"There are those who say that law and order are just code words for repression and bigotry. That is dangerous nonsense. Law and order are code words for goodness and decency in America."
So spoke the President recently in his explanation of new crime initiatives. It was, however, a personal sentiment, founded no doubt on the President's belief that the majority of Americans were resonating to the same moral pitch, and all indications are that he was correct.
Crime's grip on the U. S. today is both a reality and a state of mind. Few citizens actually die of fear, but its chilling effects have become a grim part of daily life for millions in and around the nation's cities. Fear itself, say many of the experts, is helping to create the conditions that permit crime to fester - deserted streets, an atmosphere of suspicion, loss of confidence in the police, and worse than all, the corrupt police officer who profits on the nation's most vicious problem: drug abuse.
The smuggling of narcotics into the U. S. is capable of supporting an explosive rise in drug consumption - and with it, savage rises in crime, in crippled lives, and in deaths. Hard statistics are difficult to come by, but the best Government estimates put the U. S. heroin-addict population at 560,000 - ten times the level of a decade ago and almost double what it was only two years ago. On the average, a U. S. addict spends $8,000 a year to support his habit. In New York City, with an addict population of more than 300,000, as much as 50% of all crime is attributed to drugs.
Recently it was announced by police authorities in New York that some 57 lbs. of heroin, confiscated in a famous case, were missing from the official storage room, and that several days later another 24 lbs. had disappeared. Shortly after, it was learned that another 88 lbs., plus 131 lbs. of cocaine, had also been stolen from the police department. Unquestionably an inside job, but yet unsolved.
It was this scandalous case which prompted Trevor N. Travis to write The Midnight Shadow, though it served little more than a germ basis for the thrilling plot he has woven together into a spine-chilling novel of inevitable brutality, rape, and murder. He makes no effort to gloss over the bitter inner politics riddling our law enforcement departments, which all too often evolve as the underlying cause of the cop "on the take".
Yes, the current return to law-and-order rhetoric may give "goodness and decency" a chance to do bold battle with "repression and bigotry". The law, after all, must be a responsive social organism.
The Publishers
CHAPTER ONE
It was late afternoon, near the cocktail breeding hour in this cozy barroom oasis, just the time when the local office clientele, sexy young clerks and secretaries from the surrounding insurance Babels would be arriving with ambitious executives and pompous vice-presidents sniffing behind them. The dolls, in the main, would be young and eager, ready to swing, and the grinning males late in commuting home to their wives. It was Friday, the working week's end - a little something to carry them over until Monday.
A good-looking and neatly dressed young man reached down to stroke a hand over the big, black-furred German shepherd sitting leashed and muzzled, in an unmoving, shadowy silence beside his bar stool. He did this absently; his discerning dark eyes were fixed on the reflection of the girl who had just entered. She carried herself with particular grace, yet her voluptuous hips swayed in a provoking rhythm. Her voluminous young breasts rippled in cadence, and there was a dancing enticement to her mid-back length blonde hair that blended nicely with the challenge-me-if-you-dare expression toying over her ripened lush lips. He would have liked to - challenge her that was - but she seemed too damned secure looking.
She eased down at a small table while he watched in the mirror. The waitress brought her a martini. She crossed her devastating legs, showing full, nylon-sheathed thighs, then lit a cigarette to poke at the ashtray. She was obviously expecting someone. Not him, Roger Kilane mused. No one in Onega Falls was in the slightest bit interested in a con-man with a bad habit.
Christ, he should kick for good. It was stupid the money he spent - the money he had to steal - or rather, his "second story" wonder stole for him. Again, he petted the faithful animal beside him. He could be a millionaire in a few years, once clean. It was so goddamned ridiculous when he thought about it, being a slave to the stuff. He sipped at his orange crush, feeling Shadow stirring beside him. The blonde at the table smiled to herself as if amused by a thought. He smiled with her...then, next to him, an aromatic young steno-type girl swiveled onto the stool. Immediately, she gleamed in his direction, dragging her big onyx eyes down over him to drop and focus on the dog sitting on his haunches between them.
"He's beautiful," she said. "What's his name?"
"His pedigree reads Prince Rensselaer - I suppose to be called Renny," the thin faced young man said, admiring her teeth, slender neck, and full breasts simultaneously.
"Is that what you call him?"
"No. I call him Shadow," he said, noting the tiny mole on the exposed swell of her right breast where it sloped luringly into the soft white valley between.
"God, he looks like a shadow. I hardly noticed him there at first," she said, then smiled as if they had known each other for ages. She was opening her purse searching, he guessed, for cigarettes. A cheap gold lighter appeared in her small hand. He'd make her, Roger Kilane decided. He pushed his cigarettes toward her.
"Thanks." She laughed again, taking one. "I'm Delores in case you'd like to know. Delores Martin."
He took her lighter and fired it, his eyes flicking to the mirror. The blonde had been joined by a wide-nosed, broad-shouldered man in an ugly gray suit that looked too small and dry-cleaned for his bulky frame. He wore a narrow black tie, carelessly knotted and hanging loose between crushed white collar tabs. Her father or Karate instructor, Kilane brooded . ..
"Well, aren't you going to tell me yours?"
"Mine . .. ? Oh, my name. Sure, it's Roger, Roger Kilane," he said, her long chestnut hair pleasing him. She had a snug little waist, this Delores chick, and the outline of her rounded thighs beneath a melange of pleated skirt not meant to hide shapely, charcoal-hosed legs were goddamned inviting. Yeah, he would! He'd have her sacked-out inside of two hours ... if all went well.
She took him to her place, a small, neatly kept apartment in front of an older brownstone building on busy Richter Boulevard, She lived alone, was twenty-six, and a legal secretary to a seventy-year old corporate attorney. . An outgoing girl, she was easy to know and he liked her straight off; it was just that he couldn't get the blonde with the voluptuous swaying hips out of his mind. What a helluva piece she would've been ... but there was nothing wrong with this luscious doll. She smiled often and he liked that - the world was short on happiness spreaders.
"Make yourself at home, Roger," she invited, reaching up behind and beneath her hair to unzip her dress. "There's scotch and bourbon on the table in the corner, ice in the fridge. Why don't you pour while I get comfortable?"
"What do you like?" he asked, walking toward the portable array of bottles and glassware.
"Scotch with a little water, no ice," she answered, petting Shadow. "How come I haven't seen you in the Oak Room before?"
"First stop. I usually stay at the Manor House when I'm in Onega Falls, but they decided they didn't like housing my dog, so I changed hotels. We're at the Essex, next-door to the Oak Room," he lied. "Do you have any orange crush?"
"Orange ... ? No, I'm sorry. There's Coke and ginger-ale though. It's in the kitchen. Which would you like?"
"Coke's fine."
Roger watched her trim curves working smoothly beneath her mini skirt, the exposed flesh of her back peeking through chestnut tresses, her narrow black brassiere strap contrasting the whiteness of her skin. She disappeared into the kitchen and he cast an expert eye quickly over his surroundings. Nothing artistic of value, he appraised, removing Shadow's muzzle, the tape-deck and TV being the only negotiables. He liked to think he'd moved above that category.
With her drink in his hand, Roger walked over and flicked on the tape. Instant Debussy gave the room depth - Suite bergamasque. .-. Clair de Lune. She had taste, Delores Martin.
"I love that," she said, smiling as she returned with several small bottles of Coke and a bucket of ice. "I usually turn it on the minute I walk in, and like that, I'm in another world." She sighed, emptied her hands and approached him for her drink. Her large dark eyes sparkled warmly as they searched his. She spoke softly: "Makes me romantic as hell, too."
Her breasts rose and fell, more visible to him now in their rounded fullness beneath the loosened dress with its low-cut bodice. He could see the outline of their tiny, hardened nipples through the lacy black nylon cupping them, and felt the first real tempest rumbling down in his engine room. Her expression suggested that she knew the effect she was having on him. He still held the glass but she didn't take it; instead, she put her hands on his shoulders, letting slender fingers spider up toward his neck from either side.
"Are you a good lover, darling?" she whispered.
"I work hard," he replied, feeling her hips moving in against his with a warm and exciting pressure.
"That's reassuring. It's been a long time for me. I'm not going to say that I don't do this often.. . but I don't. Can you believe that, Roger?"
The stress of her rounded hips increased, insistent thighs pressed tightly against his own until the length of her urgent young legs were molded to his. Her fingers crept up his cheeks, then around his neck. Her exotic perfume filled his head and his loins began to pulse heavily - he could believe any goddamned thing she wanted him to at that moment. He kissed her, the lush lips against his own warm and yielding, her tiny tongue moving into his mouth like an eager little animal. His jacket was open, and through his shirt he felt the hardened tips of her nipples digging into him, cushiony breasts smothering hotly over his chest.
He still held her drink in one hand, but the other was free to smooth down the naked flesh of her back inside the unzippered dress, down to the panty-covered ovals of her generously rounded buttocks. They were tensed with her hip and belly-pressure against him as he moved his exploring hand over the nylon encased mounds, tracing upward with a finger along the snugly arched crevice separating them. His hardening cock jerked responsively, furrowing against the resilient little swell of her lower belly as he crushed her tighter to him with the one hand clutching at the tautened luxuriance of her thinly covered ass-cheeks. She was breathing heavily into his mouth to the churning in his gut, undulating her avid hips against him and working to catch the bulge of his pants tightly into the juncture between her lush thighs.
Shit. .. with the exception of a fix, this was it, what the whole goddamned thing was all about! Not the fucking in itself, but the getting to it - an impetuous doll's honest passion - not like that goddamned blonde with her secure challenge-me-if-you-dare look . ..
She leaned her head back, lovely eyes near-closed, lips moistened and parted. "D-Do we have to pretend? I want it - want you, darling. God, I'm so hot!"
He bent his head and kissed the tiny mole on the creamy white flesh of her right breast. She gasped and clutched his face in tighter to their pliant warmth. He ran his hot tongue wetly through their deep silky valley, smelling and tasting the delicate fragrance of her perfume.
Shadow whimpered.
"Right here?" Kilane managed.
"Come on ... into the bedroom," she hissed, catching at his hand to lead him.
"What about this drink?"
She stopped, took it and drained the glass. "That's like throwing gasoline on a lighted fire,", she choked, then smiled. "What about you? Want one first?"
"Never touch the stuff," he admitted. She set down the glass, then guided him into her bedroom with the German shepherd trailing behind.
Kilane glanced at his watch when he pressed in close behind her and she stopped, waiting for his next move. He had at least two hours before he could make his buy; they were nasty about customers calling at unscheduled hours. If you were in bad need you had to phone the number and they sent someone around; you paid extra for that. He slipped his arms around her and squeezed his hands over her breasts, then kissed her neck. She rotated her bounteous buttocks back against his straining hardness without being sluttish, her head leaning back against him. In that position she eased out of her dress, wriggling it down over her hips to puddle at her feet. Her panties, like her brassiere, were brief and black, the supple crevice and soft fullness of her ass-cheeks more pronounced against him now that she was free of her dress. He brought his hands behind her brassiere and unfastened the thin strap, brushing the lacy garment away to slide down her arms.
His blood-engorged cock throbbed hotly. Christ, he had to bury the fucking thing in her vibrant little hole damned soon! Her small hand reached back between them, searching and caressing it feverishly. He clasped his hands around the smooth naked flesh of her upthrusting, firm tipped breasts that were rising and falling more rapidly with the passing seconds. Then, in the vanity mirror he saw them, high-set and globular in his hands when he lifted them, their tiny distended nipples the color of a rich wine - saw all of her body from the delineation of ribs tapering into a slender waist before the sweeping flair of her hips to the enticing swell of her belly beneath the wispy black nylon. A narrow black garter belt and long sheer stockings added to the sensual sight. He brushed one hand down over the warm satiny flesh, finally tracing with a finger the faint line of hair from her dimpled navel downward to where the visible dark pubic curls behind the transparent nylon panties shaded the inciting "vee" between her thighs.
She gasped and spun around to pull at the front of his trousers, fumbling pantingly with his belt and zipper, his own breaths heaving beneath her foreign touch. Neither of them spoke, then he choked out a grunt when her small hand wormed inside with cool fingers to greedily encircle his hot, rigid cock-shaft.
"Jesus!" he groaned as she began to work its thick foreskin back and forth with knowing skill, then drew him gently with her firm hold toward the bed. She turned around and crawled onto it, stretching out face-down while he kicked off his clothes, the length of his pulsating cock cleaving the air like the tongue of a runaway wagon racing downhill. Its bulbous head had burst from the sleeve of foreskin to glisten with a moist, fiery glow.
She lay waiting, unmoving but for the intensity of her breathing. Kilane debated for several seconds before kneeling over the curvaceous young woman to peel her panties down off the ovalled moons, watching her lift her hips for him, his eyes ogling their white beauty as he slid the tiny bikini briefs along her shapely legs - debated and decided that the dark hose and garter-belt would help stoke his lust.
"Like this ... from behind, darling!" Delores Martin whispered hoarsely back at him. "I love it doggy - it goes in deeper!"
"Christ...," Kilane swore. Could it go on being this good? He wasn't thinking too well, but he couldn't off-hand remember another fast make like her. He dropped down on top of the symmetrical flow of her white curves, his lean muscular body a furnace of desire, and she began to writhe under him, little purring whimpers escaping her.
"Oh God, give me a good fucking, baby ... I need it so bad!" she panted as he pushed his swollen cock into the deep slit between her undulating buttocks. Oohhh, it felt so good ... so gooddd! Not once, ever, had it been like this with Mark. She'd never been sorry about the divorce - her lovers, as few as they'd been, had eliminated quickly that post-remorse. Lust was beautiful! Roger Kilane was beautiful! His cock was beautiful - and he was going to fuck her right into heaven!
He was grinding his muscled loins into the swiveling flesh of her ass-cheeks as if he were going to rape her! Thrills of passionate delight raced through her hungering young body. Then he was biting at her neck, and she squealed in masochistic delight, tempted suddenly to taunt him into sodomizing her! No man ever had! Sometimes, at night alone, she got so hot just thinking about that, a long thick prick worming right up into her anus, cumming in there, fucking her ass mercilessly! Oh God! And then, he was slipping down her, kissing her shoulders, back and buttocks, finally her thighs, and she forgot everything else.
Kilane merely pressured against the insides of her legs and she spread them wider. He tugged gently at her hips and she raised back onto her fanned-out knees, dropping her head and shoulders onto the bed. He lay on his stomach with his face between the voluptuous white columns looking up at the curl-fringed lips of her pouting cunt, the pinkish inner-flesh moist, as were the soft insides of her thighs shining wetly from the tiny rivulets of released liquid passion.
He raised his head until his open lips compressed the yielding pussy folds of hair-lined flesh, joining their contour as he thrust his hot tongue lustfully up into the liquid fire of her vagina, tasting the piquancy of feverish desire in the intimate core of her curvaceous body.
Delores tremored and mewled to the lashing onslaught of his invading tongue licking at the intricate secrets of her sizzling cunt. The intoxicating shock had triggered frantic hip motions, and now she thrust them back until his nose was between her ass-cheeks, tickling her tiny anus as his tongue spurted up into the clasping vaginal walls until she wanted to cry out from the overwhelming pleasure. Then, he was licking her clitoris, laving the bud almost fiendishly, at last sucking it into the burning heat of his mouth until she thought she'd go completely mad!
"Oh damn! Put it in, Roger darling! Fuck me now, please? My God! Fuck me like a bull!" she begged him shamelessly.
His nose itched and he knew why, but for once the goddamned monkey was going to ride second! He got to his knees, his rod of thick veined flesh lancing out like a fierce spear from his loins. He couldn't remember a hard-on to equal this! Christ, what a wife she'd make! A man could conquer mountains, even a man like him!
"Do it! Please do it, lover!" she gasped into the bedding.
He wriggled in close behind her, watching his penis as if it belonged to someone else. The head was like a flaming ball of fire, but it was worse at the root where an aching turbulence was pounding there to the very depths of his balls. He grasped the blood-locked shaft, prodded for a moment with its bloated nob, then thrust mindlessly up into her proffered vagina, fucking the length of its long, thick penis with an inflamed lunacy he'd never felt before. The warm wetness of her pussy engulfed his burgeoning glans, her supple ass-cheeks flattening against his hips and pelvis beneath his vicious plunge. She squealed like a skewered pig as he gripped at the firmness of her corded upper thighs, the measure of his male supremacy buried to the hair flat of his gut up into her tightly squirming cunt!
"This what you wanted, Delores baby?" he wheezed down at her bent white body. "A bunch of hard cock in your hot little belly? Well... that's the best I can do!"
"Oh ... oh ... oh ... darling!" she gasped back at him. "Oh ... oh ... !"
He saw her provocative profile gushing out the sounds and then her head raising to flail that wealth of chestnut hair wildly against the dryness in his throat. His raging cock was caught somewhere a shade this side of ecstasy, his breath intake like piercing stilettos in his chest. And Delores Martin, the voluptuously naked creature hunched lewdly before him, was matching his rapture as he fucked with battering thrusts up into her violated pussy.
His hands like clutching talons worked at the pliable flesh of her thighs, hips, waist, while he humped up into her from behind, revelling in the clasping wet heat of her greedily absorbing vagina. She rotated her luscious hips with a frenzy, throwing her ass-cheeks back against him, working her knees out wider then heaving her ravenous young cunt back tighter onto his thrusting cock. She loved it doggy, all right, but he'd bet his ass she loved it every way imaginable! Christ, he was coming apart .. . not used to devoted partners like this one. What a gorgeous wife she'd make ... even for him . . . and God knows, he needed someone ... he really did!
He could feel his cum-ladened balls swinging down hard to smack against the flat softness beneath her raven pussy-hair as he watched his shining wet rod completely disappear every time his ramming hips met her backward charging buttocks. Then he saw her hands moving down and felt her fingertips caressing and grazing beneath his bloated sac to cause jagged sensations to race spasmodically to the depths of his loins. Her pretty face was flushed and the tangled mane of her long, soft hair like a rent vail spread over the whiteness of her shoulders and back. Her whole lustfully enthralled young body was his now, given to him to do with as he pleased in the sensual pleasure he was bringing her.
Delores couldn't remember when she'd ever been so thoroughly fucked! With his every charging plunge up into her friction-fired pussy passage, his solid cock that was stuffing her vagina to the near-bursting point almost drove her off the other side of the bed. God yes, he was giving it to her like a bull, all right, and a handsome young bull he was - all man, wonderful cock-man! She kneed out her legs even farther for him so that his burning thick penis could reach another fraction of an inch up into her inflamed belly, entranced in the erotic blend of pain and pleasure his breathtaking fucking was bringing her.
Unable even to think straight, Kilane's hands raised little red welts over her satiny white buttocks and hips as they clutched them brutally to haul her back onto his throbbing, super-expanded penis. He dug a finger at her tiny puckered anal ring, sinultaneously fucking up into the gripping liquid flesh of her seething cuntal walls with sadistic abandon. But she only moaned and came back for more, taking all he could give, her lewdly subjugated curves squirming and writhing, her gorgeous white ass-cheeks slaving nakedly beneath him.
