll both just go down with the ship, okay, lover?"
"Your friend isn't going to like what we did to his boat," Tony said, glancing up to see the other boat circling away and disappearing in the distance.
Evon shrugged. "Oh, he has a dozen of them. Don't sweat it."
She took out a cigarette and lit it with a small silver lighter. Tony knew by the caressing way she handled the cigarette that it was a reefer.
She motioned for him to come to her. "Let's let her drift a while."
They did. They were quiet, resting from the thrill of a death race, yet still reveling in it.
After a long time, Evon brought into words all that she had been thinking.
"You were ready to smash into the rocks with me, weren't you?" she said.
"Yes," he answered simply.
"You've got guts, Tony."
"Thanks. You too."
"You know, baby," Evon said, "the squares would think we were kooks for playing the chicken game, but they can't see the beauty in it, you know? It's sort of a moment of truth like in the bullfights. Ever see one, Tony?"
He shook his head. "Only in the movies and it looked sort of bloody."
"It's a thing of pure beauty, like a wildflower freshly plucked. You see two souls one animal, one human stripped bare. And only two things remain, bravery and fear. When bravery is proved, it's almost an intoxicating feeling."
Tony saw an opening and seized it. "You get a charge out of danger, don't you "
She smiled. "What else can give you kicks?"
Tony hesitated, groping for words. He wasn't sure what her reaction was going to be.
"Would you like to have some real excitement?" he asked finally.
She cut her eyes at him, amused. "You mean more sex. God, you're a perpetual-motion man, aren't you?"
Tony flushed. "No not that I wouldn't like it but I was talking about something else. You see, I know a guy who has a scheme for getting a lot of money. I know you don't need it, but we sure do. I I thought you might want to go along with it just for kicks."
She turned to him, eyes interested. "What kind of scheme?"
"It's -- it's sort of a hijacking."
"Hijacking? You're kidding."
Tony shook his head. "A bunch of wealthy gamblers are going to be holding a big stakes game. My friend, Race, wants to steal their pot. He says they can't complain to the cops because that kind of gambling is illegal. There'd be very little risk."
"What could I do be your gun moll?" Her eyes were amused, yet the interest lingered.
"No ... Race says you would only have to play up to one of the gamblers a big red-haired guy and find out where and when they're holding the game."
Interest deepened in Evon's eyes. "Sounds like fun."
"Then you'll do it?"
"I wouldn't miss it. It sounds exciting." Her voice softened. "And I also have another reason " Her voice trailed off. Tony didn't ask what it was.
She laughed unexpectedly. "Tony, I wouldn't have thought you were a hijacker. You just don't seem the type." She squeezed his arm. "But I'm thrilled. I'm glad my first man is a fearless adventurer. This will really be something to talk about at Wheaton Hall when I get back to college. It would even top what my roommate of last semester did. She went on tour with a bullfighter in Spain and talked about it all the semester." She laughed. "A real hijacking now that'll really spice up a conversation."
Tony felt a little uneasy being classed as a professional crook. "This is only my first job," he explained. "My friend and me needed at little cash to get started here in Florida."
"When do we begin?" she asked eagerly. "When can I meet this red-haired man? Who is he?"
Tony was pleased with her interest. "We can start right now. The guy's name is Spade Yorty and he hangs out on the beach near my motel. You'll have to meet him on your own, though. He doesn't know me and I can't introduce you."
"You just point him out to me," said Evon confidently, "and I'll take it from there. I've been fighting off drooling wolves for years. I'll just hot fight so hard against him and I think I can find out what you need to know." She touched his arm. "Oh, Tony I'm so glad I met you. You've made this a most exciting holiday for me. I'll always remember it."
Tony squeezed her breast lightly in silent affirmation, then reluctantly removed his hand from that golden appendage and got to his feet. They had drifted in toward shore and were only two or three hundred yards off the beach. "How do you start this thing?" Tony asked.
Evon rose, smoothed down her damp blouse and walked forward. She showed him how to start the engine and a minute later they were roaring in to the shore.
They pulled into the boat dock and Evon cut the engine. Tony leaped out and caught the securing line as she tossed it from the boat. He tied it to a piling and glanced regretfully at the jagged scar on the boat's hull. Another few inches and they might not have made it back.
Evon jumped gracefully from the boat to the dock, like a beautiful, fine-limbed antelope. She took his hand. "Come on. I'm anxious to meet this red-head. I've never known a big-time gambler before."
"Evon," Tony said, voice serious, "this could be dangerous. These guys play for keeps when they're crossed."
She squeezed his hand until it throbbed. "That's the only way to play the game. All or nothing. I thought I showed you that in the sea chicken game."
Hand in hand they walked to the beach, then turned toward the motel area. Tony scanned the sands nervously. He knew it would be less risky if Yorty didn't see them together. He might suspect a conspiracy.
As they neared the crowded area of the beach, Tony paused and looked over the sea of working humanity. In a moment he spotted a familiar mop of red hair.
Yorty was sitting in a beach chair under an umbrella. He wore swim trunks and Tony could see the reddish curly hair on his chest and stomach. His Negro apeman was nearby, dressed in slacks and tight T-shirt, bulged by huge bullish muscles.
"There he is," Tony said, nodding.
"He is a big lug, isn't he?" said Evon, rising on tiptoes in the sand to see him better.
"Notice the Negro who looks like an ape? I think he must be some kind of bodyguard. He's always hanging around."
Evon glanced at Tony. "I think this assignment calls for a bikini, don't you?"
Tony grinned. "That's the best weapon I know of."
She pressed his hand, then released it. "I'll go slip into one. And Tony ? "
"Yes?"
"I think it would be better if you didn't stick around. I believe I could work it better so he wouldn't get suspicious. You agree?"
Tony nodded, feeling a pang of jealousy. But hell, wasn't it just a business proposition? He was angry at himself for letting sentiment come into the picture.
"Drop by the apartment tomorrow, Tony. I think I'll have something to report then."
"Be careful," Tony warned.
He watched her as she walked through the sand toward the motel. He felt much the same as he had when Margo sold herself to get him the twenty-five dollars.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN The Sex Experiment
Evon unscrewed the cap on a bottle of strongly scented bubble bath and emptied several capfuls into the bathtub. She set the bottle on top of the lavatory and started the water to running in the tub. She raised, stripped off her bikini and flicked it into a corner with her toe. Naked, she moved over to a large full-length mirror set into a wall of the bathroom.
She put her hands to her hips and examined her golden-olive body critically. Tony had pleased her when he had said she was the most attractive woman he had ever seen. Was it only pillow talk? However, she had often been told that she had some of the dark-haired beauty of Elsa Martinelli.
She smoothed her hands up her hips and across her flat stomach where her deeply inset navel shown like an elongated star over her triangle of ebony luster. Her hands moved to her perfect breasts, tanned down to her rosebud nipples. She leaned forward, frowning critically. She could vaguely see the circular outline of her bikini halter where the flesh was more deeply tanned. She would have to spend more time nude under the sun if she wanted to keep her tan uniform.
Her finger touched a small bruise on her left breast near the nipple. She rubbed it gently, almost caressingly. Tony's strong fingers had left the mark when he had made love to her that morning. She cupped her breasts in her hands, letting the glowing pink nipples peek through her fingers. She closed her eyes, imagining Tony was holding her. She moved her fingers in little circles, pinching and massaging the sensitive nipples. They curved like opening flowers, then thrust forward in excitement.
"Oh, Tony, Tony, Tony," she whispered. "You've awakened a glorious new feeling in me." She imagined Tony standing before her, naked, and she let her eyes travel up his hard, muscular body in her imagination. In the past she had cringed from the touch of a male, now she found that she yearned for Tony's hands to caress the erotic areas of her body. She loved the feel of Tony's sleek, olive-toned skin against her own.
Eyes still closed, she moved forward, pressing her breasts, tummy and hips against the mirror, pretending she was in Tony's embrace. Involuntarily, her lower tummy nipped against the cool glass.
How long would her new-found passion last? she wondered dreamily. Would it wear away like the luster of cheap jewelry? She hoped not, for she liked the new sensations. She felt all-woman, as though her lower stomach, hips and breasts were wild fruit, fully ripened, craving to be harvested.
An icy thought penetrated her dreamy stream of conscious thinking: Was Tony the only man who could excite her? When they said goodbye, would that be the end of her new sensations? Tonight she might find the answer.
Evon realized suddenly that it was getting late. She turned from the mirror and closed the water taps in the bathtub. She leaned down, spread the creamy bubbles, then stepped into the warm, fragrant water. She eased her golden body down into the tub, letting the bubbles close over her arching breasts and stomach.
She relaxed for a full minute, eyes closed, as she savored the warm luxury of the bath against her tingling flesh. Then she raised, took a wash cloth and began to scrub rapidly. She had to hurry. Spade Yorty was sending a car for her at eight.
As she washed her body, she indulged herself in a smug little smile. She knew Tony would be pleased with the progress she had made with Yorty.
When she had left Tony that afternoon she had gone to her apartment, put on one of her most wickedly revealing bikinis and returned to the beach. She had walked by Yorty, who was sitting under his beach umbrella. "Accidentally" stumbling, she had brushed against the umbrella, knocking it over. Apologizing profusely, she had helped him raise it. They talked, even swam together and Yorty had asked her out to dinner. When they parted, she made it a point to let her body brush against his and she had noted the wolfish gleam in his eyes with quiet satisfaction.
She had finished scrubbing her body and scooted down deep into the tub to rinse off the soap. She rose from the warm water, body glowing. She pulled a large, thick bath towel off the rack and dried herself.
Evon wrapped herself in the towel and walked into her bedroom. The apartment was empty, silent. Frankie hadn't returned from her sailing date. She was probably lying naked under a blanket with some beach ass, Evon decided. Not long ago, she would have been terribly jealous, but now she felt nothing. Several times that day she had thought about moving out into an apartment by herself. It was as though Frankie was an unpleasant memory, a link to her lesbian past that she wanted to forget.
She unfurled the towel and hung it over the back of a chair. Naked, she picked up a jar of dusting powder and removed the glass lid. She took a fuzzy powder puff, swirled it in the scented powder, then dusted it lightly over her breasts, shoulders and lower stomach. The puff tickled like the flutter of a little bird's wings.
She dusted her hips and upper inner thighs, then returned the puff to the jar. She picked up a bottle of her most expensive perfume and uncapped it. The spicy fragrance always gave her a feeling of Far East mystery. She dabbed it lightly under both ears, at the nape of her neck under her flowing, dark hair, then on both inner wrists. She recapped the bottle and returned it to the dresser top.
Evon pulled out a drawer filled with silky, frilly under things. She searched through the clothing, then picked up a yellow pair of panties with letters embroidered across one side. She studied the panties, then frowned and shook her head. She dropped them back into the drawer and picked up a pair of sheer black lace ones with a little red bow across the front.
Evon stepped into the panties and let the elastic band snap lightly against her firm stomach. She searched in the drawer until she found the matching black lace bra and slipped it over her shoulders. She bent forward, reached around and hooked it in back. She snapped on a black garter belt, then sat down on the bed and pulled sleek, dark hose over her slender legs. She rose, walked over to the dresser and, standing before the mirror, combed her long, dark hair.
She finished, tied her hair back in a pony tail with a black ribbon, then walked to the closet. She stood, frowning contemplatively before a wide assortment of fine clothes. Finally, she selected and slipped on a white taffeta dress, to accent the golden-olive tone of her skin. She clamped on black pumps with very high, spiked heels.
Evon had just walked out of the bedroom when the doorbell rang. She picked up her handbag, went to the door and opened it. She was startled a little as the light fell upon the bestial, flat-nosed face of Yorty's bodyguard. His little round ape eyes gleamed with lust as they raked over her body. Evon felt a surge of nervousness. "I guess I'm ready," she said uneasily. "Are you going to drive me?"
The Negro made a rumbling, beast-like noise deep in his barrel chest and nodded his bullet head vigorously. Yorty had told her the bodyguard's name was
Henry.
The Negro made the rumbling noise again and pointed toward a car, a late-model Cadillac. She wondered if he could speak at all.
Evon followed the Negro as he shambled to the car. She was hoping Yorty would be there, but he wasn't. The Negro's little animal eyes made her shiver.
Evon got into the back seat. Henry clambered behind the wheel awkwardly, and started the engine. The car lurched forward abruptly, engine straining.
Evon smoothed the taffeta dress down over her legs. She glanced up and saw the Negro watching her in the rear view mirror. She shivered again. Those animal eyes! It was like something looking out through the bars of a zoo or through the dense grass of a jungle.
Several times during the ride to the club she caught him watching her. She was relieved when the car finally stopped in front of a fashionable nightclub with a tropical South Sea decor. She got out of the car hurriedly and walked inside, spiked heels clicking.
The inside of the club was even more luxurious than the outside indicated. There were massive, ornate mirrors and potted plants by the hundreds.
"I'm meeting Mr. Yorty here," Evon told a waiter.
"Oh yes. This way, please." Evon sensed by the waiter's attitude that Yorty was well known at the club and was probably a big tipper. She followed the waiter to one of the tables, nervousness mounting in her stomach. If only she knew more about handling men: She'd spent most of her life rejecting and hating them.
She saw Yorty and tried to smile casually. He rose and seated her. He had exchanged his cowboy garb for a tuxedo. In a rugged way, he was almost handsome. But his hands and ears were too big and his large freckles made Evon think of a spotted tiger.