One more unceasing groan emitted from her open mouth as he raged and swept and battered the furious length of his cock up into the depths of her tremoring little belly, that groan suddenly thinning into an animalish whine as her loins began to convulse around him in spasms of feminine frenzy.
"Ooohhhh! Darling, darling ... I'm cuummiinnggg. .. !" she cried, a bath of fluid warmth flooding his rampaging hardness that was fucking with trip-hammer velocity up into her impaled cunt. Her hands shot back and clutched at his hips as she knelt in her obscene position, face smothered in the bedding. "Aaahhh ... shoot it into me, lover! Fill me with your hot cum! Hurry!"
Hurry! Sweet shit! He wanted to blow his load more than any goddamned thing he could think of at that moment! Her vaginal passage had tightened again in a ragged series of contractions, the clinging viscid walls like a sleek, fire-filled hand gripping his cock, electrifying it with a tormentful sensation beginning to unravel in the very depths of his balls! He sensed the gushing, needle-like stream screaming forward the length of his jerking penis and bolting up into her with a violent thrust, his gut tightening in the throes of climactic upheaval. His mouth hung open like a manhole, the breath bursting from it as his boiling sperm squirted from the tip of his wildly pulsating cock-head.
"Aaahhh Chrissttt! I-It's cuummiinngggg!"
"Yes ... yessssss! I can- feel it lover! Ooohhh, fill me, fill me ... ! Agghhh, Goddd! I-I'm cumminngg agaiinnn . . . !"
Kilane slumped over on top of her at last, both of them collapsing, their perspiring bodies heaving in the aftermath of ecstatically spent nakedness. He felt his deflating penis slipping from the oozy warmth of her still contracting vagina. She moved her thighs and he rolled off her with a sigh while she lay there smiling at him, her cheek against the bedding.
"You're some lover, Roger Kilane," she praised softly. "Would you mind kissing me now?"
He grinned and lifted his head as she twisted her face up at him. Her lips were warm and moist, no less inviting to him than in the beginning. Sonovabitch, he really dug her! "You're some doll, yourself, Delores Martin."
"You like me?"
"More than just a little, I think."
"Why don't you stay the night? Maybe by morning you'll know," she invited, obviously serious.
Kilane laughed and sat up, glancing at his watch. He saw Shadow sitting in the darkness by the door waiting, the animal's amberish eyes glowing little flames. "Maybe I'll be back if you want me to," he said, reaching for his shorts.
"D-Do you have to go? I'd love to cook us a couple of steaks. We could have cocktails first."
"Sorry. Business, honey - got to go skating for snow."
"What? Skating for snow ... ? What's that mean?" She repeated his words and stared at him, perplexed.
Roger laughed mirthlessly. "Nothing," he said. "Just business, baby, business."
"Can't it keep? Please?"
"Honest, it can't," he said with a headshake and wishing to Christ it could keep forever, but he knew damned well it couldn't. He didn't want to leave her, but in a few hours he'd be climbing the frigging walls. "I'll come back. It'll only take me an hour or so."
He kneed back onto the bed and kissed her again. She clung to him, her soft naked arms tight around his neck. "Is that a promise?" she whispered.
"Yes - a promise."
"Mmmmmmm ... I'll be waiting for you, Roger Kilane ..."
CHAPTER TWO
On the street, Kilane bought a local newspaper and glanced at the headlines, "POLICE SCANDAL AIRED." He'd read the first release on it in the morning edition; this was probably no more than a repeat of the facts. The story intrigued him - all that "H" being heisted right out of the police evidence vault, and happening in such a sedate upstate city as good old Onego Falls. He smiled to himself as he bent down to put Shadow's muzzle back on him. It was then that he saw the wallet between the powerful animal jaws.
"What the hell . . . Where'd you get this?" It was a woman's. An unpleasant knot caught at the pit of his stomach. Kilane opened it and read the identification - Delores Martin, 12063 Richter Blvd., Apt. 3-A, Onega Falls, N.Y. He looked further; there was a hundred and thirty-eight dollars in twenties, tens, and ones . . . some silver, too. Ordinarily, a fair haul, but in this case no goddamned good at all! What the hell! He couldn't take her money, not after what they'd just had together. But how the devil was he ever going to give it back? What could he say?
Shadow looked up and whimpered. He was waiting for his usual pat and praise. Kilane didn't deny him; the dog wasn't to blame after two years of incessant training. He shoved the wallet into his pocket and hailed a taxi. He'd think of something, but right now he was wearing a miserable rider and he couldn't put his mind on anything else. Christ, he needed a fix!
The area around the Roller-Drome always seemed exceptionally dark to him even though the skating center itself was brightly lit. Kilane supposed it was because the oblong building had been constructed on the edge of the city where there were few houses and less street lamps. The usual crowd of young people were clustered around the entrance as he led Shadow past it to the pathway running along its side. The night swallowed them up; the faint din of the rolling wheels against the flooring vibrated through the outer wall.
Kilane walked to the back where the encased stairway descended to a basement door. As usual, it was pitch black, but the young man knew his way well enough. He tied the muzzled German shepherd with a slip-knot by its leash to a familiar tree some three yards from the stairs and started down. Voices reached him and he stopped after the first step, wondering if maybe he should wait a few more minutes. They didn't like one customer bumping into another. The voices grew louder, the cement-block stairwell so constructed that sound seemed to amplify and reverberate in it.
" .. . Don't worry. I can deliver the stuff into the right hands and get us maybe . . . five hundred Gs, but those big-town boys ain't going to go for no million, I can tell you that right now ..."
Kilane picked up his ears, the natural con-man in him beginning to record. He tried, but couldn't make out the other voice. The first one was gruff, though, and one he'd heard before. Jules Villa! "Stuff - five hundred Gs - a million ...!" He thought of the headlines in the newspapers. Christ! Maybe he was onto something big . .. real big ... big enough to set him up for life... he and Delores! A dull thumping sound reached him then, evenly cadenced, like someone walking with a heavy foot. Shadow whimpered.
"Shhhhhh!" the young eavesdropper commanded, and two seconds later, the door burst open to flood the stairwell with light!
"Who the hell's up there?" a snarling voice growled, a raw-boned faced man charging up to grab Kilane, dragging him down and inside before the young listener had realized what was happening.
The door slammed behind him and he saw the other two, recognizing them immediately. They were Jules Villa's stooges, young men in neat, casual dress except for the slight, pinched-faced one; he wore a tailored dark pin-stripe suit with heavily padded shoulders, an expensive shirt and tie. Villa was not there - just the three of them in that cell-like room almost devoid of furniture with its single burning ceiling light.
"What the fuck were you doing up there, Kilane?" Birch Shale, the raw-boned one with a severely scarred face, snarled, still holding to a wad of the smaller man's coat-front.
"Hey! I was on my way down, for Chrissakes! I come to buy!" Kilane managed, his dark eyes half-bulging in a growing fear at the twisted mean expression on Birch Shale's unpleasant face.
"You're a lying bastard, junkie!" Shale spat. "You were out there trying to fill your ears, right?"
"Wha . . . ? Hell no, Birch, you know me better than that!" Kilane said as the other pushed him back roughly against the wall. Christ! What the hell was happening? He'd known Shale a. lifetime, gone through school with him, Pinto Davis, too!
"The boss still here?" Birch Shale questioned the other two. "Tap on his door, Pinto. See what he says to do with this hype with the rubber ears."
"Jeez, Birch! I don't know what you're talking about," Kilane tried as Pinto, an almost bald and barrelish ex-football lineman, knuckled the one other door leading from the small room.
"Like fuck you don't!" Birch said, still holding him pinned to the wall. "Your rep says different, Roger boy. You always were a sneaky little prick, the way you hustled bucks. But this time, you went too far ..."
"Who is he?" a huge, swarthy man with a pair of gold front teeth gleaming through a wealth of graying beard asked gruffly from the open doorway. There was someone sitting in a chair behind him, but Kilane couldn't see around the massive man even if he'd had the wits to try.
"Roger Kilane, a local junkie," Birch said. "A sneaky bastard, boss. I don't trust him."
"I was coming to buy! Honest to Christ, I was ... !"
Birch slapped him hard across the face. "I told you to shut up, prick!"
Kilane tasted blood from the inside of his mouth, beginning to wish he'd brought Shadow in with him. They weren't fooling! That look in Jules Villa's little watery eyes! Christ! He'd really stumbled onto something, all right, and he wished to God he hadn't!
"What'd you think, Leslie?" Villa addressed the slender pinched-faced one in the pin-stripe suit who sat filing his fingernails and seemingly paying no attention to the whole scene.
He shrugged padded shoulders. "It seems silly to take chances," he said with effeminite inflections to a whiny voice. "But it's your decision."
For several seconds, Jules Villa stared directly at Kilane, who stood pressed against the wall licking at his bloodied lip, then he nodded at Pinto before closing his door. What the hell did that mean?
Desperation clawed at Roger Kilane's entrails. He saw the barrelish man with whom he had once acted in a high school play walking heavily toward him. Birch let free of his coat and took a step backwards, his horribly scarred face seeming to grow purplish along the cicatrices of stitched flesh. Christ! He had even gone to the hospital to see Birch after that motorcycle accident! They were old friends... schoolmates! Pinto Davis moved in close, set himself on the balls of his feet and unleashed a stiff, short-measured jab with his solid weight behind it, catching Kilane unprepared as it dug into his solar plexus.
The breath belched from Roger's lungs. He choked and doubled forward, his knees buckling. Shale's bent leg came up to meet him, solid muscle shattering the bridge of his nose, blinding Kilane with instant pain and flinging him back against the wall. Again, he slumped forward, sliding down against the rough plaster with his brain floundering helplessly.
Pinto caught him, slamming him back up against the wall to sledge two more brutal blows around the heart. Like a sackful of sand, Kilane sagged as Shale caught him halfway down, dragging the hoarsely gasping man upright once more. There was absolutely no fight or resistance in him and neither of the pair admired that. The gaunt Shale held him erect with his left hand, then thundered his right fist with a sharp splat against the rasping, open-mouthed face to send blood spraying as if from the nozzle of a hose, the back of Kilane's skull shattering the plastered wall.
They let him fall then to hands and knees, dreadful croaking sounds bubbling from his mangled lips. Blood streamed from his nose and mouth to pool on the floor beneath him as he rocked unsteadily there.
"Sonovabitch's got more grit than I figured him for," Shale said, lashing out with a pointed boot to Kilane's ribs.
A soggy wail of agony tore from Roger's throat, the force of the kick hurling him onto his opposite side where he tried to curl into a shell-like ball. Pinto walked behind him and aimed two more vicious kicks at the defenseless man's kidneys in rapid succession, sniggering with each one. Still conscious, excruciating groans of torment came up from the bloodily beaten hulk on the floor, and, to their amazement, he was groping blindly back up onto his hands and knees.
Watching in disgust, Leslie Davenport slipped the nail-file back into its leather case and stood. "You two bastards are utterly crude," he said, fingering the knot of his tie and approaching the now-kneeling Kilane. "It wouldn't hurt either of you to take a few Karate lessons." He paused to look down curiously at the crimson-smeared, heaving and grunting man. "You see, you've busted him up rather badly, but he could survive - with all of your pounding, you haven't touched a vital spot. Look here."
Birch Shale leered jealously at the small lethal nephew of Jules Villa, knowing the depths of Leslie Davenport's deadly capabilities and hating the fear he held for them. He watched the frail figure move behind the hunched down, swaying form of Kilane on hands and knees, then, like a ballet dancer, performed an almost gracious kick, the toe of his boot crushingly mashing the vulnerable bulge of the junkie's testicles. An ungodly wail of agony burst from the tortured man's lungs as he clutched down between his legs and rolled onto his back, his legs jackknifing.
"Get the idea? It's not the mere kicking them in the nuts - it's the precise method of doing it that counts," Leslie instructed, walking around Kilane's writhing body to his blood-saturated head. "Now, that was for pain, and this . .. this is it!"
The movement of the slight, nattily dressed man's polished shoe was a blur before Shale and Davis' gaping eyes, the dull, thuddish sound like the blow of a hammer against a ripe melon. Birch felt his stomach wince as he watched the beaten hype's body jerk convulsively several times, the purplish bruise left by Leslie's shoe-point vivid against his temple. Then, the constricting muscles stopped moving entirely, and Shale knew - Roger Kilane was one dead prick!
Outside, a viciously frantic German shepherd reared and strained in growling savagery against the leash holding him, his powerful muscular body instinctively calling on its last ounce of strength to answer the crying wail of his master's agonized voice. Unceasingly, the massive animal struggled, until, with a sudden give, the knotted leather snapped, and he lurched free, but only to stop and throw back his head in a muzzled-jawed howl that filled the night with a sinister lament.
Like a phantom, the amber-eyed beast melted into the blackness when the door below opened and footsteps fell shufflingly on the cement-block stairs. He watched the three carrying their burden, the deep rumbling in his throat a feral sound of vindictive hatred. The darkness was no hindrance to the mighty animal's vision - each man's physical traits burned indelibly into his canine brain. He saw them dump his master's body into the trunk of a car, close it and suddenly drive off. Then, another eerie howl split the night - one that screamed with blood-curdling vengeance.
CHAPTER THREE
Sergeant Joe Mudd lumbered from an Onega Falls patrol car and flipped his rain slicker collar up against the chilly late August drizzle. He rubbed at his wide nose and snorted, never feeling too sharp at six o'clock in the morning.
"Where is it, Ben?" he asked a uniformed officer who was keeping the inquisitive going-to-work traffic moving along the highway.
"Down on the beach, sergeant. Take that path."
Mudd nodded and plodded off downward through the brush, wondering what it took to be such an avid fisherman on a lousy morning like this. Less than thirty minutes ago, Captain Singer had called him from his home, his voice meaner than cat piss. Some angler had found a male body on the beach, its battered face covered with dried blood.
Robin had rolled toward him, "What is it, Joe?"
"Nothing . .. nothing, baby. Go back to sleep. I've got to go downtown."
"Don't you want some coffee first?"
"No, no. Just go back to sleep, hon. I'll call you later..."
The doll. He had no goddamned right... he was too old for her! It was as simple as that. Last night at the Oak Room, hell, he'd never dreamed what she had in mind, and he'd acted like an ass.
"He's a sweet baby, Joe, and I know we could have him! Honest! I've already talked to the Home's superintendent! Please? Can't we go see him . . . ?"
Adopt a kid? He guessed that was what had floored him, the idea of adoption. There wasn't much he wanted more than a son of his own, but - of his own! Their own! She knew that, too. What the hell, their night out on the town had been a disaster; she'd come apart at the seams before they ever got home. Yet, this morning she'd wanted to make him coffee...
"Morning sergeant."
"Tom," Mudd nodded, peering beyond the young plainclothesman to where a tarpaulin was spread over an ominous-looking form. Several more officers and officials stood around to exchange head-bobs as he walked over and lifted the canvas. Tom Whalen accompanied him.
"Beaten to death?" Mudd asked.
"It looks that way, sergeant."
"Identification?"
"Yeah, as a matter of fact. Unusual, eh?" Whalen said, fishing into his pocket for a notebook. "Roger Kilane, 326 Levett Street."
"The flats," Mudd commented, referring to Onega Falls' ghetto area.
"And this, seargeant," Tom Whalen added, handing the big, ugly-faced policeman a woman's wallet.
Mudd flipped it open and read the identification, then checked the bills, "Hmmm . . . knocks robbery on the head, eh?"
"Yep. Officer Markson has Kilane's wallet if you want it. It's loaded - over twenty-two hundred dollars in it, sergeant. He certainly wasn't mugged."
"Yeah . . . what're these tracks around the body, Tom? Looks like an animal," Joe said, squatting down to examine the prints left in the wet sand.
"Yes sir, that's what we all thought. Dog, maybe?"
"A damned big dog. Let's see the body again."
Whalen lifted the tarpaulin and Mudd leaned close. "Yeah, look . . . some of the blood's streaked - as if it'd been licked or washed away from the face. Hmmm ...He was a good-looking young fellow once."
"Somebody didn't like him," officer Tom Whalen murmured.
"Not even a little bit," Mudd concurred, straightening. "The coroner been here?"
"No sir, but he's due."
"Take care of things afterwards and bring his wallet to my office," Joe said, gazing out at the small lake.
"You want it now, sergeant?"
"No. I want to pay this Miss Martin an early morning call and see if I can catch her with sleep seeds in her eyes," Mudd said, shoving his hands deep into his slicker pockets. "You much of a fisherman, Tom?"
"No ... I guess not. I like to play golf," the young officer grinned. "This Lake Onega is enough to queer me."
"Treacherous," Joe agreed from a lifetime of knowledge. "The fellow who found him ...?"
"Just a fisherman, sir, but I've got all the data. He's to be at headquarters at nine."
Mudd nodded. "How's Flossie?"
"Great, sergeant," the young officer beamed. "The kids too."
"Your boy, Jimmy, can he still heave that football?"
"He's a pro, sir."
Joe smiled and walked away, unaware of the appreciative grin following him. He hunched down into his slicker, a difficult task for a two hundred and twenty pound, brute-shouldered man.
Mudd drove slowly toward Richter Boulevard, trying to place the name of Kilane. It rang a bell. Twenty-five or more years ago, he'd gone to school with a kid named Pete Kilane, and Pete had lived on "the flats." Could there be a connection? Christ! The city'd grown so much in the last twenty-five years, even since the insurance companies had moved in to make it a mecca. That was good, he supposed, for some,
but not for a loused-up police department that the city council refused to believe should expand to cope with the times. Hence, you had plenty of vice and characters like Jules Villa . .. but why should he give a damn. Let Singer and chief Colton worry about those major issues, and they sure had their goddamned hands full right now, didn't they?
This Kilane's murder, unless it unfolded itself, would fall into the back of a drawer. Somewhere in the vicinity of two million dollars worth of pure "H," lifted from their evidence vault, was catching headlines right across the U.S.! Jesus! When he thought about it, he got the shivers. No wonder Singer was short with him when he called this morning. The bastard was lucky if he could sleep at all. Mudd's own night-shades had refused to stay drawn since Birt Halstead had blown the back of his own head out because of that heist, and Birt was one of the nicest guys the sergeant had ever known.
It wasn't unusual for him to blubber up when he thought of the wizened, arthritically tormented policeman, or his wife, Effie, whom he still thought of as a second Mom. Shit! He couldn't help it. You live with a couple for ten years and you're going to pour some heart on them, he thought as he approached the line of brownstone buildings, one of which supposedly housed the Miss he was looking for. He still couldn't really comprehend that Birt was dead . . . gone . . . buried! The pinochle they'd played together those winter nights, popcorn and cider, Effie with her sandwiches and hot coffee. Christ, who would've thought all that "H" would've been dumped into an Onega Falls vault? Poor, sweet old bastard, trying to operate a modern operation with an old-fashioned education.
Mudd eased to the curb, found his handkerchief and blew his nose. He'd stop by to see Effie later, he thought, climbing from the car. The rain had stopped; there was even a bluish patch up above. Maybe the sun would be shining when he called Robin . . .