Yorty sat down and returned her smile. "You're a knockout in a bikini, honey. But you're just as lovely in a dress." His front teeth were widely separated and had the deep yellowish stain of a tobacco chewer.
"Where did your chauffeur learn to drive?" Evon asked. "I thought he was going to wreck us a dozen times before we got here."
Yorty grinned. "Henry is better with his fists than with machinery."
"Oh? You mean he's your bodyguard, not a chauffeur?" Evon asked, knowing the answer full well, but trying to channel the conversation into a productive area.
"Sometimes I have to keep quite a bit of cash around. Henry's a good watchdog, although not much smarter than one. I gave him a job to keep him from going to a loony house."
"Don't you trust the banks with your money?"
He laughed. He had a bass .voice, and his laugh seemed to echo up from his shoes. "I'm a gambler." He signaled the waiter.
They ordered dinner with Yorty asking for a thick Texas-style steak. "Make sure it's rare," he reminded the departing waiter for the second time.
"Have you always been a gambler?" Evon asked innocently.
He shook his head. His face was severely square cut with a blunt, protruding chin. "I was a ranch hand in the Texas panhandle for a while. Then I was in the navy." He laughed. "I got court-martialed for creaming a guy I caught cheating at cards."
He rubbed his large fingers together lightly. Evon noted that although his hands were large and rough like those of an outdoorsman, the fingers were soft as a woman's. The nails were well-manicured, as if to heighten the sensitivity of the fingers, perhaps for card dealing.
"We do a little gambling in our dorm after our housemother goes to bed. But our pots rarely exceed a hundred dollars."
He laughed. "The last game I sat in on I won twenty-five Gs," he said boastfully.
Evon felt a surge of excitement. He was taking her bait.
"Twenty-five thousand," she said with innocent wonder. "I'd like to watch a game like that. I'll bet it's fabulously exciting."
His washed-out blue eyes looked at her searchingly. "Maybe it can be arranged. We'll be having another, one of these days."
She smiled at him sweetly. "It'll have to be soon. I'm due back at college. I've already missed two days of classes."
Yorty reached over and lifted a frosted bottle of champagne out of its silver bucket. He filled Evon's glass, then his own. He returned the champagne to the bucket, raised his glass in a giant, freckled hand and sipped the drink almost daintily. He grimaced.
"God, we slopped our pigs with better booze than this back in Texas. I've got some real good stuff I've been saving at my place." He glanced at her and she met his eyes sultrily. She understood perfectly what was going on in his mind: Come up to my place first, then I'll let you sit in on one of my poker games.
The waiter, a fat, little balding man, brought their dinner to the table. Yorty took one look at his steak and his face reddened, the blotchy freckles seeming to stand out from the skin. He turned on the waiter. "Idiot! I said rare, not burned to a frazzle." He thrust the steak back at the embarrassed waiter. "Bring me what I ordered, or you won't be working here tomorrow."
The waiter retreated to the kitchen like a frightened little fat lamb.
Evon was feeling a little tipsy as they entered the elevator. Her nervousness and self doubt had mounted steadily through dinner and she had tried to bolster her courage with champagne.
"Good evening, Mr. Yorty," the elevator boy said subserviently. He pressed the button for the penthouse. The hotel was one of the finest on the beach.
Evon swayed, then leaned against the elevator's paneled mahogany wall to steady herself. Yorty grinned and moved a long arm about her waist. Expectant lust burned in his eyes.
Evon's insides cringed at the touch of his hands. But she forced her mind to be coldly objective. She had to find out. Could she enjoy any man, all men? Or was Tony the only one?
Yorty opened the door to his apartment. Henry was there, sitting on a couch and thumbing through a comic book. Yorty jerked a thumb at the Negro who rose, grinning stupidly, and shuffled out of the apartment.
Yorty bent down and kissed Evon on the neck, his breath a hot blast on her ear.
"Please ... your special champagne," she said. "I'd like a drink."
Wordlessly, Yorty left the room. Evon sank down on a luxurious white couch. Her hands were damp and trembling. She had an impulse to run from the apartment. But her scientific curiosity checked her. Was she cured? She had to find out.
In a few minutes Yorty returned carrying a silver bucket from which a bottle of champagne protruded. He set the bucket down on a table, pulled out the bottle and uncorked it. He poured her a drink and she took it almost greedily, raising it to her lips and gulping it down in a single breath.
"Now isn't that a better taste than that stuff at the restaurant?"
She nodded dumbly, feeling the champagne gush to her brain in a numbing, bubbling shower. Yorty moved out of her blurring vision. In a moment she heard the soft purr of stereo music. Then all the lights except a lamp in a far corner went off.
Yorty sat down close to her on the couch. He had shed his coat and tie. He leaned forward and embraced her suddenly, his lips seeking, then finding hers.
Desperately, Evon blanked out her mind and pretended it was Tony who was kissing her. Despite her efforts, she flinched slightly as one of his groping hands closed over her breast and squeezed it. His other hand slid beneath her skirt and moved up her nylon-stockinged thighs. She forced herself to lean back on the couch and passively open her legs to his exploring hand like a professional whore.
He lifted her skirt to her navel and his hands fumbled at her underclothes. He had trouble with a hook on her garter belt and attacked the garment fiercely, ripping it from her body. "Tony ... Tony..." she whispered faintly. His rough hands tugged at her black panties, and again, with the submissive movement of a wbpre, she hunched up her hips to let the garment pass beneath her buttocks. She kept her eyes closed tightly as if expecting someone to pry them open. She concentrated on memories of Tony's muscular, naked body.
She heard the rustling of Yorty's clothing. Then his naked, hairy chest descended upon her. He kissed her lips, then her neck and ear. She cried out in a sharp moment of pain as his giant hulk lurched forward. Then she lay like a dead woman as he spent his passion, his breath rasping in her ear. But toward the last, as his thrusts became frantic, sensations began to penetrate her alcohol-fogged brain. Her lower stomach began to whisper and tingle as though a covey of quail had taken to circling flight inside. Her dead-woman's hips came alive and began to nip. Above her, his body stiffened, then thrust down hard in retching spasms. He groaned in tortured rapture, then his body moved up and away from her.
She lay there, her heating body unsatisfied, aching hips and lower stomach screaming in ungratified passion.
She suddenly became conscious of the way he had taken her half dressed, in spiked pumps and hose with white taffeta dress gathered in folds above her waist. She was sickened. Yet, in the deep recesses of her womanhood, she felt exultation: She could enjoy other men.
But she had learned that, unfortunately, not all were as skillful in their lovemaking as was Tony.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN Love On A Beach
Evon wheeled her yellow Jaguar off the highway and onto a sandy side road, tires squealing. She crammed the car into a lower gear and Tony hung on as they careened down the rough road that was little more than a trail.
Evon was driving like someone possessed, as though her life depended on getting to the ocean as soon as possible. Tony had gone to her apartment earlier to learn how she had made out with Yorty and she had insisted he join her in a swim.