"Sit down, sergeant," Delores Martin said, handing him back his identification. "I-I don't understand? What is it you want of me?"
Mudd swallowed tightly, his fedora under his arm. These were the difficult times, but she had the morning paper in her hands, having picked it up when she'd opened the door to him. He wished to Christ she'd glance at it with those big dark questioning eyes. A pretty girl, even without makeup, he thought as she drew her robe tighter over full young breasts. He hadn't sat down, nor had she.
"Y-You're acquainted with a man named Roger Kilane, Miss Martin?" he questioned, still stumbling with the routine even after twenty years.
"Roger?" Her eyes widened, maybe with apprehension, but Mudd thought she blushed. "N-Nothing's happened to him . . . ?"
The big plainclothesman ignored the question and produced the wallet. "Would this be yours, Miss Martin?"
Delores stared at the wallet, puzzled. She hadn't missed it, yet, if this wasn't hers, it was an exact replica. She took it from him and opened it, reading her own identification, then looked up at him in her confusion.
"Where did you get this?"
"Would you check the money and see it it's all there, Miss?"
She did. "Yes.. . Now will you tell where you got it please?" Delores pressed, beginning to know a fearful sensation of dread inside her.
"Can we sit down?" Mudd said, moving toward the davenport. She eased down to its edge beside him, her eyes anxiously searching his broad, ugly face.
"I-It's Roger .. . something's happened to him, hasn't it?"
Her voice was a low whisper as Mudd evaluated, wondering how much the dead man had meant to her. He told her then, calling on all the gentleness he knew, gentleness that was never gentle when the message contained horror. She burst into tears and Mudd waited, awkwardly fumbling with his fedora. After awhile, she excused herself and left him there; when she returned, she was blowing her nose, the tears stopped.
"W-Would you like some coffee, sergeant?"
"Well.. . yes, I'd like that very much," Joe Mudd said. "It's a nasty morning out."
He went into the small kitchen with her and sat down at the table while she talked with her back to him. He could see the shapely contours of her young body outlined against the thin robe she wore over a sheer nightgown and guessed her to be a few years older than Robin. Her hair, though many shades darker than his blonde, twenty-four year old wife, was as long, and, like Robin, she wore it in a night pony-tail.
In limited sentences she told him that she had met Roger Kilane only the evening before, implying that there had been a strong bond between them from the beginning. She was blushing again when she turned to face him. "How do you suppose my wallet ever got into his pocket. . . unless he put it there?"
Joe Mudd looked down at the big clumsy hands that were toying with his hat. At this point, he wanted to avoid answering that question. He said, "We haven't learned much about him yet, ma'am. It wouldn't be fair to speculate." -
"No ... no, it wouldn't.. . but I can't believe he just. .. just took it, sergeant," she insisted, obviously trying to convince herself more than him. She came forward to the table carrying a tray of cups, hot water and instant coffee, setting it down. Then, as if remembering, "Shadow! Roger's dog! He wasn't. .. was he?"
"There was no dog, Miss," Mudd said, remembering the animal tracks around Kilane's body. "What breed of dog was it?"
"German shepherd, I think, but I'm no authority, sergeant. He's a big and beautiful animal, mostly black markings. Roger kept him muzzled and on a leash. Y-You don't suppose that whoever - whoever did the terrible thing might have killed Shadow, too?"
"Another question I can't answer, Miss Martin. Certainly, whoever would kill a human being wouldn't hesitate over a dog," Mudd said, stirring the mixture she'd concocted in his cup.
"Oh God . . . It's so horrible ... I just can't believe it ..." she choked, her eyes moistening as she turned away to cover her face with slender white hands.
Joe waited until she finished and dabbed at her nose then sat down on his left. He brought out a small notebook and spoke in a clement voice, "Let me jot down a few notes, Miss, and I'll be getting along ..."
* * *
Captain Lou Singer limped heavily back and forth across the wooden flooring of his office, his artificial right leg making an even-tempoed, hollow sound with every step. His ruggedly handsome, square-jawed face was set angrily, his grayish eyes ablaze.
"What the hell's happening to this goddamned burg, anyway?" he growled at Joe Mudd, as if the big burly police sergeant held all the answers. "It isn't bad enough that we got the stinkingest fuckin' scandal possible right here in the department, now stiff junkies start turning up with their faces caved in!"
"Junkie, captain, not plural," Mudd corrected from his chair beside the desk, and with an emphasis as always on the title, captain. He watched his superior's red-rimmed eyes from lack of sleep and probably too much booze, rather than the usual grimace from the pain of his every step on the artificial limb. The latter, the entire force was used to after ten years, but the former - the bloodshot eyes and drawn face - had come into being since the 97 pounds of heroin had turned up missing from the evidence vault. The heat was tremendous from above and damned near unbearable in Lou Singer's chair, Mudd imagined. But he didn't pity the bastard. He'd fought tooth and nail to sit there, pulling every political string he'd known how, and that's why Joe Mudd was only a sergeant, though a veteran with seven years seniority over the scowling, medium built man glaring down at him.
"Who is this Kilane, anyway?" Singer shot at him. '
"A local. Pete Kilane's boy, as a matter of fact. You remember Pete. We went to school with him."
"A little skinny guy, wasn't he?" the captain recalled, walking behind his desk and dropping heavily into the swivel chair. "Lived down in the flats?"
"That's him," Mudd nodded. "He died a few months ago, right after the son, Roger, came home from Vietnam."
"Jesus, not a vet!"
"Half-assed. Came out with a bad discharge because of addiction," Joe was informed from the information officer Whalen had uncovered. "Seems that Roger was living in the old homestead by himself with a big German shepherd dog. We haven't found the animal, but the Martin girl claims it was with Kilane when he left her place. She's probably the last known person to have seen him alive."
Lou Singer took a deep breath and let it out. "What'd you make of it, Joe?"
"Nothing yet. Hardly a damned threat to make anything out of," Mudd replied, sensing the other's grope for a reassuring hand. He felt no pity for his superior officer, nothing but a heavy feeling of mistrust which had grown more and more profound lately. "He was obviously killed elsewhere and dumped on the beach. A blow to the temple, possibly a kick, killed him, though he'd been badly beaten. Doc Sanderson said that his testicles were crushed. Real strong-arm stuff, but part of it expertly done, karate, Doc suggested."
"Motive?" the captain pressed.
Mudd shrugged. "Robbery's out. He had twenty-two hundred dollars in his wallet, plus the Martin girl's with a hundred and thirty odd more, a ring and wrist-watch. Could be a grudge killing, or maybe a goddamned thrill job for kicks. . . possibly drugs. Doc's doing the autopsy this afternoon; we'll know more then, but there were plenty of old needle scars."
"What about this Martin girl?" Singer questioned, lighting a cigar and appearing to calm. "And what was he doing with her wallet on him?"
"She seems clean enough from what we've learned about her," Mudd said. "Lived in the Falls the past nine months, divorced and from Syracuse. She's a legal secretary to Joshua Hartnett, the attorney. As for her wallet in Kilane's possession, she seemed shocked when I asked her to identify it, then admitted to just meeting him last night. Pretty upset, she was, but I intend to talk to her again later on this afternoon."
Singer shook his graying head. "We can't waste any time pissing with this case, sergeant. You know that, don't you? Keep one man on it, but that's all. We've got to get hot on that goddamned missing "H" or it's going to mean all of our asses! I sat with the chief last night before the Police Commission. Jesus! I tell you they've got blood in their eyes! They want something to break before the FBI moves in on Monday. Christ! We're beginning to look like a mafia family with an inside double-cross." He was on his feet again, puffing and stumping back and forth around the room. "If only that sonovabitchin' Halstead hadn't blown his senile head off. He could've told us plenty, I'm thinking. I should've locked the old bastard up ..."
"The old bastard didn't blow his senile head off," Joe Mudd retorted, making a strong effort to control his rising anger. "Not for my money, he didn't..."
"That's about the tenth time I've heard you say that, Mudd, but that's as far as you get with it - not for your money - The official inquiry ruling was death by his own hand . . . now, do you know something the rest of us don't? If so, let's hear it; if not, let's cut that shit! We don't need any more fucking complications than we've already got, for Chrissakes!"
Joe didn't answer. What the hell could he say? He had nothing to base his feelings on, nothing except faith in a man he'd known and loved like a father. Instead, he merely sat there biting his wide lower lip and swallowing at the bile percolating up into his throat.
"Okay ..." Singer said, as if he had just put that matter to rest once and for all. "Now, let's get some goddamned action out there. Ninety-seven pounds of heroin is no small cache of junk to hide or peddle. Something's bound to show up somewhere ... on the street, or maybe from a stoolie. Jesus! Show me something, will you?"
"You think maybe we're sitting on our asses doing crosswords out there, captain?" Mudd snapped, unable to contain it any longer.
Lou Singer glared at him. "Now listen, don't get fuckin' wise with me, Mudd!" he fumed, trying to control his own wrath. "This is no time for grudges. I'm telling you straight, we better pull together and whip this mess or I'm going to see to some housecleaning!"
"You threatening me, captain?"Mudd sensed his blood simmering.
"I'm warning you!" Lou Singer hissed through his teeth. "I want some action out there from you and your crew . . . action, or else! Just remember, if I go down, I won't go alone!"
Sergeant Joe Mudd got to his feet and walked to the door. Opening it, he turned to the other and said, "I'll let you know if anything turns up ... captain."
Outside headquarters, Joe Mudd climbed into his patrol car with his face burning with rage. What a goddamned sonovabitching fucked-up police outfit this ass-hole organization was! Any other law enforcing department in the entire world would have cooled him right then and there! He still wondered why Singer hadn't put him on suspension for insubordination, the way he had poor old Birt for neglect of duty. Singer, you bastard! You'll get yours one of these days, and I hope I'm around to see it!
For nearly an hour, the rancored police sergeant drove around the small city aimlessly, trying to smooth the frayed ends of his nerves. It'd been a long time since he'd come so close to blowing his cool with Singer. Over the years he'd learned to live with the other man's ruthless ambitions, even those attained at one Joe Mudd's expense. In fact, the burly man had decided a long time back that it took hungry men like Singer to sit at the helm and lunkheads such as himself to swab the decks. Birt and Effie Halstead had helped him weather the shock of that realization. Then, Robin had come into his life to overwhelm him with a happiness he'd never believed possible, not with him still a bachelor at forty-two. Six months they'd been married, she like a voluptuous child to him, beautiful and fragile as a piece of Dresden china to be held up and admired by Joe Mudd, the hairy ape.
She wasn't happy, his little bird. He'd caught her crying a half-dozen times lately, and when he'd tried to talk to her, she'd run away from him. Hell, he was ugly and he knew it, but in the beginning she'd seemed to go wild when he made love to her, wanting him to ram his oversized rod up into her as hard as he could .... but he never had, not really. Christ, he hadn't wanted to hurt her, maybe tear her tight little pussy. Still, he couldn't help but wonder if it wasn't his clumsy coddling of her that'd come between them. Something had; she wasn't the same happily smiling nurse he'd met at the Rehabilitation Center . .. the girl who'd blushed the day he'd brought her a rose ... the sparkling green-eyed blonde who'd come right up and asked why he never invited her out. Christ! He'd nearly fallen apart that day.
The rain had stopped, the skies partially cleared, helping his mood. The big man wanted to call his bewildering young wife, but hesitated, remembering the way their evening had ended the night before. The adoption business . . . and that was a whole new twist on her part, as if she were afraid to have babies of her own. Dammit, the more he thought, the more confused he became. She just wasn't the same girl he'd married, and hadn't been since she'd left the Rehabilitation Center.
It was no goddamned wonder that he'd nearly unloaded on Singer, Mudd reflected as he mulled it all over in his mind .. . this Kilane's murder on top of everything else, and he still wasn't convinced that Birt Halstead's death had been a suicide. Then, with Singer leaning on him and howling for action, Je-sus! He shook his head that had begun to throb with a dull ache. What he needed was some of Effie's good old-fashioned horse sense to soothe him . . . and maybe a cup or two of that strong black Java she called coffee.
Mudd swung the patrol car north on Central and drove slowly, going back in his mind to the night those two hoods from New York City had rammed their car into another inside Onega Falls city limits. The accident had been bad enough to put both of them in the hospital with broken bones, and an investigation of their vehicle had proved it to be stolen and carrying 250 pounds of pure heroin. Through routine checking, they'd learned that the pair had brought the stuff over the Canadian border and were on their way to New York. The cache was placed in the police evidence vault over which Birt Halstead, a forty year man on the force, had charge.
Several times, limited amounts of the drug, still sealed in its small white packets, had been checked out to be displayed as evidence in court against the two smugglers. Each time, as was the official routine, checkout slips were completed and signed by the officer accepting the responsibility of transporting the evidence to and from the court house. Accordingly, there'd been no problem, up until one of the packets produced at a hearing had been opened to verify its contents before the court. The white powderish substance had turned out to be nothing more than dry milk!
A rush to the vault and hasty examination had produced no less than 97 pounds of powdered milk mixed with the remaining kilos of heroin. On top of that, the checkout slips covering the specific evidence" were all missing from Birt's skimpy files. The sixty-three year old, half-crippled policeman swore that he could remember exactly who had checked out the stuff, the amounts, and on what dates, but that hadn't held water with Captain Singer or Chief Colton. Nor, as Joe realized, would it have held up in any court of law. Birt, who was three months from retiring, was just that little bit senile, and any defense attorney would've played that to the living end. Where were the checkout slips? Where was the goddamned "H"? An inside job, no question about that, but who, when, and how?
Birt had been suspended immediately on neglect of duty charges. Only his clean department record had kept Singer from going farther, maybe even locking the old man up as an accomplice. The whole department had been thrown into a festering turmoil of suspicion, no one daring to trust his fellow officers. The news media screamed and were still screaming, while the upper echelons sweated, but so far, nothing . .. nothing except finding Birt Halstead in the cellar of his and Effie's little house with the back of his skull blown out by his own service revolver.
Effie had found him, and no one realized more than Mudd what a shock it must have been for her. He knew them both, better than his own dead mother and father, knew their little idiosyncrasies, their wants, their needs, their aches and pains. As she had daily for as long as Joe had known them, Effie had just come back from grocery shopping at the nearby supermarket, an excursion she managed by catching the bus that passed in front of their place some half-mile outside the Falls on Central Avenue. She'd seen the outside cellar doors opened and called down to see if Birt were there. When he hadn't answered, she'd gone into the house with her groceries, but not finding him, had gotten worried. Maybe, he'd fallen and was laying down there in the cellar unable to get up, or even unconscious? Having her own arthritic problems, it hadn't been easy for her to get down those stairs, and then, to find what she had!
Christ! The poor old gal, it was remarkable that she hadn't flipped right out; instead, she'd been like a lump of weather-hewn stone when Mudd had gotten there, numbed but coherent, and making more sense maybe than he'd ever seen her.
"Oh God, Joe ... he never done it... never, never done that to himself!" she'd cried softly. "I know my man. He weren't no coward . . . wouldn't of took that way out. Somebody did him in, Joe . . . afraid he knowed something and wanted to shut him up for good!"
Her words burned now in Mudd's brain for the thousandth time. He realized that he'd been of the same opinion from the first, but the weapon had been in Birt's swollen-jointed hands. Grains of gunpowder had been found on them, too. Yet, it would've been simple enough for the murderer to force the revolver into the old man's pained hands, the barrel into his mouth, then squeezed the trigger. Birt couldn't have fought him ... or them. There were no neighbors to have heard screams, or even the sound of the explosion . . . nothing except the inquiry's final decision, death by his own hand - suicide.
Sergeant Mudd saw the little house ahead on the right, remembering the many good times the three of them had enjoyed together. His eyes blurred wetly. Christ, he'd never felt more goddamned inadequate in his life!
CHAPTER FOUR
Robin Mudd, wearing faded, skin-tight dungerees and a pullover black jersey, paced the living room floor nervously in bare feet. She wore no makeup, and only her neatly brushed, long blonde hair kept the curvaceous young woman from resembling a sloppy, teenage hippie, this being her own opinion as she glanced at her reflection in the mirror behind the couch. Her pearlish lacquered toenails helped too, she thought, stopping to gape down at them, though she hardly gave a damn right then.
God, it was eating at her miserably. She'd been a fool to wait so long without trying to make some sort of contact. . . knowing full well that this horrible craving was going to creep over her! She looked at her watch. Fifteen minutes since she'd made the call - twenty since she'd phoned the Steuben boy. He'd been a last desperate resort, but she'd come right down to that. She needed, and bad, and he'd been so grateful at the drug center for the way she had sat with him those many hours when he'd gone through the living hell of kicking.
"If there's ever anything I can do for you, Mrs. Mudd . .. anything," he'd emphasized that day his parents had come for him. "Just call me, that's all, just call."
She had, offering some sort of flimsy excuse that momentarily escaped her. Cocaine . . . could he help her make an immediate buy! A boy she was trying to help needed it badly; he was tapering . . . she recalled her almost frantic plea then, and Dale Steuben's exulting instructions: "Just phone this number, Mrs. Mudd. A voice will answer: Soul Saving Service. Please leave your address and a minister will call within two hours. And he will, you can be sure."
"Two hours, Dale?"
"That's the best I can do, honest. You want me to come and help?"
"No, no thank you, dear. That's kind of you, but we'll manage."
"They'll charge you extra for the trip, Mrs. Mudd. Better be prepared."
"T-Thank you, Dale, I'll - I'll let you know how it turns out."
God, two hours! She'd be out of her mind by then! Oh, why hadn't she provided for this while she was still at the Center? It would've been simple enough to pinch a little more each time until she had a buffer tucked away. But she'd been so damn sure of her job there, and at the same time not wanting her pilfering from the drug room noticed, that she'd just gone from day to day. On top of that, supposing Joe accidently stumbled onto her hiding place? He was too damned familiar with all of the stuff, and God forbid that he ever become suspicious of her.
If she didn't love him, it wouldn't matter... but she did! That had been the appalling part of it all these last two months, realizing the real depths of her feeling for him, and knowing at the same time that she was hooked again! She was going to taper, of course, but in the meantime keeping it from Joe was the biggest problem. If only she didn't love the big, hairy darling so ... and he was such a baby, such a bull gorilla baby .. . never trying to pry into her back life, accepting her for what she was and never really knowing her.
It hadn't been cruel then, Robin thought as she wrung her hands tensely, not in the beginning. She'd intended to tell him everything, but with each passing day the true story had grown more difficult. How could she suddenly come blurting out her inability to have children without telling him why or the rest of the story? Any one admission was linked to the whole . .. and the whole had been Marcel Porier.
The voluptuous, drug-tormented wife walked to the second-story window and looked anxiously out over the fire escape, having no idea what she was searching for. Her wrist-watch showed twenty-five minutes since the private number call. Her nose ran, itching miserably. One moment she felt warm, the next cold, almost to a shivering degree. A police car went by below and she thought of her husband, her law-keeping husband. Then, Marcel Porier's face grinned from out of her past. . .