"I'll tell you about Yorty later," she had said. "Come on, I've got to get to the beach. These clothes are tightening on me, strangling me." And she had run breathlessly to her car. Tony had followed, mystified at her strange actions.
The road widened and smoothed out somewhat. The smell of the sea was in the air. They were drawing close to the beach.
Tony sensed a change in Evon. She seemed less tom-boyish and more self confident of her femininity. Deliberately, he put a nagging question out of his mind for the tenth time in the last half hour.
The road widened still more and the ocean came into view. The moon was only half full, but it was a clear night and the white sands of the beach were bathed in pale, eerie light. The whitecaps coursed into shore, moonbeams gleaming in their churning waters. The beach was deserted, except for an occasional seagull that dipped low and gave vent to a piercing cry. Evon had told Tony she was taking him to an isolated little beach where she came often, to swim and to meditate.
He glanced at her. Her white blouse was unbuttoned in a deep V at the neck, but her hand moved nervously to her throat, tugging at the garment as if it were, indeed, strangling her.
The road ended about fifty yards from the beach. Evon braked the car almost savagely. She vaulted over the door without bothering to open it and ran toward the beach. Surprised, Tony crawled out of the car and followed in a dogtrot. He saw something white on the ground and stopped to pick it up. It was Evon's blouse. A few yards farther on he found her shoes, then her blue shorts. He folded the clothing, finding it still warm from the heat of her perfumed body. He ascended a rolling sand dune and saw her running toward the surf, naked as the earth below and the stars above. Her golden body glistened in the moonlight like a dusky ivory statuette.
She ran into the foaming surf, dark hair flying like the mane of a frisky filly. She dived into the breakers and disappeared like a mermaid mirage.
Tony placed her clothes in a pile on the sand, his pulse pounding. He shed his swim trunks in a single swipe and ran for the surf. He saw her about fifty yards out, swimming with strong, graceful strokes. He churned into the water and dived headlong into an on-rushing breaker. He surfaced and swam after her, shoulder muscles cording as he stroked mightily.
He caught up to her when they were about seventy-five yards out, just as she was turning back toward shore. His arm brushed one of her legs. She squealed playfully kicked free of his grasping hand and swam for shore. He splashed close behind and caught up to her again as she reach shallow water and rose to wade ashore. He lurched to his feet and embraced her. They fell to the wet, warm sand at the edge of the surf. She laughed and struggled as he tried to kiss her. Then his lips found her damp, surf-kissed mouth and her struggle ceased. Her arms grabbed and entwined his neck almost savagely, crushing their lips together. Her warm little tongue ran down the inside of his lower lip and shivers tracked down Tony's spine like little mice's feet. He sensed a frustrated passion in her, greater than any he had aroused in her before. And he responded to her demands, caressing that most sensitive area where she craved it.
He took her there on the sand under the moon and the stars, their wet bodies glistening in the eerie light as they threshed by the rolling surf.
Her long golden legs entwined his waist, her hot buttocks rising pneumatically from the sand. "Make me, Tony! Oh, honey, bring me pleasure ... please!"
As their squirming bodies approached that climactic pinnacle both craved, the sea, as if sensing their mounting passion, hurled mighty breakers into the shore. Foaming white water rushed high up on the sand washing over their bodies. Evon cried out in rapture, hands clawing at the sand. She stiffened then relaxed as rolling spams undulated through her body from her curling toes to raven hair. Again and again the spasms rolled, finally ebbing away and leaving her almost hysterical and on the threshold of a swoon.
They lay for a long while on the sand while soaring sea birds screamed in swooping flight. Each was re-reluctant to leave the warm, throbbing embrace of the other. Finally, they rose and waded into the surf to wash off the sand which clung to their damp bodies. That done, they went ashore and Tony guided her over to where he had piled their clothing.
Evon picked up her blouse and shorts. "Turn your back," she said with the mysterious logic of a female. Grinning, Tony did as she bid and pulled on his swim trunks.
"All right," she said after a minute. He turned to find her fully dressed. She approached, took his hand and they strolled slowly along the beach, aimlessly watching the surf and naked night sky.
"Are you ready to tell me how you made out with Yorty?" Tony asked.
She squeezed his arm excitedly. "Oh, you'll be proud of me, Tony. They're having a game tomorrow night at a downtown motel. Yorty agreed to let me watch it. It's supposed to start at eight o'clock. I have the name and address of the motel written down on a note pad in my car."
"Hey, that's great!" Tony said. "Fast work!" He hesitated. "Did Yorty get fresh with you?" he asked gently.
There was a long silence. She walked with head down, looking at the sand. "Did he "
"Are you and your friends ready for action tomorrow?" she asked hurriedly.
"Yeah. We're anxious to get it over with." He reached down, picked up a piece of driftwood and slapped it against his thigh as they walked. "By the way, I had a talk with Race today. He says the gamblers will probably keep the door locked to the room where they are playing. He wants you to make some excuse for going outside to get cigarettes or something and unlock the door for us. We'll be watching and will dash in when you open the door." He paused, thinking. "You still want to go through with it, Evon?"
"Why sure. I wouldn't think of pulling out now and missing all the fun. Not me."
"It could be very dangerous. There might be a slip up and they might suspect you were in on it."
"Well, isn't that what makes it exciting the danger? But I've thought about that. When you bad men burst in, I'll scream and put on a good act. I don't think they'll suspect anything."
"You could leave when we do. That way they would know you had something to do with it, but still, you'd be getting away from them."
She shook her head firmly. "No, I want to stick around for the fun to see how they react. I might be able to help you later by finding out how they plan to get their money back."
"I think my friend and his girl are planning to go to California."
"Are you going with them?"
"I don't know ... but how about you, Evon. Are you going back to college?"
She seemed surprised he had asked the question. "Why sure. Why not? I have to finish college to collect the inheritance from my grandfather."
They came upon a dead tree, washed ashore by the surf. They sat down on the gnarled trunk. Tony put his arms around her. His throat was tight with emotion and the words were hard to get -- get out. "Evon I think a lot of you ... you know that?"
She snuggled into his arms. "And I think a lot of you, Tony. You're the first real man in my life."
"Evon, maybe we should forget about the hijacking. Maybe it would be better for both of us. Then we could have more time together before you go back to college."
"Forget about the hijacking?" she said, surprised. "After all the planning? Don't be silly, Tony. I wouldn't miss it for the world."
Tony felt emotion rising to his throat, almost choking him. He pulled her to him and kissed her passionately several times. He released her looked into her eyes, dark and full of mystery in the moonlight. "Evon ... have you ever thought of marriage?"
Tony bit his lip in embarrassment as he waited for her reply.
She glanced at him to see if he was serious, then unexpectedly tossed her head back and laughed. "Marriage? Me? I'm too wild, Tony. I want to live while I have the chance. Marriage and kids are not for me."