It had been a handsome young face, slender and dark, French-Canadian, a product of her own Montreal, but of a sector her English parents would have considered trash. She'd met him while still at St. Luc's Hospital in her last year of training, loving the wild places he took her where actual sex was performed live on a stage, even with animals! Convent educated, she had broken free with a young hungering wantonness, as might a liberated slave from a lifetime of imprisoning shackles. Everything! She wanted it all, the sex, the pot.. . and Marcel had been most obliging. He had a small apartment where he had taken her offered virginity along with all else she owned, where she became hooked on cocaine and later, pregnant with his baby. It was amazing that she'd ever finished her training and been capped.
An ugly hag had damned near torn her apart aborting the fetus; perhaps should have, and then she wouldn't be here like this ... or had her zealot mother find her on the bathroom floor .. . hemorrhaging.
"It's better that you leave us now," the religious woman who had bore her, nursed her, and raised her in a world of ignorance that nearly destroyed her, had said coldly the very day Robin walked from the hospital, supposedly a new person. "You've brought shame into our house, Robin. Your father never wants to see you again. Please go."
And she had, blinded by tears as she stepped up onto the train that would take her south to Miami. Remembering now, the young woman realized she should have gone there. But something without meaning had enticed her off the train in Onega Falls those eight months ago, and then an advertisement calling for nurses to help at a local drug center had drawn her. She had answered it, convinced that this was her motivation for stopping in the small city, forgetting that easy access to drugs could be the cured addict's downfall under pressure.
It had been the terrible feeling of mounting guilt and listening to this man she loved ramble happily on and on about the fine sons they were going to have . . . the football player, the lawyer, the doctor... A little to steady her nerves, to ease her conscious, to help her sleep, and inevitably a little more . . . and more .. . and more! Until she'd been dismissed - too many costly errors, the supervisor had accused; then was when the real horror had begun for her. How was she going to feed her habituated body's demand? My God! How? And now, she knew - by any means possible!
Suddenly, the tormented young wife felt flushed, moist around her eyes, beneath her arms and between the erect mounds of her copious young breasts. She went to the window again, raising it all the way to lean out and take a deep breath. The sky had clouded over again with a leaden gray mass to make the twilight gloomily depressing. It would rain some more ... Oh God, why didn't someone come! She looked at her watch . . . forty-seven minutes since she'd called. Should she call again . . . ?
The door buzzer was an electric current charging through her. She raced to it, stopped for a breath, then opened it. Immediately, a sinking sensation of desperate frustration seized Robin at the sight of the smiling young couple and the paraphernailia they carried. Magazine salespeople!
"Good afternoon, Ma'm," the girl, a striking auburn haired lovely with a vivacious smile greeted. "You are the lady of the house?"
"Yes, but ..."
"We represent Religions United and your address has been given to us as one whose occupants are interested in our work. If we might have a few moments of your time, Ma'm...?"
"No ... no, there's been a mistake," Robin said curtly, starting to close the door.
"Perhaps it was your husband, Madam," the man, a thin-faced, slight individual meticulously dressed in a dark suit, pressed with effeminite articulation. "Is he in?"
"No, he's not. . . I'm sure there's a mistake. We're not interested," Robin replied brusquely, stepping back to end the interview.
"Our Soul Saving Service is seldom in error, Madam," Leslie Davenport spoke levelly, admiring their unexpected customer. She was more than a little sexy as women went, and he wasn't totally male oriented. Ginger Varney, his female companion, had utilized her telephone operator position to check out identity. The lovely, perspiring thing with the trembling little hands was Mrs. Joseph Mudd, recent bride of the gargantuan police sergeant, and Leslie hadn't expected less than an equally Mrs. Gargantua.
"D-Did you say, Soul Saving Service?" Robin questioned, her green-eyes flicking from one to the other anxiously.
"Yes, Ma'm," Ginger Varney sang with a schooled lilt, her smile broadening. Leslie had been very' wrong about this one, she thought. The doll could even prove interesting.
"Would you like us to come in, Mrs. Mudd?" Leslie asked, watching the expression on her milk and rose complected face when he used her name.
"Y-Yes, yes, please do," she said, stepping to one side.
Leslie roamed his eyes over her curvaceous body with growing captivation. This could turn out to be a very interesting sale. He made an instant decision and said: "The Sergeant, Mrs. Mudd, when do you expect him?"
Robin swallowed. "It's safe. He won't be home before midnight."
"That dreadful drug robbery in the department I should imagine, eh?" Leslie said, looking around the room. "Nasty business. But it just proves that you can't trust anyone these days, doesn't it?"
Robin glanced from one to the other of them. She had no idea how they'd learned her identity, but that was of little importance at this point. God, she was ready to start clawing at the walls. With wringing hands, she asked: "D-Did you ... did you bring the . . . the . . . ?"
"Of course," the pinched-face man replied and produced a packet from his suit-coat pocket. "Soul Saving Service at your service, my dear .. . and pure quality I assure you. Enough to look after your needs for a couple of weeks ... if you use it sensibly. I hope you are a level-headed user, Mrs. Mudd?"
Robin's eyes fixed on the small parcel eagerly and she stretched out her hand. Leslie held firmly to the packet.
"I have the money in the bedroom," Robin said, unable to hide her overall trembling.
"We'll come along with you," Ginger beamed.
Leslie followed them noting each of Robin's nicely rounded buttocks working beneath the faded denim, and remembering the strain of her full breasts peaking the sloppy jersey. Whatever she was, it hardly added up with a gargoyle like Mudd. Perhaps she'd been a hooker and he'd saved her from a life of sin. Jules Villa's nephew grinned to himself.
Inside the bedroqm, Robin stopped and faced them. "How much?"
"For this, two hundred fifty, plus delivery fee of fifty, Mrs. Mudd," Leslie informed, still smiling.
Robin sensed a little knot swelling rapidly in the depths of her stomach. She didn't have that much! One hundred seventy-five was the extent that she had saved including the household money, and she knew it without looking. "I-I don't have that amount right now. Could we split. . . ?"
"We never split a delivery, Mrs. Mudd," Leslie said, his voice delicately modulated. Ginger walked to the king-sized bed and sat down, her tiny mini-skirt revealing eye-catching, long young legs in glossy nylon. Her blue-eyes danced about the room as he added: "The risk of handling these days is too great. I'm sure you understand."
"But... but ... I need it badly," Robin managed, licking at her dry lips and fighting to keep control of herself. "I didn't know in what quantity . .. you must understand? Next time, I'll be prepared ..."
"I really am sorry, my dear," the little man in the padded-shoulder suit pacified in his whiny, effeminite voice ... "Next time, we will come prepared, too." He smiled, then glanced at the sitting redhead. "Come along, Ginger."
"Wait! My God, please! You can't leave me this way!" Robin begged, clutching at his arm. "I-I'll go mad! I will! Oh please, just this one time! Help me now and I swear ... -I..."
"You'll what, Mrs. Mudd?"
The lump in Robin's throat was about to suffocate her. She wished it would! But she'd only awaken to worse! "A-Anything," she murmured.
Leslie Davenport's bloodless lower lip pouted. "Mmmmm, that does present a different aspect," he said. "And you are a very lovely young lady... supposing, and I repeat, supposing, we just give you this delivery as an introductory offer, no charge at all, would you still be as gracious with your offer of anything?"
Robin struggled with tortured brain. All that mattered was the needle that would relieve the horror racking her within. And all of it, the whole packet he was offering her without charge! God, what else mattered?
"Anything! Whatever you say!" She heard herself, hardly realizing the extent of her words, for they were nothing in comparison to the demons out of hell ripping her apart. "Next time .. . next time, I promise . . . !"
"Take your clothes off, dear," Leslie Davenport said, walking to her boudior chair and dropping into it. Ginger stood up from the bed, her blue eyes glowing with excitement, broadening the thin young man's lustful smile. He liked the redheaded teenager's avid sense of loyalty. He kept her fixed and she performed his games. It was an inspiring alliance. She was a slavish tool for him and he'd used her everyway imaginable. Though she could no longer stimulate him by herself female-wise, she was marvelous with another of her own sex.
Robin stared at him, feeling the growing apprehension easily detected in her eyes - in her entire face. But at the same time, she was aware of the power he suddenly held over her. God, she couldn't go on without a fix!
Her expression of mental suffering injected a surge of pleasure through Leslie. Had she been the wife of a governor, he couldn't have enjoyed it more.
"Well, Mrs. Mudd? Are we about to come to an impasse?" he taunted. "Or are you and Ginger due to get acquainted?"
Robin stood swaying before him. She knew that her forehead was moist with perspiration. She clenched her hands, subconsciously watching the smiling young girl slowly approaching her.
The voluptuous blonde wife's right hand crept to one breast, the reflexive movement titillating Leslie Davenport's sensual appetite. A woman's shocked revulsion at the beginning was always a stimulating moment for him, especially when they were young and lovely to the extent of this gorgeous creature! Women were not his main sexual pleasure, but to see them degraded and subjugated kindled his sadistic desires. He watched the tremoring hand drop from her breast to the edge of the vanity for support; then she looked toward Ginger, her eyes wide and misting.
Leslie fingered the packet purposely.
"P-Please .. . what do you intend . . . doing to me?" she questioned through quivering lips, jerking her fearful stare back onto him.
"Strip first, Mrs. Mudd, then lie down on the bed for Ginger," Leslie informed cheerfully. "The rest we'll keep as a surprise for a few minutes, eh?"
It was unbelievable! Robin's head reeled, her mouth and throat suddenly parched. Again she steadied herself with the vanity edge, horrified by the outrageousness of her situation. They actually intended to do things to her sexually, there was little doubt of that, and she was in no position to refuse them - to do anything but submit! Oh God, she couldn't. . .just couldn't bring herself willingly . . . but the packet that fiend was toying with, and the next to unbearable hunger torturing her body changed negative to positive. If this was the only way then - then she'd have to!
"Well? Shall we get with it, my dear, or would you prefer that we leave?" Leslie put to her, his perverse eyes gleaming sordidly.
Robin reached one hand up to the front of her jersey as if forgetting how she was dressed. It dropped then and was joined by the other, the right crossing over the left to catch hold and begin raising the pull-over.
"Maybe you better give the lady a hand, Ginger," he suggested with a leer. "She seems to be all thumbs."
The teenager moved in close to Robin wearing an enthusiastic smile. She took the jersey from the other girl's hands, skillfully peeling it upward over her head and arms, her intent blue eyes dropping to the rotund thrust of Robin's full young breasts in their lacy white-nylon cups.
The frightened wife didn't try to stop her. The girl moved behind and Robin shivered to her cool fingers brushing against her naked flesh while she unhooked her brassiere. Shame welled up inside her, eyes blurring behind uncontrollable tears when her released breasts were completely exposed before them.
"Damn . . . they are nice, Mrs. Mudd," Leslie complimented, leaning forward. "So firm looking for such large tits. . . yet with a ravishing succulent quality about them. Am I right there, Ginger? Fondle them a little for me."
From the side so that he could watch. Ginger's eager young hand caressed and weighed one of the resilient white mounds, tweaking and pinching its little pink-budded nipple into a radiant hardness before moving to the other and repeating the provocative stimulation, while Robin turned her face away, closing her eyes and chewing at her flower-soft lower lip.
"Like oodles of whipped cream, Leslie baby," Ginger described, visibly intrigued with her task.
"All right, let's not get redundant, girl. Show me what else she has," he snapped, settling back in the chair.
With deft fingers, Ginger unzippered the fly of Robin's dungarees to reveal a fringe of blondish ringlets beginning at the soft swell of the trembling wife's naked white abdomen.
"Awww, you naughty girl, you're not wearing panties," Ginger mockingly reproved, running her fingers through the gossamer curls before tugging the jeans downward over the generous flare of hips and rounded full thighs, Robin's lust breasts rippling and swaying to the lurid stripping of her now totally naked body.
Again, Leslie bent forward, his small eyes feasting on the almost sobbing woman's dazzling satin-skinned curves. Christ, a sculptor's dream! Absolutely flawless . . . disturbingly flawless. What the fuck was an ape like Mudd doing with this perfect beauty? She was a symmetrical culmination of ivorish breasts, hips and thighs, with an hourglass waist and dimpled bellybutton from which an almost imperceptible line of hair descended into the "V" of silky gilded hair, the inward press of her upper thighs partially concealing the little pubic love-nest . . . exquisite - too damnedably exquisite! He felt his breathing increase and the swelling stretch to his loins. His dissolute brain programmed lustfully.
"Let's have a back view, Mrs. Mudd," he commanded, licking at his pale lips. "Nice and slow now. Pretend you're trying out for my bottomless bar."
Robin did, beginning to pray that after this obscene display he would let her have just a little from the packet, at least enough to quiet her agonized body. She profiled for him first, lifting her breasts wantonly with an intake of breath, actually thrusting her buttocks backward before presenting him with her back. She wasn't unaware of her voluptuous figure, and if this would do it...
"Christ!" he swore under his breath. "Go ahead, Ginger, let's have a closer examination of Mrs. Mudd's more intimate secrets."
"Wait, 1-let me have some first?" Robin appealed, shivering all over as she faced him. "Please, I need it badly, look ..." She held out her trembling hands and he smiled.
"I have been looking, my dear, and you're quite an intoxicating sight to ogle . . . but I haven't seen enough yet to please me. If you want it ..." he flipped the packet about in his hand, "then you earn it. That was our bargain. Now, shall we get off the shit?"
Robin shuddered, knowing she had no choice as suddenly the teenager's soft hands began to feel her tensed buttocks, smoothing obscenely over them with lesbianistic familiarity that made the miserably distraught wife's flesh crawl.
"A perfect feminine ass, Ginger," Leslie Davenport hissed through teeth clenched with building salacity. "Not to take anything from your own educated tail, baby, but from endowment standpoint our curvy blonde bitch seems to have a corner on the market."
"It's like satin, daddy, hot to the touch, too,"
Ginger said, moving both of her girlish hands suggestively over the protruding ovals of taut glossy flesh, gently squeezing, then rotating her palms and spread fingers in opposite revolutions. "Relax them, blondie. Don't fight it. Leslie might get uptight and change his mind if you don't cooperate," the youthful telephone operator warned, smiling excitedly to the warm stimulation taking place down between her own hot thighs at the feel of Robin's milk-white buttocks beneath her eager hands.
That was the great kick with Leslie, you never knew what was coming next, Ginger thought, sensing the older girl's tremulous ass-cheeks trying to unbrace. And that was the double kick she, being bi-sexual and always ready to swing either way, got out of life. The soft feminine curves of another girl's body was as firing to her as the vibrant muscular hardness of a man's; a hungering aromatic pussy infusing her to lick and suck with no less ardor than a hardened rod of cock-flesh, except that her female lovers couldn't squirt their seething cum down her throat, and that she loved most of all.
But even Leslie had never come up with anything to match this Mrs. Mudd, whoever she was, the roused girl thought when the pliant globes of luxuriant flesh finally relaxed hesitantly beneath her hands and she watched them swiveling as if they were ball bearinged. She brushed her hands upward, sweeping along the delicate contours of the naked back before her, reaching around to cup and lift the full, thrusting breasts, taunting their tiny marblish nipples once more. "On the bed, blondie. Lie down on your back and spread those luscious legs wide so that Leslie can see if your husband's been misusing you," Ginger ordered licentiously.
For a moment, Robin faltered, then did as she was told, closing her eyes once more as she lay back in wretched self-degradation, her legs hanging over the bottom edge of the bed facing the despicable monster who had suddenly loomed with an incredible dominating horror into her life! She felt hot tears of helplessness burning her cheeks as she spread her legs shamefully to the sensuous young voice instructing her, then spread them wider when it threatened the possible denial by an unsatisfied Leslie.
Robin did, but not far enough apart to please the teenager who abruptly grabbed her knees to open them gapingly wide, the abased young wife realizing that the very pink flesh of her exposed vaginal slit was on humiliating display to the vicious little stranger who sat in her own boudoir chair.
"It isn't that bad, blondie," Ginger said from above and Robin opened her eyes at the unexpected gentleness in her voice. "Christ, haven't you ever given yourself all-out to sex? Come on, baby, relax and enjoy it..."
"Shut up the indoctrination, Ginger," Leslie spat at her. "Just follow orders! Now, show me something!"
"Like this?" the young girl asked, Robin feeling the fleshy lips of her vagina being spread wide apart with both of the girl's finger-tipped hands. "Cunt, daddy! Does it make your cock itch a little, that tender pink hole? Just watch and I'll show you how juicy it can get. Then you can split it wide with that mean prick of yours while Ginger helps!"
"Never mind your goddamned porno enticements, just perform. Perform!" Leslie snarled. "Tell me what it's like! You know what I want!" he fired at her, a hand caressing the long, slender bulge in his pants. "Let's hear it!"
Laying as she was in absolutely lewd exposition, and knowing a degradation below anything imaginable, Robin couldn't stop the tears that were flowing from her eyes. The heavy pulsing in her chest made her breathing ragged. Her brain staggered from torment to torment, from the devastating craze of her drugged need to the depraved shame she was being subjected to.
The erogenous parts of her naked body were bathed in perspiration, between her breasts, her armpits and luridly exhibitioned loins. There was little question but what Leslie was gaping at the obscenely exposed flesh of her cringing vaginal split, or that Ginger was hovering like a teenaged witch, wanting to do lesbian things to her. Nothing in her background even with Marcel had equipped her for this, the feeling of utter degradation sweeping over her like a smothering blanket, but one that she knew there was no fighting off. She was like a child caught up in the candy-giving hands of a warped old man!
"Oh God!" she cried, digging her buttocks down into the bedding in a jerking effort to get away from the flagrant young fingers brushing at the fleshy lips on either side of her sensitive pussy opening.
"It's a touchy one, daddy," Ginger said with a giggle. "The kind you like, eh?"
"They're the real hot ones once you get them fired up ... fuck like maniacs," he hissed. "But she's got a long way to go yet, baby, before that tight little cunt starts doing all of the thinking for her. Tell you what, let's give her a little soother, just enough to ease the monkey, then she can concentrate on the fun and games. How does that fit with you, Mrs. Mudd?"
"Yes, please yes!" Robin gasped as she raised onto her elbows, an expression of gratefulness tugging at her sensuous lips.
"We'll expect you to be considerably more outgoing after; such as cooperating full-scale with Ginger, eh?" Leslie pressed with his sinuous smile.
"Yes, yes! I promise, I will..."
"Okay, take her into the bathroom and fix her up, baby. Make it light though," the effeminite pusher instructed, tossing the packet to the mini-skirted teenager who was opening the attache case they had brought with them.
Leslie watched Ginger lead their enchantingly naked customer away, his eyes lingering on the sensuous curves of her alluring young body. Just the sight of the needle made him qualmy, let alone seeing them jab it into their flesh. He supposed he could have left the room and let Ginger fix her right there, but he wanted to see the provocative ripples of smooth glossy flesh when she walked. He couldn't remember a female ever exciting him to this extent. His pampered cock was achingly hard and beginning to throb inside his pants as he dug into the lustful archives of his brain to determine which method of enjoying her was going to bring him the best complete satisfaction.