Her words were like sharp knives in his guts. Sensing she had hurt him, she reached out and rubbed his shoulder gently. "Let's not talk about love or marriage, Tony. Let's just enjoy our temporary relationship as we would a good book or a good movie. And after it's over, we'll have nothing but pleasant memories."
Tony knew he should have exulted on finding a woman who felt that way. Usually it was the man who had to say those words. Yet, the choking emotion lingered in his throat. He had to ask the question again, but he dreaded her answer.
"Evon, did you let Yorty "
"You won't let it drop, will you, Tony?" she said, a bitter edge in her voice. "Well, if you must know I let him lay me. He wasn't near as good a lover as you, Tony, but I did enjoy it toward the last. And I found out that I could have pleasure with other men. Oh, Tony, I'm so glad for what you did for me."
Tony felt sick. Her words had twisted the daggers in his guts.
Tony entered his apartment, feeling despondent. Evon had driven him back, but scarcely a dozen words had passed between them.
Tony closed the door. Dobber was snoring, sprawled out on the bed fully clothed. Tony noticed that he was still wearing the same filthy clothes. Tony had the feeling that Dobber would buy dope with the money he had given him.
Tony shucked down his swim trunks and put on slacks and a T-shirt. He knocked at the door to Race's apartment.
"Come in," Margo called.
Tony stepped inside. Margo was sitting in a chair in front of the TV, munching from a bag of potato chips. She wore a blue robe and the Vs at the top and bottom were deeply split, but Tony could have cared less. After Evon, he felt no other woman could excite him.
Margo glanced up. She looked older, more dissipated. The wrinkles around her eyes and mouth seemed to have deepened, like a peach shriveled after several days in the refrigerator. She looked as though she had been drinking to excess.
"How were the Harvard boys?" Tony asked, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
Margo shrugged. "Oh, just a couple of wham-bam bunnies."
The commode flushed in the bathroom and Race came out buckling his belt.
Tony was weary and wanted to get to bed. He didn't waste time. "They're having their game at eight o'clock tomorrow night." He handed Race a folded piece of paper. "The name of the motel and the address are there."
Race's eyes lit up. "Nice going, kid! Your little coed broad came through for us, eh? Did you tell her about getting the door unlocked for us?"
Tony nodded. "She understands all about it."
Race walked over to a table and picked up a brown paper bag. "It's a good thing I stopped by the hock shop this afternoon." He opened the sack and took out two revolvers that had seen better days. He passed one to Tony. "Know how to shoot a .22?"
"I used to fire them at a shooting gallery in Brooklyn." A sudden memory picture of his brother Tom teaching him to use the pistol at the gallery came to Tony's mind. That was during Tom's last leave.
The gun felt cold and clammy in Tony's hand. He shoved it into his back pocket.
"Careful, it's loaded," Race warned.
Race returned his gun to the sack and sat down on the couch. "Eight o'clock tomorrow, eh? That's great kid. I'll steal us a getaway car tomorrow and rent a motel room across town where we can split up the cabbage. I don't think it's safe to come back here. That Yorty's not a fool. And I'll also have to pick up some beach ass to drive for us." He frowned at Margo. "It's too bad you're too stupid to learn how to drive." She ignored his comment, concentrating on the TV program.
Tony frowned. "I thought we agreed to let Dobber do the driving. Are you trying to cut him out?"
Race shuffled his feet uncomfortably. "Kid, I don't trust that hophead. He'll get us into trouble. It always happens when you've got a dopey on a job."
"If he's out, then so am I. And so is Evon."
Race slammed a fist down on the coffee table. An ashtray careened off and crashed to the floor. "Goddamn, kid, be reasonable. You'll get a sizeable cut. Why don't you dump that junkie? He's never done anything for you."
Race studied Tony's granite face, and realized he couldn't change Tony's mind. He shrugged. "Okay, kid. Have it your way. But keep him off the stuff from now until the job is finished. I don't want a heroin crazy dopey wrapping us around a tree somewhere."
Tony turned without another word and went back into his own apartment.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN A Hijacking, A Pervert-and Horror
Tony watched as the fat lady stooped forward laboriously and picked up an armful of damp clothing from a laundry basket. She opened the glass door to the huge dryer and stuffed the clothing inside. She touched a button and the dryer began to spin, clothing tumbling.
Tony felt as though his stomach, too, were spinning, its contents sloshing inside. His hands were clammy and his shirt was damp with nervous perspiration. The revolver was a heavy, cold lump in his pocket.
The three of them were parked in front of a motel in the Cuban section, across the street from a laundromat.
"What time is it?" Race asked.
Tony looked at his watch. "Five minutes till eight."
Race was watching one of the apartments in the motel. Two cars were parked in front; one was Evon's yellow Jaguar. Race flexed his fingers on the steering wheel of the Cadillac he had stolen.
"I don't like it," he said nervously. "It's too quiet for any big game."
Dobber shivered between them. Little drops of perspiration dotted his forehead like chickenpox. Tony glanced at him. "You okay, Dobber?"
"Yeah, yeah-fine," Dobber said hurriedly.
"You'd better be, Junkie," Race said roughly. "If you queer this deal, I'll kill you."
Tony realized he might have made a mistake. He had confiscated Dobber's narcotics that morning and refused to let him have a fix. He wished now he had permitted him at least a little-to tide him over.
A taxi pulled up at the motel and two men-both expensively dressed-got out and walked to the apartment where the yellow Jaguar was parked. One was tall, thin and bald; the other short and tubby. They looked like Mutt and Jeff in the comics.
The bald man knocked on the door to the apartment. It opened a crack; both men looked about furtively and stepped hurriedly inside. Tony caught a glimpse of Yorty's red head at the doorway.
"Looks like business is picking up," said Tony.
"We'll give them a few minutes to get started," Race replied. "Then your broad should be opening the door." Race reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a couple of large handkerchiefs. He gave one to Tony. "Here, kid, tie this around your neck and pull it up over your face when the broad opens the door."
Tony fumbled with the handkerchief, finally getting it knotted loosely about his throat.
Race was watching him closely. "Take it easy, kid. Don't lose your head and get trigger happy. If you plug one of those weeds we will be in trouble. We'll have the cops on our tails. Just follow my lead and keep your mouth shut and your eyes open."
Race opened the car door. "Come on, kid, the weeds should be sitting down to their little game now. If your broad's on time, she should be unlocking that door any minute."
Tony got out of the car, his knees rubbery. Race turned to Dobber, "Get behind the wheel, Junkie," he snapped. "Start the engine and keep it running. I want this car rolling the second we jump into it, understand?" Dobber nodded, wiping the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. His pasty face looked like a dead man's with all the blood pumped out.