A draft chilled the back of his neck, snapping his licentious thought train, and he turned to look through the doorway toward the living room, remembering the opened window he'd noticed when they came in. It was quite dark now in the small apartment. He stood and pressed the wall switch but the artificial light from the bedside lamps left patches of gloom in most of the room. The bed, which was going to be the arena of pleasure, wasn't too bad though, and that pleased him. He didn't want even a tiny bit of the blonde wife's lust-infusing nakedness hidden from his view, he thought as they re-entered the room, the expression of almost traumatic relief softening the young wife's lovely face bordering on the euphoriac.
Ginger grinned and winked at him when he dropped back into the boudoir chair, rubbing at his bulging cock swelling against his tight pants.
CHAPTER FIVE
An unseen presence watched through fierce amber-flamed orbs the human performance taking place in the concentrated light of the bedroom. An alert eye might have detected the massive outline blending with the murky gloom of one corner, or noticed its furtive entrance which had been as elusive as the sudden chill of a cold draft brushing against the back of the neck.
Soundless and unmoving the powerful animal lurked, a vengeful stare fixed on but one of the three humans in the room. Since his master's death, Shadow had remained hidden near the rear stairwell of the long building where his master had been killed, waiting and watching for those who had agonizingly destroyed Roger Kilane, his canine instincts steeping in terrible wrath. He who had come with the female human sitting on the bed beside the unclothed, white-bodied woman was one of them, and Shadow had yet to take his retributive stare from the puny male form since slinking into the room. He had seen them leave the long building together, and followed their vehicle the short distance to this place, catching up each time they were forced to slow or stop.
There was little yet he could do but watch them, for the binding holding his jaws was still secured there, his every effort to tear it away futile. Nevertheless, this he would do until his opportunity came. . . watch and wait, the savage vengeance burning with fury inside his loyal animal-heart.
"Now, let's really get to it, Ginger girl. Yeah, like that, worm a couple of fingers right up her pink little cunt," Leslie Davenport ordered, grinning and leaning forward from the chair once more to closely observe the lurid spectacle on the bed. He stared contentedly, pleased that their naked victim had reassumed her sluttish position on the bed.
"She's more relaxed now, daddy," the teenaged girl tittered. "The stuff'll do it every time, won't it, Mrs. Mudd?"
To Robin, even partial deliverance from the hellish drug-wracked torture possessing her craving body made all else tolerable, at least for the moment. She felt the slender fingers lewdly probing down between her wide-open thighs and forced herself to lie still. If she didn't resist it would end that much sooner, and then once alone, she would fix her regular amount of cocaine and know beautiful peace. She sensed those blatant fingers insinuating themselves up into her tight cuntal passage, making her whimper and nibble at her lips once more. They began to rotate smoothly against her soft vaginal walls before easing back out to tweak her tiny clitoris, the girl's other hand wedging between Robin's dug-in buttocks and the bedding to lift and press her loins luridly up against the probing fingers.
"What a 'tuff' ass you have, Mrs. Mudd," Ginger said in obvious excitement, her breathing increasing. "You'll love it, Leslie . . . terrific to hold in both hands while you ride your cock right up her hot pussy-hole."
"You like it, eh baby?" the fever-eyed, slight man murmured through grinning lips as he got to his feet. He moved in close to the bed, and Robin saw the unhideable sadism in his face, as well as the menacing bulge swelling out the front of his trousers.
Ginger's knowing fingers were busy at her super-sensitive clitoris, and Robin clamped her eyes shut to eliminate Leslie's pinched expression leering down at her. Ooohhh, she would never forget this feeling of debased humiliation if she lived a thousand years! Her face was aflame, a glowing reflection of their obscene abuse - and as if in defiance, her pussy was growing wet; she could feel two of the young girl's fingers moving in and out against her moistly dilating vaginal walls.
Suddenly, they strove for the cuntal depths, wiggling and twisting while the other hand strained beneath her ass-cheeks to force her penetrated pussy channel onto the lewd invaders fucking up into her helpless vagina.
"Ooooo, it's a real tight one, Les baby, the kind you guys are always right-on about," Ginger enthused with glowing eyes.
"It's wet, eh? I can see," Leslie said, leaning down to look closer. "Doesn't appear as if Sergeant Gargantua's hurt it much."
Robin gasped, but it was from the uncontrollable excitement Ginger's lesbianly working hands were setting off inside her exposed pussy rather than the shame. Her naked body, partially tranquilized with the grains of narcotic, had begun to register a weird thrill of masochistic sensation in her brain at its defenseless subjugation. Her drugged mind traced the movements of Ginger's wildly stroking fingers back to her electrified clitoris, the desire to tense and untense her yawning legs in cadence with their conquering caresses almost undeniable. She widened her spread thighs and drew them back slightly higher, listening to the lurid sounds of her assaulters' obscene exchange as they discussed her excited pussy in four-letter terms that were like fuel to the flames of arousal spreading out of control in her violated loins.
"Look! It's really opening up now, baby!" the girl hissed. "Getting hungry for a meal of stiff cock. Can you help her, daddy?"
"Delightful! A fucking gem, eh? So goddamned tight looking ..."
"Like a fifteen year old, Leslie, no fooling!"
"Christ!" No woman had ever done this for him, Jules Villa's effeminate nephew realized feverishly, fascinated by the creamy fleshed young wife's gradual submission beneath Ginger's knowing fingers working lustfully in the glistening pink flesh of her ever-moistening cunt.
It was no good, Robin resigned, unable now to feel even shame at this salacious violation of her unprotected, desire-roused loins. Her vagina felt expanded and covetous, her tiny clitoral bud a throbbing center of erotic combustion. She felt her straining buttocks against the warm hand beneath them beginning to squirm as she pulled her widespread thighs back further. Irrepressible moans escaped her lips, her mouth opening in harmony to the steamy fluid orifice down between her legs, the sadistic couple's conversation whetting her coaxed sensual appetite. Oh God, she didn't want to swim against the tide any longer.
"Damn, but she's wet now, daddy!" Ginger exclaimed, her greedy young eyes playing over the soft hair-fringed loins she was delighting in. "Maybe I should lick it awhile for you ... to give you that extra inspiration," she added, slipping her middle finger between Robin's spread-open buttocks. Ginger watched it press upward against the pink puckered ring of the naked wife's little anus, then wormingly slip right through the small hole's tight resistance. With eager insistence, the teenager pushed up into the hot, spongy walls to the first knuckle joint, and then the second, not surprised when the passionately gasping blonde offered no opposition. Damn, how she'd love to have her all to herself to enjoy - what a luscious bitch.
"Suck her tits!" Leslie snarled, rubbing at the rigid bulge in his pants as Robin immediately felt the girl's warm breath against her desire-swelling breasts, then one nipple seeming to strain upward into the pursed, sucking lips. . . and finally the other, a fiery little tongue grazing their sensitive bursting hardness. Suddenly, Ginger's smooth young face was between them licking and sucking and Robin couldn't control her seething genitals from squirming against the hand with embedded fingers rotating wildly up inside her lust-hungering passages. She sensed the girl working downward with nibbling lips and fire-filled tongue over her belly's spasming flesh, ever down toward the sizzling wet split gaping ravenously between her widespread thighs, and the swooning wife tried to raise her loins up to meet the hotly engulfing face of her teenage tormentor.
"Okay, get back! Finger-fuck yourself off, Ginger baby. Leslie's taking over," the tailor-made pusher ordered, shoving the redhead to one side and moving closer in between Robin's widely raised legs.
When Robin saw him standing there tugging at his belt buckle and Ginger reluctantly moving back away, something dulled but not forgotten leaped back to the forefront of her brain. She dropped her legs with the recovering agility of a dancer, bolting to a sitting position.
"No! Stop it! I won't let you! Get away from me, damn you!" she spat at him viciously, trying to swivel off the bed around him.
Leslie slapped her hard across the face, leaning his light weight with enough pinning force to hold her the one moment it took to slash his skilled palm-edge stunningly against the side of her neck just below the ear. She collapsed back onto the bed as if someone had jerked a wire attached to every nerve-center in her upper torso. A helpless whimper bleated from Robin's shocked throat, her brain spinning blindedly.
"You goddamned fucking bitch! You'll do what I want. . . exactly what I want!"
His voice was a shrill squeal in Robin's buzzing ears as he began to flail with both hands brutally at her breasts, crawling up over her, his palms and thong-like fingers whipping with scourging pain the yielding tender flesh of their upthrusting mounds. Still half-stunned, Robin cried out helplessly to the sharp agony caused by his cruel flogging of her naked breasts, and it was that tormented sound that raised Shadow's fierce snarl.
His hackles bristling from her human cry of pain, the powerful dog's fiery eyes gleamed viciously at her tormentor, a louder and more menacing growl roaring from his deep chest as he sprang out of the murky darkness toward them.
It was Ginger's scream of horror that caused Leslie to twist his head in time to see the portentious monstrosity flying at him. The ferocious snarls and huge black massiveness made the awe-struck man oblivious to the muzzle which would save his life, but there was no warding off the muscular power of the beast's great body which knocked Leslie off the bed and onto his back. Almost instantly, the karate-trained hood was onto his feet again, but far from ready for battle. Instead, his blood curdled in unhideable fear as he backed away, his eyes fixed on the looming, snarling thing which had come out of the night like something medieval . . . backed further until he crowded into the young whimpering girl behind him.
"Jesus! Let's get out of here!" he choked, trying to pick up the attache case without taking his eyes from the growling apparition hunching down as if getting ready to leap at him a second time.
"My God! . . . what is it ... wh-what is it?" the teenager sobbed.
"Christ, never mind that! Come on! Out of here . . . move! Move . . . !"
Gasping out little whimpers of her own and still numbed from the hand-chop to her neck, Robin raised up once more to hear the slam of the front door, only partially conscious of what had happened to drive them off, vaguely aware that something real and inhuman had forcefully knocked her attacker to the floor as if he'd been a puppet doll. She raised higher with elbows supporting her, almost afraid to learn what her champion was - and then, she saw it!
More like an enormous ghastly shadow than a living thing, it stood staring at her through piercing, amber-fired eyes, causing a cold claminess to grip the length of her spine, while an unknowing dread crept over her body until her naked skin was a trembling rash of goose-flesh. And then it was moving closer and closer toward her, until suddenly it leaped up onto the bed and she fell back with intimidated moans.
Behind fear-closed eyes, it was long seconds before Robin realized that whatever it was, whimpers were coming from it, too . . . almost pleading sounds of gentleness, their unharsh entreaty appealing to her own overtaxed emotions. She raised her lids slowly and stared.
It - he was a dog! Immense, black, and beautiful . . . with regally standing ears and sleek, muscular body, and anything but horrifying! Even his chilling eyes had seemed to soften as they gazed down at her, while the tiny whines continued emitting from his thick, fur-covered throat.
"W-Who are you? Where did you come from . . . and how did you get in here?" Robin spoke her first words to him. Of course he couldn't answer, but the tone of his throaty whines and the wagging of his tail told the naked and yet trembling young wife that he was a friend . . . and God, what a friend! "You-You drove them off," she went on, still trying to put it all together. Lord, if that vile Leslie hadn't interrupted, she would've let Ginger do anything to her! She sensed the shameful flush to her cheeks and the excitement in her susceptible loins that the girl's lesbian acts had kindled. And then, she saw the small tag hanging from the animal's collar and ventured an examination.
"Shadow! That's your name, and damned if you're not a shadow!" Robin whispered, resting on one elbow as she gratefully petted the huge German shepherd standing on the bed above her. It was that closeness that let her see also the raw flesh of his face where the muzzle had cruelly bitten when he tried to rub it loose against a solid object. "Hey, your master hasn't been very good to you. That muzzle is making you raw!" she exclaimed, the nurse in her making her heedlessly unfasten the webbed strapping that bound his powerful jaws. "There ..."
Shadow's powerful jaws dropped open in an almost grinning expression of thankfulness. He stepped closer and leaned his head down to lick a warm, wet tongue over her face, Robin's hands coming up protectively as she smiled.
"You devil," the young wife said, peeking through her covering fingers, the feel of his hot tongue reminding her of Ginger's. She knew if it were not for the cocaine's soothing calm in her veins nothing else would matter. But it was there, and because of it, so was the sensual excitement that teenaged vixen had set to flame in her loins like a well laid-up tepee of kindling.
Shadow pawed the bed uneasily. He moved back and forth, a hot, pungent aroma antagonizing his keen nostrils. Fiery blood surged through him and he wagged his head up and down over her. Robin saw his confusing actions, wondering if she had been wise in removing the muzzle. She worked her neck, feeling the deep ache still there from Leslie's blow, and was about to raise up when the huge animal-head dropped to lick out with hot wet tongue against the naked flesh of her unexpecting belly!
The abrasive sensation laving over the tender flesh took her completely by surprise, and she lay tensing as she watched with expanding eyes the burning coral length lick wetly against her trembling flesh. A gasp escaped her as again he did it, his searing pink tongue causing erotic tremors within her loins that were quickly reviving the wanton abandon Ginger had teased lustfully into being just minutes before. She sucked in her belly beneath its hot feral caresses, staring in disbelief when it began to lick upward . . . higher and higher . . . until suddenly he was laving the rounded undersides of her desire-swollen breasts and inching toward their still bursting little tips!
A series of spellbound gasps hissed from between the blonde wife's opened lips. She felt his lapping dog-tongue sweep over the tingling buds with whimpering animal frustration - frustration to match her own as he continued to lick their straining sensitivity and send lewd thrills recoursing maddeningly through her still trembling nakedness.
Ooohhh Goddd! Would he? It was obscenely deplorable, forbidden ... a cardinal sin against nature! Her pulse began to pound as she shuffled her hips and buttocks up higher onto the bed, his animal-tongue and mouth diligently following her electrified breasts. His whines were coming from deeper in his throat, and she began to talk to him softly, at the same time spreading her knee-bent legs wide, her voice quaking with the lustful excitement of her depraved intentions.
"Good boy . .. that's it, darling lick them all over. Are they soft and warm? . . . oohhh, they feel as if they were on fire!" Robin hissed, squirming her torso beneath the powerful dog's incessant tongue, and simultaneously smoothing her hands down over her belly and hips. They pointed inward, nearly meeting with extended fingers at the tendril-covered softness of her fleshy cunt lips. Feverish sensations rippled through her at finger contact with her own damp-edged pussy folds, and even more so when she spread their flushed suppleness wide apart to let the cooler air of the room brush against the wetly inflamed inner flesh they concealed.
"Look, Robin's got something else for you, Shadow. Down below, darling . . . see? Down between her legs," the impassioned and drug-soothed young wife luridly enticed, rotating her buttocks and manipulating her pliant cuntal flanges to attract the massive animal's fixed attention. Once more the absolute salacity of her wanton act and purpose registered, but the hungering lust of her pyretic flesh was as demanding of fulfillment as the addicted craving for cocaine that had plagued it such a short time before.
He growled from the depths of his broad chest to send a new chill along Robin's spine. She was a mad fool! She knew she was, but couldn't stop herself as she raised herself up to watch him move with provoked bewilderment down over her vulnerable nakedness. He stared at where her fingers were shamelessly exposing the smoldering pussy crevice moistly splitting her upraised loins. He could turn on her . . . tear her to pieces! But he wouldn't - somehow, she knew that he would never harm her. Instead, he poised there while she watched him hovering above the impassioned juncture of her obscenely yawning thighs.
"Th-That's it! Right there, Shadow! Smell!" Robin whispered, lifting her blonde-ringleted loins up higher to him and feeling his cold wet nose brushing against the tremoring flesh of one inner-thigh . . . and then the sensitive dewy lips of her simmering pussy! She listened to his husky change of throat-noise while he sniffed between her legs, and knew that his animal instincts had sensed the poignant heat breathing from her human mating hole.
Another guttural rumble followed from the German shepherd, neither a growl nor whimper, but vicious and possessive in its intensity; then Robin felt the lapping fire of his long slithering tongue licking fluidly up through her seething. cuntal furrow.
From that moment on, the drug-high blonde groaned and squirmed in lewd intoxication beneath the forbidden ravishment, gaping with raised head as this beast out of the night speared its fiery tongue relentlessly through the glistening pinkness of her quivering vaginal slit. Its grainy sleekness raked with taunting sweeps over the susceptive ring of her pulsing little anus, licking up and down through the smooth valley between her upturned ass-cheeks before tracing back upward into the slickened raw flesh of her lip-splayed pussy. And then, its curling tip suddenly disappeared and she felt it worming its way up into her throbbing vagina . . . out and in again with an exploring soft lunge that caused her to convulse uncontrollably with its exotic insinuation right up into her hot female depths!
He found her little erect clitoris, its quivering bud transmitting the erotic secret of its being to him, for he played with it teasingly until Robin feared she might faint from the rapturous sensations flooding through her naked body. And then, choking out the sensual gasps that filled the bedroom, the police sergeant's lust-charged wife gently but firmly pressed the huge animal's head back away from her wetly inflamed loins, unable to stand another moment of his fervent tongue's mind-destroying licking.
"Oh, oh, oh God," she hissed, his immediate angered sounds anything but frightening her now as she managed to turn over onto her belly, but looking back so that she could talk to him. "I-It's all right, darling, Robin wants you to do more. This way now. See?" she whispered huskily, her mind racing to picture the obscene spectacle she must be making on the bed as she drew her knees up under her, spreading them wide and lowering her shoulders to elevate the rounded ovals of her lush buttocks up and back at him. "Come - come on ... don't be afraid, Shadow. God, darling, please . . . ?"
With her long blonde hair draped in dishevelment over her back and shoulders, Robin reached behind to seductively pat the naked white flesh of one upthrusted mound, her breaths wheezing from her lungs. "Please, lover... do it to me. I know you can ... oh God, please, you've got to fuck me!"
But the dog hesitated in visible bewilderment as she patted and waggled her lewdly offered buttocks for him until she was near to tears from her uncontrollable desire. Suddenly, he moved closer until she felt the muscular enormity of his furry body crowding up against the smoothness of her exposed ass-cheeks, and she sensed him raising up onto his hind legs as he embraced the arched flare of her up-tilted hips with his powerful paws. He stumbled in his unnatural stance while she gaped back, groaning aloud at the bestial forbiddenness of a dog mounted and clinging to her widespread buttocks, the obscene spectacle adding to the burning lust that was all but consuming her lust-maddened brain!
Robin raised part way up on her hands and dropped her head to peer eagerly between her nippled breasts and back through her kneed-out thighs at the huge dog's heavy loins. And she saw it... his big reddish canine-cock slithering from the fur-covered sleeve, its beveled head reaching ever forward toward the viscidly waiting mouth of her hungry vaginal split!
Lord, the size of it! Ooohhh, she could feel little rivulets of passion juice wetly trickling down the inner-sides of her thighs from her seeping pussy-lips . . . and then his powerful body jerked with animalish demand against the yielding flesh of her tremoring buttocks. Mindlessly, while moans and gasping sounds of bestial lust tumbled from her parched lips, Robin reached under her body and back between her gaping legs to grasp his slippery animal-cock. He growled harshly, and his forelegs tightened around her as she used his tapered cock-head to part her silky-soft pubic hair, then guide the pulsating tip to the nibbling mouth of her ravenous vaginal hole!