Race slammed the car door, and he and Tony started walking to the apartment. "Don't hurry," Race cautioned, "make it look casual." Tony's thumping heart seemed to be doing cartwheels inside his chest.
They neared the apartment and slowed their gait. They paused by Evon's Jaguar, casually inspecting the car as if idly curious. They edged closer to the door. A chilling thought iced into Tony's mind: What if Yorty wouldn't let Evon open the door? Tony shuffled nervously. His feet wanted to dart away.
"Don't panic, kid," Race whispered hoarsely, his eyes riveted on the door of the apartment.
Tony heard a click at the door and the knob turned. The door opened a couple of inches.
"Be back in a minute." Tony recognized Evon's voice.
Pulling his handkerchief over his face, Race leaped to the door and slammed his shoulder against it. Tony covered his face and followed Race like a robot.
The door flew open, knocking Evon to the floor. Race pushed inside with Tony close behind. Race reached out and shoved the door closed as Evon screamed. Her cries sounded real enough-they made the hairs on the back of Tony's neck rise.
"Hands on the table!" Race bellowed. "I'll gut shoot the first weed that gets smart!"
Yorty and three men sat at a small table with thick rolls of money at their fingertips. Their faces were blank in surprise, their mouths open, as if caught in the middle of a sentence. The thin bald man had leaped in panic and was half-sitting, half-standing. Race waved his gun and the man sank back into his chair.
Tony realized he hadn't drawn his own revolver. He fumbled in his pocket, pulled it out and pointed it at Yorty.
"O.K. Everybody empty his pockets on top of the table," Race growled.
The little fat man closed his open mouth and gulped. "You can't get away with this."
Race swung his revolver, pointing it at the man's sagging belly. "Shaddup and empty your pockets, lard-ass."
Surprise left Yorty's freckled countenance. He shrugged, smiled thinly and took out his wallet. He tossed it on the table and regarded Race calmly. "We'll have it back within twenty-four hours, hood," he said matter-of-factly. "And we'll take the interest out on your hide."
Tony's uneasiness mounted. Something was wrong. Yorty was too much at ease, too unworried.
The other three men pulled out their wallets reluctantly and tossed them on the table. Evon sat on the floor where she had fallen. She was putting on a good act. Her eyes were wide and looked genuinely fear-struck.
Waving his revolver, Race moved over to the table and wrapped the money in the tablecloth. He tucked the bundle under his arm and backed toward the door.
Tony realized suddenly what had been bothering him. It was the absence of Henry, Yorty's bodyguard. Where was the ape man? He was always at Yorty's coat tail.
Tony backed toward the door with Race. A flicker of movement caught his eye.
"Tony! Look out!" Evon screamed. Tony wheeled as Henry and two other men with guns burst through the doorway. Tony realized they must have been staked out to watch the apartment.
Race turned and fired point-blank at one of the men. The guy grunted, grabbed his gut and a funny look came to his face. His gun clattered to the floor, then he folded like a jackknife and pitched forward on his face. Race bolted out the door.
Henry lunged at Tony, gorilla arms spread like the open jaws of a steel trap. The other man with the gun dived to the floor like a commando. He rolled over twice, then brought his gun up, leveling it at Tony's head. Tony sidestepped the charging Negro, forgetting the gun in his own hand. Tony darted through the door after Race just as the man's gun blasted from the floor. A bullet sang past Tony's ear like an angry bee.
Tony dashed for the car behind Race, fear driving his feet. He heard the men running out of the apart-men behind them. Tony and Race neared the car and the breath choked in Tony's throat. The engine was dead and there was no one behind the wheel.
"Goddamned junkies!" Race swore. "Goddamned dirty bastards!" He flung the car door open. Dobber was lying in the front seat, knees drawn up, shivering with chills. Race shoved him from under the wheel and leaped into the car. Shouts and running footsteps were just behind them. Tony moved to climb into the car just as another shot sounded. His knee buckled as if someone had suddenly kicked one of his legs from under him.
"Race ... I'm hit," Tony gasped.
Race glanced down, then leaned forward and started the car. He crammed it into gear and screeched away with one of the doors hanging open and banging closed as he took a curve on two wheels.
Tony clutched his thigh and felt blood ooze between his fingers. He had lost his gun somewhere.
Yorty and his gunman ran up to Tony. They jerked him roughly to his feet and dragged him back toward the apartment. "Take the girl's car!" Yorty ordered his henchman. "See if you can catch up with the other one. I'll take this guy and that Goddamned stool pigeon broad to the farm. You know where that is. Meet us there."
The man nodded, dropped Tony's arm and jumped into Evon's Jaguar. He started the engine and roared away, tires squealing like wounded animals.
Yorty dragged Tony to another car, opened the door and threw him into the back seat. Tony's thigh burned as if a flaming stick were thrust through it.
"Bring the girl!" Yorty yelled at the Negro. "We've got to get out of here before the cops come."
Henry dragged Evon, kicking and clawing, from the apartment and shoved her into the back seat beside Tony. Henry crawled in between them. Yorty slid under the wheel and the three other gamblers, faces pale with fear, squeezed into the front seat beside him.
"I thought you said there was no chance of a slip up," the tall one said bitterly. "Now we've lost a hundred grand."
"We'll get it back," Yorty assured through tight lips. "The bastard won't get far."
Tony heard excited voices as people ran out to see what the shooting was about. Yorty started the car and pulled away from the motel.
Evon lay sprawled half on the seat, half on the floorboard. Her blouse was torn and there was a ragged red mark on one of her cheeks where Yorty had slapped her. She raised her head groggily and looked at Tony. She reached out for him. "Oh, Tony ... you're bleeding."
Giggling like an idiot, Henry pushed her back, his hands lingering on her golden shoulders.
The pain diminished in Tony's thigh; the leg felt almost numb. He could feel blood running into his shoe. It squished as he moved his toes.
Yorty reached over the back of the seat and pulled the handkerchief from Tony's face. "A Goddamned kid!" he snorted. His eyes returned to the road, then glanced at Tony in the rear-view mirror. "Where's your partner going with our money, kid?"
Tony shook his head. "I don't know," he groaned. "He didn't tell me."
They approached a bright street light and Tony saw a small sports car approaching. Tony lurched forward, letting the light fall across his head and shoulders. He waved his arms. The car roared by and Tony caught a glimpse of a short-cropped blonde head behind the wheel, then Henry grabbed him and slammed him back against the seat. The Negro's great strength stunned Tony: It was like being seized in the hydraulic gears of a huge machine.
"Keep him down!" Yorty yelled. He looked into the mirror again. "Where's your partner going with the money?" Yorty asked Tony. Tony shook his head. Yorty nodded to Henry. The Negro, grinning with pleasure, clamped down on Tony's arm and twisted. Tony bit his lip to keep from screaming. "I don't know, dammit! I don't know!"