"Do it! Now, Shadow! Fuck it into me!"
The panting German shepherd hardly needed to be coaxed from that point. Robin's words choked off into a gurgling strangle as immediately the powerful dog humped forward, the length of his slickened cock spearing up into her proffered pussy with the subtlety of a train-wreck! Her eyes, like her mouth and impaled vagina, expanded to the merciless onslaught of his thickly hardened dog-cock racing deep up into the tight squirming hole centered between her quivering buttocks and trembling, widespread thighs!
It was long seconds before Robin caught her breath as his swollen animal-penis skeweringly stretched her slippery vaginal walls, stuffing her snug passage full, its arrow-like end jabbing with unexpected fierceness up against the sensitive little cushion of her cervix. A minute cry of pain burst from her lips as she lurched forward, his powerful flanks a blur of motion in their savage fucking up into her defenseless vagina.
"Oh, oh, oh, oh," Robin expelled beneath Shadow's battering thrusts up into the depths of her soft belly from behind, his forelegs clutching her hips like human hairy arms ... like Joe's huge arms - except he had never fucked her this way, never pounded it up into her even when she'd begged for it ... "Oh, ooohhh!" His cum-laden animal-balls were swinging heavily in the lewd cadence of his ferocious fucking, slapping noisily against her clitoris and squirming curl-covered cunt mound, his thick shaft pistoning a hammer-like barrage in and out of her wide-stretched pussy with body jolting force. "Good God!" she exclaimed, flailing her head wildly to the lustfully erotic masochistic pleasure momentary pain had brought to surface. The panting night-beast cried out behind her, a snarling whimper of eerie animal rut that sent chills of wanton sluttishness raging through Robin. She was inflaming his animal-brain with her sucking vaginal walls' tightening and releasing of his huge burning cock. With concentrated effort she strove to move in lewd back-thrusting tempo to meet the breathtaking strokes of his long tapered dog-cock plunging without mercy up into her ecstatically stretched cunt. Unique thrills of perverse delight drenched her sex-fired mind as she strained back onto the still growing penis lancing ever deeper up into her greedily wanting belly from behind.
A near-violent frenzy seemed to propel Shadow's massive body as it battered her submissively kneeling form beneath him, his natural exertion toward self-fulfillment an inbred urge Robin could more than understand. It was then that she lost all human contact and thrust harder backwards onto the ever-thickening shaft of raging cock-sinew digging deeper up into her throbbing vagina's friction-glazed flesh. In veritable dog fashion, she felt his laboring body pummeling her yielding, widespread ass-cheeks, his huge reaming penis a scoring, stuffing trunk of relentless passion sinking to its full length up into the torrid inferno blazing out of control in her undulating belly.
"Oh fuck it, you darling! Fuck me mad!" the flailing, gasping Robin cried out whorishly as the brute-animal clung tighter to the soft contours of her rounded hips, and she threw her churning, widespread ass-cheeks back onto his glutting hardness with an utter animalish abandon all her own. Huskily wailing with tear-wet eyes, the naked wife rotated her clasping vaginal sheath around his rigid spear in obscene frenzy, hungrily grinding the devouring walls over its cunt-impaling length with all the fever she had ever known in her entire life!
Oh sweet fuck . . . how beautiful! His bloated animal-balls, bursting with thick steaming cum, were beating a wild tattoo against the back of her hand, and the heavy ridges of his blood-engorged cock were riding like a sleek lubricated pole between her clutching fingers.
Robin was crying now, sobbing uncontrollably to the incredible sensations of lustful pleasure the fierce German shepherd was bringing her. She moved her fingers from his cock to gently draw them beneath his swinging, sperm-laden testicles each time they swung down between her legs. His panting whimpers, though animal, sounded more than human to her as she shamelessly fucked him with every tantalizing female device that crossed her lust-impassioned mind. At the same time, she strained toward the ultimate release of ecstasy that was flashing little needle-like signals through her heaving belly and desire drenched loins. Like tongues of white-hot flame once caught hold, they began to lick rapidly through her lust-crazed body like an uncontrollable prairie fire.
His never-once ceasing dog-cock seemed to expand and increase its fucking velocity up into the insanely grasping core of Robin's sex-maddened body, the exotic intoxication making her cry out her shameless lust for the massive beast.
"Oh, ooohhh, you loving darling! Fuck me, sweet precious! Give it to me! Cum in me! Cum in meee! I'm your bitch . . . your bitchhhh!"
An unworldly sound rose up from the depths of Shadow's canine throat as Robin skewered her naked undulating buttocks back with mindless frenzy onto his pistoning penis. A bolt of lightning ripped jaggedly through her at that precise moment, the peak of his huge cock seeming to spear right up into her chaotically striving belly. Her hanging breasts felt hot and full, tingling fierily as if scalding milk were about to stream from their straining little nipples! Again, a ripping spasm tautened the underlying muscles of her body to force an inhuman cry out into the room where it was lost beneath animal bleats and the fleshy slaps of forbidden carnal rapture.
Robin's brain, though drugged and thrown asunder with the dynamic cataclysm sweeping over her, strived for her animal-lover's climax and desperately lunged her ravenous loins back onto his pillaging penis, wholly absorbing his unholy cock in the intricate depths of her steaming cuntal crevice. Woman and beast screamed simultaneously, and she felt the liquid rivets of his burning animal-cum spitting like fire-balls deep up into her constricting belly with long, hard spurts.
"Ooohhh . . .ooohhh! N-Noowww! I'm cuummiinngggggg!" Robin screamed out, her small hands twisting and ripping at the bed-cover, her head raising, lowering, flailing from side to side as the tears spilled wetly down her cheeks.
She knew that her buttocks were jerking convulsively to the earth-tremoring eruption in her naked belly and loins, and that the very reason she was made flesh was being violated beyond forgiveness. Still she smothered his animal-cock inside the hungering wet folds of her greedy cunt, tossing her head to each side as the huge dog squirted his seething cum up into the suckingly milking walls to puddle in her welcoming belly. Again and again, rippling convulsions of frantic ecstasy filled her, spasming her cunt and fulfilling her belly, racing up her spine to explode and trickle down back through the naked flesh that was part of the gasping woman who was bent submissively before the unknown beast which had fucked her into primordial rapture.
CHAPTER SIX
"Which hand was the worse, Effie?" Joe Mudd questioned, tasting his coffee after the light supper he had shared with her. "As I remember, Birt had trouble with his left... or was it his right?"
The matronly woman sat studying him. She rocked slowly. Her pale blue eyes seemed filled with the wisdom of time to Joe Mudd.
"Both of 'em, son, but the right was worser," she said, her apple-shaped face and white hair bunned in back, nodding affirmatively. "And I know what you're thinkin'. Heavens, didn't I have to tie shoes for him every morning? And me hobblin' round on a stick myself!"
"His service revolver was in his right hand," Mudd said to her continuous bobbing head. "Thumb against the trigger ... and the powder grains imbedded in that hand's flesh . . . but could he have pulled the trigger, Effie?"
She changed her head motions to the negative. "Not with both hands, Joe . .. too painful!"
"He was real bad that whole week before - before the end, wasn't he?"
"The worst I'd ever seen him. Couldn't use the right hand at all," she said, picking up her little round spectacle from the table beside her, and Mudd knew it was to hide the tears when she put them on.
"And you, Effie, how've you really been feeling?" he asked to change the subject as he sipped at his coffee. She was several years older than her dead husband, and with enough arthritic torment of her own to make her a bed case; but as the police sergeant well knew, she was too determined for that.
"Fit's can be," she responded, smiling. " 'S matter of fact, been thinkin' real serious 'bout takin' that trip Birt 'n' me talked about so long."
"You mean your sister's in Arizona?"
She nodded, still smiling, and a twinkle brightening her eyes. "Ain't no reason for me to stay here no more with Birt gone. Sell the house, pack my duds an' let Annie know I'm comin'. 'S all I gotta do."
"Damn, why don't you, Effie?" Joe said with enthusiasm. That had been their plan when Birt's retirement came up in a few months. "The desert sun would do you worlds of good."
"Only one thing holdin' me."
"What's that?"
"You. . . you 'n' Robin," she replied, beginning to characteristically nod her head once more. "Why don't the pair o' you come 'long with me? Tain't just that I'd miss you both somethin' fierce, but Lord knows, Joe, you ain't got nothing' here in this town. Not with that Lou Singer, you ain't, and you know it 's well's I do. He's nothin' but a dirty politician an' the further we all get away from him the better off we're gonna be. I tried to tell Birt that for years, but he wouldn't listen. Sweat it out, he said, just a few more years, then a few more months . . . and now .. . well, he sweat just a bit too long."
Joe swallowed, moved as always by her concern for him and now for his little Robin. He had discussed it before with Effie, but had never given it serious consideration. They could afford it; he had enough saved, and it might be the very answer to whatever had come between his blonde doll and himself. But he couldn't begin to contemplate such a move now, not until Birt's death had been satisfactorily resolved, and the drug theft in the department cleaned up to take any stigma from the dead man's name.
"Maybe later, Effie," he said, placing his coffee cup onto the table beside her and getting to his feet. "I'll talk it over with Robin and see how she feels about it. But it would be awhile yet anyway for us. Though that doesn't stop you from hustling right on out there where you can soak up that good warm sunshine."
"That's what Birt kept saying, always later," she replied sharply. "An' then suddenly there ain't no later, Joe. Why don't you talk it over with Robin real serious like... I mean tonight .. . right now!"
Mudd grinned. She was like a child once her mind was set to something. "All right, I will," he said, looking at his watch, surprised to see that he'd been there so long. It was after eight and nearly dark outside. "But just one thing," he added, looking down at the broom handle he had sawed off for her a half-dozen years before.
"What's that?"
"You might have to get out that new cane Birt bought you. I doubt if they'll let you into the state of Arizona hobbling on a rubber-tipped broom stick."
She scooped it up and poked it at him in fun, bringing a chuckle from his homely face. "Get on with you!" she charged, working her way out of the rocker to stand.
"No, don't bother getting up, Effie. I can let myself out," he said.
"Figured you could, young man, but I ain't gonna sit here all night. It's my bed time," she said with a half-smile. "Now you talk it over with Robin tonight, eh?"
"Sure."
"An' you'll let me know tomorrow how she feels 'bout it?"
"Yep. I'll stop by sometime through the day. Anything I can bring you?"
"Bring me ... ? Heavens no. I ain't helpless, Joe Mudd!"
The burly police sergeant walked out into the drizzly night grinning to himself. She was something else, all right, he thought, going over in his mind the idea of Robin and him migrating from Onega Falls. It had merit, no question about that, and he could undoubtedly get into police work there. He reached for the handle of the car door just as the sound behind him commanded attention.
Reflexively, Joe Mudd started to pivot his big frame around, but he was one second too late. Something exploded against the back of his skull, and the screaming flashes tearing through his brain were all he remembered . . .
* * *
They were still there, those sparks of scintillant agony whirling like pinwheels through his brain, when the police sergeant opened his eyes then closed them abruptly to the sharp pains knifing into them from the glaring light. It was a full minute before he realized that he was upright, standing on his feet, but that he couldn't move them anymore than he could his hands or arms. What'd happened, and what the hell was going to happen?
He managed to work his eyelids open against the blinding beam of light, quickly deciding they were twin ... a car's head lamps! Squinting, he saw the trees, then realized that he was bound to one with his arms wound around its trunk behind him and tied at the wrists - no, hancuffed, for Chrissakes! He could tell by their feel, and worse, he'd bet his ass they were his own! Sonovabitch, on top of that he'd been stripped half-naked, his chest bared and his pants and shorts pulled down around his ankles. Something, a rope maybe, was binding his ankles tight against the tree ...
"Well, how you feeling, Sarge?" a harsh male voice questioned acidly.
Mudd didn't answer. His eyes focused with difficulty against the blazing light to see the stocking mask, and then another covering the face of a round heavier set body. The first one, the talker, was tall and rawboned of build, and both wore black high-necked pullovers, dark trousers, and leather gloves. It looked like a party, all right, but the entertainment was going to be all one-sided.
"He don't want to converse, eh?" the heavy-set one grunted. "Just as well. We'll do the talking."
"Yeah," his cohort said. "Seems you been getting too nosey, Mudd, and there're those that don't dig it. Everybody's content about old man Halstead, but you, so we been asked to kinda change your way of thinking. Nothing personal, you understand, but you keep pissing around the way you've been, and you might kick up a hornet's nest, see what I mean?"
Joe listened to every word carefully, but at the same time he was watching the ugly right leathered fist of the heavy-set one pounding against the gloved palm of his left. Suddenly, it lashed out, driving viciously into the pit of Joe's . naked gut a split-second before he could tighten his stomach muscles. Mudd felt the breath, driven out of him with an expelling grunt, still unable to steel himself before two more followed to the same region, and then an up-crushing knee digging ruthlessly into his groin. He sagged, his heavy weight pulling against wrist-cuffed arms in their awkward position and straining his shoulder sockets. Misery racked his abdomen as he struggled for breath.
"No offense, right?" the talker said, rising onto the balls of his feet to throw a hard left solidly against Mudd's heavy jaw, the force of the blow ripping the policeman's head to one side and then the other when a hooking right fist caught him high on the opposite cheekbone. "No goddamned offense, cop!"
'Hell no,!" the heavy one exclaimed, moving back in with two short, powerful jabs to the heart and then the thudding knee again grinding up into Joe's naked crotch.
Mudd blurted out his tormented response as he hung there helpless from the tree, and they took turns stepping in to cruelly batter his nearly stripped, huge body without letup. He felt his nose burst like a ripe tomato when the rawboned one smashed a looping leathered fist flush in the center of his face, the blood following him back to spray over his black clothing. And then came the crushing knee with nauseating force up into his groin once more from the other.
"You beginning to get the meaning, fuzz?" the rawbone flung at him.
In wheezing chokes, Mudd managed, "Fuck you . .. cocksuckers!"
The heavy-set one swore violently. "Obstinate bastard ain't he?"
"Get it!" the talker ordered and through pain-blurred eyes the sergeant watched the other going toward the car lights.
"Got a little something for you that you might be familiar with, cop," rawbone leered, breathing heavy from his exertion.
Joe with ears ringing almost deafeningly, heard the car door slam and then saw the man come back into the light. He was carrying something in one hand and when it unfurled Mudd saw what it was - a length of rubber hose. Rawbone took if from him.
"All right you cop prick. Now you're gonna get a taste of your own fuzz methods, and I ain't gonna stop 'till you're out cold, or dead! So just remember when you wake up, if you do, back off, see! Or next time it'll be that cute little cunt blonde you're married to hanging there in your place!"
It was his last words that burned into Joe Mudd's sickened brain like a branding iron, and from that moment on nothing registered but the torturous agony of the rubber-hose welting and biting mercilessly into his bared muscular flesh.
Again and again as they traded off, the hollow tubing thumped lashingly across his chest, stomach and thighs, sometimes whipping up between his legs to tear at his exposed genitals with fierce blows.
The big lawman couldn't contain his harsh gasps of excruciating anguish beneath the bloodthirsty beating they were laying on him, but he tried. Not until the very end when he felt the lights dimming in his tortured skull and they stopped in panting breathlessness did he roar out like a wounded gorilla. But that was when the heavy-set one swore and reached down to grab a handful of his wretchedly aching balls and began twisting and squeezing them as if he intended to rip them out of his crotch!
The lights did go out then ...
* * *
When he woke up this time, Sergeant Joe Mudd found himself in a gutter. In fact, it had been the shock to his bruised and bloody body of being thrown there that had jarred him back to his senses. His head reeling to the brutal punishment he'd somehow managed to endure, the battered man worked himself to his knees with arms still handcuffed behind him, but that was as far as he got when he began to vomit.
How long he hung there humped over in that retching stance, Mudd wasn't sure, but after, he felt better, struggling onto his feet. His vision wasn't too good, but he finally made out Effie's darkened house and his patrol car still in her driveway. Thank God she'd gone to bed as he left. If she'd looked out and seen his car still there she would have been worried sick that something had happened to him .. . and it sure as hell had!
He stumbled toward the rider's side of the car, aware that at least they'd half dressed him. His shirt, tie, and hat were gone, but he had his pants and suit jacket. Christ, his whole fucking body and head throbbed like a huge ulcerated tooth, his breath whistling from his throat and swollen nose. He backed up to the door and worked at the handle, thinking that they couldn't disfigure his ugly mug by much if they'd gone at it with a crowbar. The bastards . .. somehow, sometime, they'd all meet again.
In the glove compartment he kept an extra set of handcuff keys and after some more painful contortions found them. Then came the task of fitting it into the slot of the cuffs, another five minutes of expert doing before accomplishment. He rubbed at his raw thick wrists then searched through his pockets. The car keys were still there and so was his wallet.
Like the young murdered Kilane, his attackers hadn't been interested in robbery, and he realized that a lesser tough-hided bull then himself could well have died from such a beating - he felt half that way himself.
At least his head had cleared enough to drive, and he was thankful for that, but his main thoughts were of Robin and the threat the two hoodlum bastards had made against her. There wasn't the slightest doubt in his mind but what they'd carry it out if he didn't back off as they'd demanded. Christ, he hadn't realized that he was onto anything, but he'd evidently thrown fear into someone ... and he could only think of one person who fit that bill. Well, Captain, maybe we're going to have it out sooner than I thought!
Mudd went to a service station and parked in the rear. Fortunately, the men's room was unlocked. The sight of his swollen face blood-smeared with bulging nose looking like a twisted and bloated red pepper didn't do a damned thing for him. The burly man sighed heavily. It wasn't the first working over he'd suffered in his lifetime, but it was damned sure the worst. Couldn't let Robin see him this way. He'd do the best he could before he went home, and then they were really going to talk. His little bird was going to take a trip to Arizona with Effie if he had anything to say about it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
"Good God!" Robin gasped when she saw her mauled husband's big unsightly frame filling the doorway. Wallowing in shame, she had made herself presentable to his liking and waited up for him, needing to feel the security of his rugged gentleness more than ever before. "Oh Joe darling, what happened?"
"Now don't get upset. I'm okay," he said, his smile a grotesque grimace to the horrified young woman staring in disbelief at the one person who meant everything to her. She was clutching at her throat above the black silky pajamas that were his favorite. "Had a little ruckus is all," he added.
"A little ruckus? God almighty, you look as if you'd been in a stampede! Here, come sit down. You can tell me what happened while I examine that nose. Is it broken?"
"I expect it is." He lumbered to the couch and dropped heavily while she hovered over him in true Florence Nightingale fashion. "It won't be the first time," he mumbled as she made him lay his head back and her delicate fingers went to work gently.
"Well tell me, will you? What's the other team look like?"
He grunted and began, giving her a shallow resume, avoiding the guttier parts, though he knew he had to admit the hosing; she was bound to see the marks on his agonized body. Immediately, she opened his coat to gape at the ugly welted abrasions visible through his superfluous mass of body-hair.
"Ooohhh . . . you poor darling!" she cried, tears moistening her saucered eyes as she bent and kissed the swollen blubber of his lips. "Come on, I'm putting you right into the bathtub where we can soak some of the pain out of you. Don't argue now. Come on!"
Joe didn't; he was too contented with the whole idea. He just wished to hell he didn't feel as if he'd been run down by a tank was all. And then, after she'd helped him strip and plunged his naked hairy hulk down into a tub full of lukewarm water, she brought the bourbon bottle and made him take a healthy swig ... as if he had to be forced. Christ, he was beginning to feel like some sort of potentate rather than a beat-up cop, especially when she wriggled out of her pajamas right there beside him to keep them from getting wet. He let his aching eyes linger over the alluring softness of her rippling white curves as she slipped into the flimsy green robe she kept hanging behind the bathroom door, then knelt beside the tub.
The robe hung loose and part way open, revealing more than concealing the full mounds of her firmly rounded breasts. His badly battered loins responded uncontrollably, sending new torment to his brain, but damned if it wasn't welcome, he thought. Tilting the bourbon bottle, he gulped several more husky swallows before she took it from his hand.
"That was only for a bracer, young man, not to get soused on," Robin upbraided him with a half-smile, almost grateful for this unexpected calamity that was influencing her mind from the remorse it had known since Shadow's disappearance down the fire-escape. A dozen times she'd been tempted to "fix" again and now she was so thankful that she hadn't. If only she could keep herself from ever shooting another grain . . .
Mudd laughed as she took the bottle from him. "How'd you like to go to Arizona, little girl... maybe even move there to live?"
Robin heard him, his words causing a tight gripping at her belly, the immediate thought of having no supplier again a frightening one. "My God, your face, Joe," she said as if he hadn't spoken, trying to concentrate on the inhumanly punished features she loved so much. They should be her own, beaten and destroyed for the bitch she was! Not only was she compelled to protect the pair who had abused her sexually, but she had enticed and seduced a dog to make an animal of herself while degrading the brute's natural splendor.
"Look, I'm okay, baby," Mudd assured as she tenderly bathed his face. "Hell, a cop's life is never a bed of roses at best. So I walked into a windmill; don't let it get you uptight, hon," he went on, the soothing fire of the liquor doing grand things for him. "What I want to know is did you hear my Arizona idea?"
"I heard . . . and the answer is without you, no."
"I said to live."
"I know. But you didn't say us."
"I meant us ... later. First, you go with Effie to get things set up while I wind out here ..."
"No, Joe! No!" Robin exclaimed emphatically. "I-I don't know what this is all about, but I sense some protective measure on your part . . . and maybe from what's happened to you tonight." She was groping, spewing out her thoughts as fast as they came to mind. "No, Joe! Not without you!"
Mudd swallowed dejectedly. He hadn't handled it worth a goddamned, he thought as she continued to bathe him, her soft ablutions and the sight of her nearly exposed young breasts making him aware of his thickly hardened cock towering beneath the depths of water. Christ, he loved this girl! Did she really understand that? He couldn't take a fucking chance on anything happening to her by those two filthy bastards who had worked him over!
"Y-You'd love Arizona, Robin bird," he tried. "And someone has to go first. Don't you see what I mean?"
She brushed her hand down over the thick hairy matting covering his chest to his muscular stomach and felt the electric contact of his huge penis rigid in blood-engorged hardness. A shiver of delight rippled over the young nursing wife, but as well did the feeling of self-shame flood back through her guilt-ridden mind. Oh God, she wasn't worthy of one little part of Joe Mudd!
She sobbed out, then arose to her feet. Her hand raised to her forehead as she felt his eyes on her; she just couldn't stand still before their incisive gaze another minute!
"Y-You sit there and soak for awhile. You'll feel better ..."
She'd damn near gasped out the last words before running from the bathroom. Mudd stared after her, a leaden-like knot lumping in the depths of his sore gut. There it was again! That fucking thing between them, wedging them apart, whatever in Christ's name it was it'd reared its goddamned head once more!
He stood up in the tub and grabbed a towel to haphazardly dry himself. It was about time he found out just what in hell was tearing them apart! He stepped out and looked at himself in the medicine cabinet mirror. Fuck! Like horror! But she was used to it now, and he wasn't acquainted with any of the crap she was laying on him, but he was going to be. He wrapped the towel around his middle and walked into their bedroom where she lay nakedly covered in the bed. Her eyes were open but she wasn't crying, nor did she move a muscle when he halted at the foot.
"Robin? Listen, baby ... I think it's time we straightened a few things out between ..."
"Joe, for God's sake, come to bed now. You need sleep."
"I need my wife!"
"I've done all that a nurse can do. If you want to go to the hospital and have your nose set..."
"Frig my goddamned nose! That's not what I'm talking about!" he snapped sharply. "I'll have a pair of shiners too, but I'm a hell of a lot more concerned over what's ripping you up, Robin!"
"Nothing . . . absolutely nothing!" she lied. "It's just that - that you were a shock to me when you came home - all beaten up and bloody ..."
"And last night? The night before? And how many other goddamned nights has it been?" Joe pressed, his anger rising.
"Oh, stop it will you? Please? You're making mountains out ..."
She never finished; the telephone's ring interrupted her. Trembling, Mudd answered it.
"Delores Martin, Sergeant. You remember, from this morning?"
"Yes ... of course, Miss Martin. What is it?"
"Something I forgot to tell you popped into mind a few minutes ago ... something Roger Kilane said. I don't know if it would be of any help, but it was unusual and I can't get it out of my mind."
"Anything might be important. What is it?"
She hesitated. "Well, should I tell you over the phone ... or could you come by my apartment?"
"Tonight?" Mudd questioned, surprised.
"If you want. I'm alone. Otherwise, you can stop by early in the morning before I go to work."
He thought about that, knowing damned well he wasn't going to be up at any six o'clock again tomorrow morning. Besides, maybe it was just what the doctor ordered to keep him from blowing his cool altogether. What the hell . . . "All right. I'll be there in a few minutes."
Robin raised up to look at him, hardly believing her ears. He was ignoring her. God, he shouldn't go back out in his condition. "No, Joe, tell whoever it is no ... "
He recradled the receiver. "What's wrong?" he said, walking toward the clothes closet.
"Are you out of your mind? Going back out tonight? Can't it wait until tomorrow?"
"No."
"It can't be that important," she insisted, pulling the sheet up to cover her naked breasts.
It was that chaste little gesture that twisted something mean inside Joe Mudd's aching frame and he walked to her vanity to pick up the bourbon bottle. Tilting it upward, he swallowed several times, then turned to glare and hiss between clenched teeth: "Fortification against the evil night air."
All the way toward Richter Boulevard the burly police sergeant thought about the voluptuous blonde girl in his bed he'd left behind. But not the way a man thinks of his wife, or even his mistress; he hardly knew what the vein of his thinking was, except that what had been so beautiful was suddenly trying to asphyxiate him, and had he been capable of it, he would have broken down and cried right there.
* * *
"Hello, Sergeant, please come in." With considerable less decorum than he'd shown that morning, Mudd moved into the cozy, softly lighted room where seething background music played. He wore a hat and didn't remove it; his hands were shoved deep in rain-slicker pockets and he made no motion to bring them out.
"Lord . . . might I ask what happened to you since I saw you last?" She spoke the words softly with no undue alarm, then stepped back to fold her arms over a white nylon negligee. But the outline of young sensuous contours he had noticed that morning were still vivid enough in his mind, and abruptly he felt more like a paramour keeping a midnight tryst than a punched-to-hell cop following down a murder lead. "An airplane crash, maybe?" she added.
"Nothing as minor as that," Mudd responded, debating as to whether it was booze or pot causing the glazed sparkle to her big dark eyes. Then he saw the slender cooler glass a third full of amberish liquid setting on the low table, and decided that grass was out. That pleased him; it was still a criminal offense. "What was it you remembered, Miss Martin?"
"Can you sit down - have a drink or something? You're not on duty now are you?"
He wasn't on duty. He wasn't anything except miserable for too many reasons, but only a portion as miserable as he might have been were it not for the bourbon's semi-glow. He felt it churning warmly inside him as he took off his hat and unfastened the slicker, surprising her, he thought, when he slipped it off. She smiled and took them to lay over a chair-back.
"What do you like?" scotch, bourbon, vodka?"
"Bourbon's fine," Mudd said, walking to an overstuffed chair and dropping into it. "And don't cut it."
"Ice?"
"Nothing."
"That's my way," she said as he watched her glide to the small corner table and pour into another cooler glass. The loose folds of the negligee, though deceiving, couldn't conceal the rounded contours of her shapely hips and full curvy buttocks when she bent slightly above her homemade bar. He thought of Robin and the expression on her face when he'd left, and then he focused onto the lovely smiling young girl approaching him with glass in hand. He couldn't do less. Her long chestnut hair had yet to be put into its bedtime ponytail, and it swept down around her ovalled face and sloping shoulders like a nun's veiling habit. Her full breasts swelled out the bodice of her nightgown, and the filmy white negligee rippled with every step moving her closer to place the drink in his hand.
"As I told you over the phone, I'm not sure it's important," she said, backing to the davenport and lowering onto it like a cloud. She picked up her drink while Mudd sampled his own. "I-I guess I should tell you everything and then maybe you can get more out of it."
Mudd nodded. Jesus, he hadn't realized she was such a doll. "Go ahead," he said, watching her cross her legs beneath the gossamery folds.
"Well... we met in the Oak Room. I don't know, but I think it was his dog, Shadow, that took my eye first. Anyway, we ended up here to have a drink."
"This was last night?" Joe questioned routinely.
"Yes. We had a couple of drinks and listened to music," Delores expanded, "then ... one thing led to another and he was kissing me. I'm a bachelor girl, you know, and well... I like my good times, too."
"Of course," he said, trying to remain authorative as the sensuous hum of her young voice reacted on him as might a stripping woman. Christ, his goddamned cock was swelling out in his pantleg to her half-whispered story.
"... In the bedroom. We undressed and he - he made love to me, Sergeant," she admitted, her glowing eyes fixed on him. "But there was nothing vulgar about it. Please understand that. He was perfect and gentle, doing it just the way I wanted, all man but never brutal,. . thought I would've welcomed a little masculine dominance too." She leaned forward with glass in her lap. "There's a secret to lovemaking that few men ever acquire, Sergeant, and I believe that Roger Kilane unknowingly possessed it. Truly ... I never experienced such a dynamic orgasm in my life!"
Mudd stared at her. His mouth was open, his cock hard, and his glass was empty. "Wh-What about. .. what was it he said . .. ?"
"Oh yes," she went on in her whispering softness. "He told me he had to leave and I didn't want him to." She dropped her eyes. "You're worldly enough to understand that, Sergeant Mudd. Once a lonely girl finds a real lover . . . well. . . Anyway, he insisted that he had to leave, but that he'd come back. He said, and this is what I remembered: got to go skating for snow. Those were his exact words: got to go skating for snow.
Joe said nothing, but his brain was floundering in several different categories. To begin with, he was drunk and that should be the end, as any cop worth his ass knew. Along more technical lines, snow indirectly spelled heroin, and skating possibly meant Jules Villa; that was, if his senses were recording correctly - the goddamned first opening he'd had into Villa's operation. Villa and Singer: what a neat combination!
The glass slipped upward out of Mudd's hand and he saw her smiling warmly over him. She took it and walked off, the confused thoughts in his head fuzzing as he watched her curvy young form float gracefully away from him. The long chestnut hair danced across the middle of her back with every step. His eyes dropped to her blushing little heels in silver slippers, so slender at their base. Like a goddamned teenaged girl's, he thought, rubbing a hand absently over the huge swell distorting the front of his pants.
The lilt of background music drifted to him like the glass replaced in his hand by the apparition of soft whiteness. He reached out, catching hold of her and setting the glass on the stand beside him. She never hesitated when Mudd drew her back, and the aromatic delight of her body folded down onto his lap with willing warmth, lips and mouth moving forward readily to meet his. A hot little tongue wiggled passionately beyond his swollen lips to play in his mouth while the flushed heat of softly rounded buttocks squirmed down against the forgotten soreness of his throbbing loins.
He wondered if she was a whore on the side, for Chrissakes?
She began to breathe heavier, trembling all over him with arms moving around his neck and full resistant breasts yielding against his chest. He couldn't have thought of much else had he tried. She went on kissing him and caressing his tongue with her own thrust into his mouth, the taste of her blended with liquor like some wild aphrodisiac that he didn't need. No use of trying to fight it - no goddamned use at all!
Delores had nourished sensual thoughts of the burly policeman throughout the day, but it hadn't been until lunch that she had actually realized it. They were without precedence, and she could pinpoint no erotic reasoning behind them except his huge brute-like gentleness. She'd always preferred tall, slender men her own age and fair complected if she were to have it all. He was the direct opposite, yet as her working day passed her thoughts of him had grown more lustingly profound, until she couldn't erase the memory from her excited mind of his massive hands with their short black hair. At home with drinks and music, those hands, his homely face and powerful body had become obsessive. And then she'd remembered Roger Kilane's statement - the perfect ruse if he would come . .. and he had!
The shocking ugliness of his bruised, swollen face only added a perverse fascination to all of it. His puffed lips - she thought she could taste the saltiness of his blood on them. He had been beaten severely - it must've taken an army - yet no explanations. His tongue was hot and thick, big like all of him against the smallness of her own; she tried to suck it into her mouth and at the same time writhe her buttocks down against the long, heavy hardness of his huge cock wedging up between them. The heat of his penis was feverish through the layers of clothing separating their flesh, her straining nipples bursting little buds of electric tension as she pressed her desire-filled breasts undulantly against the solid mass of his chest.
Suddenly, he held her away from him. "W-What in hell are we getting to, girl?"
She trembled beneath his masculine hands on her arms, her breathing short and rapid. She looked down at one, eyes radiant, then with her own she stroked the soft hair curling over its strong-veined breadth. God, she was so wet down there between her legs.
"Whatever you want, lover," she whispered with impassioned sincerity, beginning to unloosen his tie.
Mudd swore. He had been drunker, but never hotter at the same time, and all in the aftermath of having the living hell beaten out of him. And then there was the bitterness of Robin's actions, the lot of it confusing and tormenting and sufficient to goad him onto his feet with the soft curvaceousness of this voluptuous doll cradled child-like in his arms. It hardly mattered whether she was whore or virgin.
"Where's your bedroom?" he demanded.
She directed him, clinging to his neck and kissing the bruises on his face with moistened tender lips. Christ, his billy-club prick would rip out his pant leg! He stood her onto her dainty feet and she took several steps backward, before stepping out of the silver slippers, quickly removing her negligee. He saw that what he'd thought to be a nightgown was actually part of the negligee, and that she wore white nylon panties and a brief matching brassiere of lace beneath it.
Mudd pulled at his shirt, his whiskied-stare fixed on the little protrusions of her stabbing nipples, hard and darker than the surrounding flesh thrusting the sheer brassiere out firmly. Her young body was all that he'd imagined, rounded, tapering, and curved in the proper places, her skin a smooth white luster. She turned slowly on her toes, obviously exhibiting it to him. The tiny white panties held her lushly ovalled buttocks in a tight embrace, revealing half of each fleshy moon; then through the snug front of them he saw the dark curls covering the swollen little mound at the juncture of sleekly brushing thighs.
"Jesus!" Mudd choked, working at the buckle of his belt, while Delores drank in the sight of his naked hair-covered torso, its muscular massiveness inciting lustful sensations within her expectant loins.
He had been beaten over his body, too. She could see the ugly red welts here and there, though most of them were hidden by the dark thatches of hair that captivated her all the more. Then he stripped off his pants and shorts and his long, thick penis sprung up in the air like some monstrous thing. She gaped at it in awe, a frightening thrill of lustful fascination shuddering through her body. The bulbous, near-purple moistened head protruding from its heavy foreskin, its marbling veins bluish and gnarly along the massive shaft - she was no great authority, but she had known a few and this was the hugest cock she had ever seen!
"I-Is it real?" she gasped, her eyes feasting greedily on the bloated sac of his balls hanging bullish between his pillared thighs, and everywhere the virile matting of black hair like some primeval forest.
"It's real enough to me," Mudd said, moving toward her to make it waggle like a long-handled bludgeon before him. "And you've been teasing the hell out of it, young lady .. . now you pay the piper."
"God, I'm ready for the dance, lover, honest," she hissed. "But it looks angry."
"Maybe it is," he said huskily. "We'll have to find that out."
Her excited dark eyes flicked upward onto his distorted face and he read the hungering desire in them. "I hope it is so I can draw the wrath out of it for you. I really do, darling! D-Don't be too gentle with me - that would spoil all my visions of you."
Mudd knew then that she'd planned the whole fucking thing . . . lured him there for this very purpose! Christ! He wasn't going to disappoint her, or himself. He reached for her and she bolted into his arms, hot and sweet-smelling. It struck him that she was one of those women who as soon as a man touched her, seemed to melt into a pleasure-package of voluptuous passion, trembling and whimpering with sensual excitement. He felt her soft young body quivering against him as he unfastened the wispy brassiere, her lips murmuring against his hairy chest. The tiny garment came away, slipping down her arms to fall to the floor, and he felt her naked breasts with their pointed little nipples digging hard into his flesh.
"Oh . . . oh," she mumbled to his exploring hands coursing in a long quick caress over her back, tracing his fingertips up her spine and moving them around to feel her lushly thrusting breasts yield in bursting fullness beneath the cupping of his eager hands. He squeezed them and not too gently, then massaged their pebble-hard tips with almost sadistic pinching harshness.
"Oh lover!" she gasped, trembling erotically against him. She squirmed, standing on tip-toes until her soft abdomen had snuggled against his throbbing cock, to furrow and then she undulated her hips grindingly against his swollen member.
His worked-over balls had never ceased their ache since the hosing, but now the stress of them bloated with damed-up sperm was that much more intense. Mudd ran his hands down her tapered ribcage and rolled the panties over the smooth fleshy orbs of her buttocks. She wriggled to help, finally shaking her thighs until they slipped down the rest of the way to the floor.
His breathing harsh and wheezy, the burly naked lawman cupped the supple mounds of her rounded ass-cheeks, revelling in their weighty satin-like feel as he raised them up his body until he could move his fingers between her thighs from behind into the sensitive flesh of her simmering cunt.
"Oh God! Oh darling!" she gasped up at him, pulling his face down to crush her desire moistened lips against his swollen ones. Again, her feverish little tongue raced into his mouth, tiny whimpers coming from her at the same time as she writhed wildly against him. She pulled back her head and he kissed and bit at her throat.
And then she was winding the smooth firmness of her strong young legs around him while his fingers played in the torrid crevice, splitting the sensitive flesh of her curl-covered loins. She found his mouth again and clung there with leeching lips. Her tongue darted snakishly into it, her hand working down between them to the pulsing weight of his iron-hard cock. She tried to encircle her small hand all the way around his pulsating cock-shaft, the contact sending flint-like sparks of illicit desire shooting along its thickened length. She began to stroke it gently, then harder, her panting breath like fire in his mouth as she squeezed his rigid penis until her half-circling hand was tightly throttling its blood-filled, sinewy hardness.