The Negro's grip tightened and Tony felt as though his arm was being pinched off. He twisted around and swung his fist at the Negro's head. The blow connected, but it was as though he had smashed his fist into a stone wall. Pain bit into his knuckles. Then a giant black fist chopped down, catching Tony in the back of the neck. Every brain cell in Tony's head seemed to explode. He pitched forward.
Tony heard a babble of voices. It was as though he was deep inside a dark cave and people were talking outside. A blast of coldness shot into his brain like shards of sharp ice crystals. He opened his eyes as his throbbing head cleared somewhat. Henry had sloshed a bucket of water over him.
Tony was lying on a splintery wooden floor. The place looked like an abandoned farmhouse. The floors and gaudily papered walls were thick with dust, and the only light came from a naked bulb hanging from the ceiling by a frayed and fly-specked cord.
Evon was lying on a dirty mattress. Her wrists and ankles were bound, her skirt curled up high on her thighs.
Tony moved his arms and legs and found that he, too, was bound. His wounded leg was numb. Someone had wrapped a dirty towel around it as a tourniquet. He saw Yorty but the other gamblers apparently had gone.
Yorty walked over and looked down at Tony. The man's freckled face was hard, light blue eyes icy with anger. "Are you ready to do a little talking now-before I turn Henry loose on you? You've just got a taste of what he can dish out. You should have seen what he did to the beach girl he found swimming nude one night."
Tony looked at Yorty. "Go to hell!"
Yorty reddened and the blotchy freckles seemed ready to leap off his face like large fat bugs. He reached down and grabbed Tony's shirt front. His big fist knotted and smashed into Tony's face. Tony's head snapped back and struck the wall. The fist smashed again and Tony's ears rang. Blood gushed from his nose, spurting onto the floor.
Yorty raised. Tony's blood flecked the back of his hand. "Okay..., pal, if you want to play it stupid. We'll have some fun with your little stool pigeon friend."
Yorty strode over to the bed where Evon lay. He reached down and grasped her dress with both hands and ripped it from her body. Buttons popped to the floor and rolled. Henry moved up beside Yorty and stood looking down at Evon's golden body, clad only in panties and bra. Lust worked in his little animal eyes like live maggots.
Evon had guts; she didn't cry out. She lay with her eyes closed, a little muscle in her shoulder twitching.
"Beat it out of her, Henry," Yorty said wearily. "Use your belt."
The Negro giggled insanely. He unbuckled his wide belt and slipped it off. He curled it in his hand as if handling a squirming black snake. He advanced to the bed, raised the belt and lashed it down across Evon's white-pantied buttucks. Evon choked off a strangled cry, biting into her lip.
Henry laughed, and the sound was like the rumble of gases in the stomach. His gorilla arm moved up and down in a blur. The belt made little whistles in the air, then thudded fleshily across Evon's hips and buttocks. She squirmed on the bed, trying to evade the blows, but she didn't cry out again.
Tony tried to rise, but his bonds bit into his wrists and ankles. Little curling streaks of blood soaked through Evon's white panties as she writhed under the blows.
Yorty signaled the Negro who reluctantly stopped the beating.
"Are you ready to tell us where your partner cut out to, bitch?" Evon buried her face in the filthy mat-trees, silent sobs shaking her body. She didn't answer.
Yorty nodded to Henry and pointed toward a closet door from which a large clothes hook protruded. Yorty's freckled face was hard as speckled granite. "Strip the bitch. Hang her on the door and beat her until she talks. When we get through the sight of her will turn a guy's stomach."
The Negro's little perverted eyes shone like polished marbles. He leaned down and scooped Evon up as though she were a child's doll. She tried to twist around and sink her teeth into him, but his arms were like massive steel beams. He lifted her up and fastened her lashed wrists onto the hook. He released her and she sagged forward heavily. He reached out to rip away her underclothes, grinning mindlessly. A dribbling of saliva ran from the corner of his thick lips.
"Wait!" Tony cried, "I'll tell you!" His mind groped for a name. "It's the-the Seaview Motel."
Yorty looked at him suspiciously. "What's the address?" he asked curtly.
"I-I don't know."
Yorty strode over to a table and picked up a phone book. He thumbed through it rapidly, pausing to run his finger down a page. He hurled the book down on the table. "There's no such place." He nodded to the Negro and took out a silver cigarette case. "She's all yours, Henry."
The Negro giggled, reached out with both hands and grasped Evon's sheathed breasts. Evon closed her eyes and turned her face toward the wall. She shuddered. The black fingers closed on the bra and pulled? Her body twisted sideways, then the bra strap broke in the back and the garment dropped from her body. Her golden, pink-tipped breasts spilled free.
Yorty lighted a cigarette, watching the Negro's actions. Henry grasped the band of Evon's panties and stripped them down. Her buttocks and upper thighs were crisscrossed with welts, some oozing blood. Henry picked up the thick belt and whipped it across her breasts. Evon's body stiffened and cringed. A little animal moan tore from her throat. Tony strained at his bonds until he felt blood running down his wrists and into the palms of his hands. A jagged red streak appeared across the soft, golden flesh of Evon's breasts. The belt lashed across Evon's stomach and her body flinched, twisting away from the cruel blows. "Goddamn you!" she screamed defiantly.
Someone pounded on the door. Yorty threw down his cigarette and pulled a gun from his belt. He moved over to the door cautiously. "Who is it?"
"It's Kinslew. I've got one of them."
Yorty unlocked the door and threw it open. The man who had taken Evon's Jaguar lurched inside, half-carrying, half-dragging Dobber, who looked as though he had been run through a meat chopper. His torn clothing was soaked with blood; one of his arms was broken, twisted grotesquely. His nose was half torn from his face.
Yorty's man let Dobber fall to the floor.
"I found him beside the road," Kinslow said, "the other guy must have thrown him out of the car at high speed. He's barely alive."
"For God's sake, why did you bring him here?" Yorty asked, irritated. "What are we going to do with him? Why didn't you just leave him in the road?"
"He mumbled something about a motel. I think he knows where the other guy is headed, if we can bring him around to talk."
Yorty walked over to a filthy sink, filled a pan and hurled the water into Dobber's ground-meat face. Dobber moaned and gulped. He tried to rise, then sank back.
"Where'd your friend go, clod?" Yorty asked. Kicked you out of the car, didn't he? Tell us where he went and we'll get even for you."
Dobber blinked eyes that looked as though they were turned upside down in his head. Blood ran from a dozen gashes in his body. He seemed to recognize Tony.
"For God's sake tell them, Dobber, if you know!" Tony cried. "Don't protect that bastard!"
"I ... heard him say ... the Driftwood Motel..." Dobber's body shook with violent trembling and his eyes glazed over. His breathing sounded like two rusty files rubbing.
Yorty leaned down and turned Dobber over on his back. "He's out again. Looks like he's about done for." He turned to the other man. "Come on. Let's go get our money back." They walked to the door.
"How about us?" Tony asked. "You found out what you wanted to know. At least let Evon go."
Yorty glanced back. "They're all yours, Henry. Make sure you weight the bodies down when you dump them in the swamp."
The two men left, and Tony felt grim fear claw at his guts.
Henry giggled, his bestial face grinning in perverted rapture. He ogled Evon and slowly put his belt back on. He reached into his pocket and took out a switchblade knife with a black handle. He pressed a catch and a long blade shot out. He advanced toward Evon, grinning like a skull. Evon sagged against the door looking as though she were unconscious. Tony hoped she was.
The Negro reached out to caress her body. Tony closed his eyes as dizziness spun into his brain. He felt sick. His body retched but no vomit rose in his throat.
He heard Evon whimper, then scream in agony. Her cries tore Tony apart. He tossed on the floor, hopelessly fighting his bonds. She screamed again and again, her thrashing legs crashing against the door as she writhed in unspeakable agony. And the Negro laughed all the while: It was like laughter echoing up from the darkest, deepest corner of hell.
Then after a while there were no more cries. Tony heard a shuffling of feet moving toward him. He opened his eyes. The leering animal-man leaned down, knife moving toward Tony's throat. Blood covered the knife and the Negro's shirt. From the corner of his eye Tony saw a butchered thing hanging from the door. It more resembled the dripping carcass of an animal than a woman. Tony closed his eyes in horror and waited for the cold touch of the knife.
A siren wailed in the distance, growing louder. The Negro straightened and cocked an ear toward the sound like an animal, listening. The siren grew nearer until its shriek seemed to be in front of the house, then its moan faded slowly like a puff of wind. Car doors slammed outside.
Fear shot into the Negro's little eyes. He ran to the window, pulled back the curtain and peered out. He scurried back to a table, pulled open a drawer and rummaged through it, mumbling insanely. Failing to find what he was looking for, he heaved the drawer to the floor and looked about the room in confused panic. Mumbling, he turned and ran to a rear door. He threw it open and ran outside.
Tony heard shouts and the sharp reports of two shots.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN The Biggest Weed
An old, tired wind, spent from days over the ocean, moved ashore, kicking up little puffs of dust along the white sand dunes of the beach. The wind meandered through the dunes, then entered the cavernous maze of brick and steel of the city. It swooped to the earth and gently stirred a field of weeds in a vacant lot, then moved on its unhurried, eternal mission.
From the window of his cell Tony watched as the weeds waved in the breeze. Some of them had little blossoms and were almost lovely.
Weeds-hadn't that been one of Race's favorite terms? Anyone who was law-abiding or who had something Race wanted was a weed.
What was a weed, anyway? Wasn't it a plant that was out of place, something that didn't belong? Tony smiled bitterly. By that definition, Race was one of the biggest weeds of all.
Tony turned from the window. Looking through bars made him feel like an animal in a zoo.
He felt tired-old. Physically he was only about two weeks older than when he arrived in Miami, an eager, ignorant kid looking for big money and hot women.
But mentally, he had aged twenty years, he felt. Death had touched him-indeed surrounded him. Evon was dead, and now that she was gone he felt sure he had loved her.
Memories of that night on the beach with Evon returned to his mind time after time. Her laughter echoed in the back of his brain and he could almost feel her warm lips on his. Now the lips were cold, silent. At this very moment her rich, young blood-what was left of it-was probably being pumped out by an undertaker, flooding down the sewers of the city. If only he had been more persuasive that night on the beach when he had suggested they give up the hijacking. For that matter, if only he had not met her, perhaps she would be alive.
Then he thought of Dobber and how he had died. When Tony had been told his friend had died in a hospital from his injuries, he was surprised that he felt nothing. And then he realized that, to him, Dobber had been dead for many months-ever since he had had his first taste of narcotics.
Tony moved over to his bunk and sat down wearily. He ran a hand through his hair. He had been only seconds away from death himself-so close that he still doubted, at time, that he was alive.
From the police questioning and from what his court-appointed lawyer had told him, Tony had pieced together the events of that night of horror.
The blonde kid in the sports car Tony had tried to signal from Yorty's auto was the same college student they had robbed and left by the road on their way to Miami. He had recognized Tony and had followed Yorty's car to the vacant house. He had called the cops and they had arrived just in time to save Tony but too late for Evon.
Yorty was in custody, charged as an accessory to Evon's murder. Police had also arrested Race and Margo. Race had been wounded in a gunfight with Yorty and his gunman.
Several times during the last few days Tony had almost wished the cops had been a little later in arriving. He had felt as though his life were over, finished at eighteen. He could see nothing ahead, except a life in the slums.
Footsteps echoed in the corridor, approaching his cell. Tony looked up expecting to see the rotund little lawyer the court had assigned to defend him. Instead he saw a blue uniform with a first class petty officer's stripes on the sleeve.
Tony's first impulse was to hide his face in his hands. It was his brother, Tom, and he felt he couldn't face him. But Tony only cut his eyes away and looked down at the floor. Keys rattled in the lock and the cell door swung open.
"Hello, Tony. It looks like we got ourselves into a little trouble." The voice was calm, uncritical.
Tony looked up. His brother's eyes were concerned, yet not reproachful or accusing. Tom offered his hand and Tony rose and shook it warmly. "Tom ... it's-it's damn good to see you. How did you know I was here?"
They sat down on the bunk. Tom removed his hat and turned it in his hands. He looked very much like Tony, only a bit stockier and with a squarer, more mature face. Streaks of gray shot through his hair at the temples.
"Dad wrote me. My ship was in Jacksonville and I flew down on a Navy plane." He put a hand on Tony's shoulder. "I talked to your lawyer awhile ago, Tony."
"How does it look, Tom? Bad?"
"Anything like this is bad, Tony," Tom said. "You know that. But I'm not going to lecture-instead, we're going to do something about getting your life straightened out."
"I'd like that," Tony said. "Oh, how I'd like that."
"You could be worse off," Tom told him. "You've got a clean record-that'll help. There's a very good chance that you'll get off with a suspended sentence. That is, if you're prepared to help straighten out your life."
"I am," he said. "I'll do anything. Anything at all."
"Honest?"
"Honest, Tom."
"I believe you, Tony."
A certain glow of happiness spread over him, but then it died quickly when he thought of Evon.
With a few more words of consolation and admonition, Tom left Tony's cell. Tony again resumed his pacing, vowing to try to forget Evon.
He knew that what Tom said made sense. He could probably count on a favorable decision in court, but after that, what? His mind glossed rapidly over the happenings of the last month, saw what he did ... and decided what he should have done. Well, it was all over now. He'd get another chance to face life. After all, he was only eighteen. It wasn't as if his life was all behind him.
"Yes," said Tony, mumbling to himself. "Let's see if I can straighten out the screwed-up mess I've made of my life."