Jesus! She was a lust-crazed little savage, Mudd thought, feeling the flow of warm vaginal moisture dribbling down over his fingers from between her hotly splayed pussy-lips. He raised her body higher up while she clung to his aching cock with both hands, and he drew his middle finger enticingly back through the damp furrow separating her widespread ass-cheeks to the dimpled recess of her tiny pulsing anus. She seemed to come unglued when he massaged his finger over and around her clenching rectum. He started toward the bed with her writhing and squirming against him as if she were shimmying up a tree and using his poling cock for leverage.
Suddenly, with one hand in front and the other reaching behind in under her buttocks, Delores placed the tip of his prick-head against the nibbling wet mouth of her squirming vagina. Groaning incessantly as he carried her, she wriggled her hips downward to capture his thick gristly shaft so that it raced up into the slippery walls of her tight cuntal sheath like a mushroomed spear. Mudd swore chokingly while she whined and the sergeant broke into lewd contortions of abandon with her engulfing vaginal flesh clamping around his throbbing rod so firmly that he had to stop himself from throwing her onto the floor and fucking her right there.
"Oh Christ, darling!" she hissed breathlessly. "It must be the biggest thing since - since the Marshall Plan!"
Mudd made it to the bed with her lurching against him, her wriggling little pussy stuffed with half of his over-swollen penis. He lowered her down onto the bed as she clung in soft vine-like entanglement to him, her white thighs spreading in wide yearning welcome, and he crawled up further between them.
"You wild little bitch! I'm going to fuck you 'til your eyeballs pop," Mudd threatened, the goatish expression on his bizarrely battered face setting off weird charges exploding through the naked, lust-hungering young woman beneath him. "You want cock? I'll give you cock, baby," he rasped, flicking his heavy lips to spear a few more inches of long, thick-ridged penis up into her receptive belly's fluidly clutching heat.
She winced and gritted her teeth while her nails dug into the ungiving hard flesh of his muscular arms and shoulders; then they clutched handfuls of the body-hair which covered every inch of his enormous frame as if to keep from falling off the earth.
"Oh, oh, oh ... slow, lover, my God . . . give a girl a chance. Ooooohhh, I'm going to love it, I know it - I know it - stark raving mad . . . !" she groaned, waving her moistly saturated loins in frantic undulations to widen her tight passage greedily around his invading cock; there was still more and she wanted - had to have all of its burning stiffness plundering the depths of her inflamed cunt. "Hold still just a minute!" she pleaded, raising her hips and buttocks upward in spasmodic jerks, skewering his burgeoning cock bit by bit up into her desperately stretching pussy-hole.
But Mudd couldn't hold still even for a second, and his hips and pelvis did a lurching dance of their own in accompaniment to hers, a bump and grind routine that wedged his exploring cock-shaft farther and deeper up into the wetly gripping darkness of seething flesh that seemed to be pulling at the very lining of his cum-laden balls. Her entire body never stopped its twitching and writhing to the aboriginal music beat of groaning sensualism tumbling from her openly working lips. Her neck strained as her nostrils flared beneath Mudd's liquored stars, a film of light perspiration oozing onto her forehead underneath the tangled fringe of her chestnut hair.
She quivered out a conquering sigh when he felt his semen-ballooned balls' flaccid skin brush against the spread globes of her smoothly working ass-cheeks. Gripping vaginal flesh was holding his massive penis in now, wetly releasing and milking all around his bursting cock. He pried into her vagina, using toe leverage to send the last unburied collar of his thick-rooted male genitals crowding up her expanded hole, forcing a new-keyed mewl from her straining throat, her eyes popping open to gape up at him in doeful admiration.
"There, damnit! I warned you I'd make them pop," Mudd gloated, easing his heavy chest down onto her full breasts' nipple-peaked dunes and flattening their fleshiness out against his hair-covered pectoral muscles.
"What pop?" she teased, brushing his lips and face with fiery-tongued soul-kisses.
He ground his hips and dug deeper, bracing his toes to worm another fraction of blood-throbbing cock up into her liquid cuntal flesh, but his balls wedged between the furrowed smoothness of her gaping buttocks told him she'd wantonly ingested its limit. Christ! He'd never fucked a woman like her! Not even Robin had ever come at him with erotic gusto equal to that glowing he could see in her lust-incited young face!
"Jesus! Doesn't it hurt, for Chrissakes?" he had to ask.
Delores Martin's little smile was proud and loose with lewd passion. "No more than a fence post, you big gorilla . . . and I love it!" she whispered throatily. The feel of his brute weight crushing her with his huge, hard cock splitting her cuntal passage to unreached depths in her tremoringly impaled belly was excruciating rapture. "If-If I'd wanted a ... a tea party, I'd have picked me out some fancy pants."
"Goddamn! You had this all planned, didn't you?"
"W-What do you think?"
"The only fucking thing I can, minx . . . why me?"
She shook her head almost laughingly beneath him. "If that isn't a typical question to come out of you, lover!" She kissed him, running her hot little tongue wetly over his bruised lips. "Damnit, are we going to talk all night?" she hissed finally. "Or are you going to fuck me before I go bananas?"
"Minx! That's what you are .. . a hot little luscious minx!" the massive naked policeman rasped hoarsely, setting himself for the onslaught. "Oh, and I am going to fuck you, baby!"
"Do it - do it... and don't be gentle! Use me, lover ... I need that! Fuck the living hell out of me!"
CHAPTER EIGHT
Robin had slept, finally dozing into a fitful nap and awakening with a start to bolt upright in the bed with tears streaming down her cheeks. A nightmare had tormented her, a vivid horror of Joe being beaten to death by ugly, faceless men. She looked at his pillow and saw that he wasn't beside her. According to her watch, little over an hour had passed since he'd left the apartment, and from experience she knew there was no telling when he might come home, that was a policeman's life, say nothing of his wife's.
She pulled a facial tissue from the box on the bed stand, and wiped at her eyes then blew her nose. Excerpts out of the horrible dream passed through her tortured mind and she remembered the pinched-face of Leslie. He had been in it, sitting on her boudoir chair smiling viciously while the faceless ones beat her Joe senseless . . . and she'd sat on the bed with her naked legs widespread so that Ginger could lick her down there between them!
Oh God! What a filthy, terrifying dream! Even Shadow had been present, growling as he stood waiting for Ginger to be through so that he could mount her from behind and shove his big fiery-red hardness up into her wanting vagina again! A shame-filled shudder rippled over the young blonde wife's naked flesh as she swung from the bed and grabbed up her robe.
She couldn't sleep - might as well comb her hair and put it in a pony-tail, the nightly routine she'd forgotten in her wretchedness after Joe had come home. She had wanted so badly to talk to him again about adopting the baby - of doing something worthwhile that would bring him happiness, and help to minimize her own remorseful degradation. She knew he would help her if she could only bring herself to tell him everything. He loved her and he'd understand, she felt certain of it ...
Oh God, what was to become of her? Joe Mudd was her whole life; she was lost without him. Where would she turn? Oh, she needed him so much at that very moment, just the strength of his nearness. Maybe he would come by the time she was finished with her hair; with him in bed beside her, holding her in his strong arms she would be all right. Her nerves were a mass of jagged edges. If only she could scream out at the top of her lungs and release some of the terrible tension inside her!
In the mirror, the overwrought girl saw that she was crying again. Still, she went on brushing her long blonde tresses. After, she would wash out some underthings and keep busy somehow until Joe came. She had to keep herself occupied . . . not let herself think . . . fight it -fight it... But oh God, she couldn't, not for long . . . not even another minute!
Suddenly, Robin was on her feet and moving rapidly toward her hiding place. Nothing else mattered! She'd gone as long as she could! She had to have a fix . . . !
* * *
In liquor-honed lust, Sergeant Joe Mudd began to fuck into the curvaceous naked girl squirming with shameless abandon beneath him.
"Ooooohhh . . . aahhh - super, darling, supaahhggg!" Delores gurgled as his big meaty hands clutched at her buttocks and weightlessly lifted them off the bed so that he could screw up into her vagina with all the strength of his powerful hips and thighs. Sweet Lord! She could feel his huge bludgeoning cock-head smashing and boring up into the intricate female secrets of her pussy as if it were undermining her very belly! It was utterly depraved masochism to know such salacious pleasure out of sensual pain, but he was killing her with the perverse delight of his savage fucking, and she never wanted him to stop.
Mudd's breaths came out of him like a laboring primate. He watched his glistening thick cock move in and out of the hair-fringed core of her squirming loins, pistoning up into her hotly clutching cunt as the rhythmic tempo of lewd slurping sounds began filling the room. Her rounded breasts jiggled and swayed with their nipples waxenly erect, the sight of them urging an extra sadistic lunge from him that drove her whimpering up the bed, her slender white neck arching with the unexpected viciousness of his every thrust.
It struck Mudd then that the over-swollen rod he was sawing lustfully up into her stretched cunt had gone beyond the aching stage and that it was numb! There hardly was any feeling in it at all! Those bastards - they'd crushed or ripped something vital in his genitals with their kicks and that fucking hose! Jesus! He could go on all night like this, except he'd probably drown in his own backed-up semen! His frigging prick and cum-heavy balls were feelingless, while his brain had melted into a furnace of bubbling salacity that he goddamned well might not be able to satisfy! The fucking thought was nothing short of terrifying!
In something of desperation, the naked lawman grunted and began moving his hands maulingly over her squirming body, as if searching for a hidden key in her voluptuous soft form that would turn back on his normal male functions. In response, Delores gasped out passionately to his brute-like sadistic pawing of her sensuously infused flesh, the animalistic sounds twisting her face and tumbling from her lips. Suddenly, she began to tremble violently as he gripped the tender skin of her belly and clutched at her desire-swollen breasts to squeeze their resilient fullness with gouging fingers.
"Ooohhh ... I'm c-cummminggg, lover!" she cried out, writhing frantically up at his plundering shaft surging like a pile-driver into her wildly convulsing loins and belly. "Aaahhh . . . !"
And that was only the first time. Minutes later, she wailed out again, her legs and head flailing crazily on either end of her wantonly spasming nakedness. She sobbed out ecstatic moans of orgasm while he hammered his insensate cock-shaft in aching envy up the orgasmic slickened passage between her flinging legs. Her vaginal walls had become a tightning channel of burning flesh, fluctuating with each explosive climax, her face a perspiring mask of insane sensuality as she gaped up at him through glazed unseeing eyes.
"Aaauuuggghhh . . . you're the most wonderful fucker in G-God's world!" she gutturally exclaimed with obscene sluttishness. And then, while continuing to heave her gaping loins up onto his blood-locked cock, she took his right hand and singled out its middle finger.
With neither of them slowing the pace of their furious fucking, Delores guided the thick finger down between her ever-working buttocks until the ball of its tip rested against the puckered little circle of her anus. With moans constantly escaping her parched lips, the panting girl manipulated his outstretched finger back and forth through the viscid moisture which had collected around her clenching rectum, then wormed it part way up into the resistant anal opening.
"Now," she gasped. "Push it up in, lover! Aaauuuggghhh . . . yes, like that! All the way -all the way! Y-You've got to stretch it darling. . . . A-And you're going to fuck me there!"
Mudd felt something click with obscene excitement inside his lust-distorted brain. His finger was embedded to the palm of his hand in the snug seething depths of her spongy rectum. Its hot, clutching walls sucked at the exploring length, and then he felt the raging hardness of his own battering cock through the thin separation of flesh between her passages. Jesus! Did she know what she was saying? With his cock he'd split her from shoulder blades to navel! Her tight little asshole . . . sonovabitch, that might do it for him, pulling and ripping at it! He'd fuck it, the wild little bitch! He'd ram his numbed cock so far up her ass it'd come out her mouth, balls and all!
Something almost frantic danced maddeningly inside Delores Martin's passion-clouded mind. Never had she known such a lover, such a man, such a cock! He was going to sodomize her, but she wasn't deluding herself. With his huge prick the pain would be excruciating at first, but that was it, wasn't it? The agonizing torment of having her naked body subjugated like a helpless slave, his huge angry cock fucking her in the ass while she bent subjectively before his pillaging penis! Oh God, yes, yes, she knew now that she'd been saving, building, and obscenely dreaming of this moment with him alone! Subconsciously, her body had known from the beginning and out of that had come the licentious masochistic passion drenching her vagina even now!
His huge finger was already like a buried penis up in her tightly gripping rectum. She squirmed on it while he fucked the bullish length of solid cock up into her sizzling vagina. God, what would she do when he was gone? Who, what, could ever take his place? Oooohhh, no time to think of that; he was routing his penis-sized finger, moving it around to expand her virginal little anus, stretching it almost to the ripping point.
Delores wriggled her hips for him while he finger-fucked her rectum, suddenly wondering if she could hold back the orgasm creeping over her frantically undulating body. And then, a second finger was worming its way up into her nether hole and hurtfully so. She choked out a cry and abruptly stopped the downward thrust of her hips, trying to escape this second penetration. God, it hurt, and for a moment of reprieve, she whispered:
"W-Wait, darling, let me turn over." She had to repeat it before he grunted, then reluctantly withdrew penis and fingers.
"Y-You sure you want this, baby?" Mudd choked, hopefully.
"Yes! B-But don't give me time to stop and think about it, lover!"
Quickly, she scampered around to spread her knees out wide and bend down in a kneeling position until her tingling breasts and shoulders were flattened to the bed, presenting him with the stretched white moons of her ovalled buttocks. She pictured the lurid spectacle of herself licentiously groveling before him as it must look from his eyes, her little anal ring redly inflamed now from his fingers fucking up into the tight passage. She heard him curse and felt his finger entering her rectum again . . . much easier this time and painless; in fact, it felt feverishly exciting.
Delores wriggled her buttocks back onto his finger as he moved it around in swirling motions up her rectum, ever-expanding her tight anus in preparation. The salacious anticipation of being anally ravished was growing tumultuous in her seething belly. Suddenly, his other finger joined the first in her constricted anus, and the same enormous pain ripped through her body, causing her to lurch away. With his other giant hand pressuring into the small of her back, he held her fast while anguished grunts bubbled uncontrollably up from her throat.
Determined, the impassioned young woman wiggled her hips and buttocks back to assist the stretching of her untried rectum, until the feel of both embedded fingers routing and sawing in, and out of her anus was increasing the masochistic pleasure of this forbidden act.
"Do it, lover! Put it in ... fuck me there!"
Mudd needed no prodding; his mind had been worked into a hotbed of lechery, while his glaciated cock felt as if it were embalmed. He quickly pulled his stiffened fingers out of her stretched rectal passage, watching the rubbery flesh cling to his fingertips with a wet sluicing noise.
His penis began to jerk like a rearing stallion as he kneed in close. Jesus, he was going to blow apart if he didn't shoot his load soon!
Delores felt his hot hands close on the tops of her thighs, gripping them like vises. She reached back between her legs to the hairy massiveness of his balls, holding and stroking them for a moment before clasping his thick-veined cock. Mindlessly, she spread her knees wider and placed its hot, bulbous head against her tiny anal opening. It began to prod and push against her anus while she helped it, trying to forget its immense size. Then, her nether hole was expanding, his cock-head's blunt tip worming pressuringly up into her narrow rectal channel. I-It was going to - to fit ... going to ... and suddenly she was being impaled by a gnarled and knotted log that was about to tear her helplessly vulnerable body asunder!
"Aaaaauuggghhh . . . no! No, I can't, darling!" she choked, twisting her head to gape back in instant panic. One look at him was enough for her to see that he had no intentions of stopping now. "I-It's too big! Aaauugghh! It won't fit! Christ, stop pleasseee!"
He didn't! Instead, he held her like a hugging gorilla while his ponderous penis slowly inched up into her horribly stretched rectum, his brute thighs thrusting forward while his hands, clawed her shuddering buttocks back onto his skewering manhood.
"Push back, you little bitch!" Mudd snarled. "Come on! Shove your ass back! Harder! Harder!"
Delores's brain reeled with the excruciating torment. God, had she ever imagined there would be such pain . . . ! He was swearing and shouting like a slave-master at her. She strained backwards to his commands, opening her ass-cheeks more to him, until abruptly, his invading cock surged right up into her screaming rectum to pack it full of a sodomizing brute penis!
"Oh, oh, ooohhh, ooohhh!" she moaned chokingly beneath him.
Mudd heard her cries of anguish, the strangling sounds only adding to the animalish hunger flooding his passion-warped brain. He heard his own lustful grunts of pleasure as he began to fuck mercilessly up into the soft smothering confines of her cringing buttocks. He'd cum this way! Already he could feel a deep-rooted sensation pulling at the base of his abdomen and somewhere in his bowels. Jesus yes, he would cum like an opened fire hydrant!
Delores groaned with every in-thrust, but the pain began to immediately lessen and threads of stimulation started to weave throughout her body from the friction-inflamed epicenter of agony.
She visualized his inhuman cock bursting up into the tiny unused hole between her offered buttocks, and her long-nourished lust for this very moment swept back over her. He was using her now like a common whore, and she squirmed back onto the impaling rod each time he hurled her forward with skin-ripping plunges, impulses of perverse delight spreading through her undulating belly like wild fire.
It was all that she'd imagined! The obscene pleasure of his huge brutal penis fucking her anus in tormentful sodomy . . . ! She began to heave her buttocks more furiously back at the forward charge of his loins. His huge cock-head was submerged, flexingly agitating the inner sanctum of her bowels with every intoxicating thrust. There was still pain, but the excitement minimized it as she reached back in under to draw her nails along his swinging balls while she turned her face to the side so that he could see the pure mindless pleasure he was bringing her.
Mudd stared at the fiery-pink skin of her stretched anus drawing back possessively over his penis, clinging to his cudgel as if it'd become part of it. Shit, there'd never been anything like this! There was feeling in the sonovabitchin' thing now - the exhilarating squeezed pressure that vowed to extract the last boiling drop of cum from the dregs of his churning balls! He watched his stiffened cock-shaft disappearing right up between the tautened spread globes of her proffered buttocks with every furious stroke, vanishing until his hips and pelvis smacked hard against their yielding fleshy cushions and his aching balls splatted heavily down against the soft wet folds of her splayed cunt-lips. Each time he could feel his blood-engorged penis soaring up the tight, spongy-walled anal channel, his cock nudging the penetrating pulpy heat until he thought his straining glans would burst from the ballooning pressure.
Jesus, she was all gone, moaning and hollowing her back as she threw her undulating ass-cheeks back at him. Mudd stared at her profile against the bed, his lips drawn back and teeth bared while the sweat dribbled down from his forehead. Her pretty young face was flushed a lustful crimson, her slackened lips working to the rhythm of his hammering cock. A light film of perspiration caused the smooth hollows and curves of her young body to glisten, and her long dark hair was a maze of ratted entanglements.
The big police sergeant had never realized such sadistic twists were part of him as he dug his huge raging penis up her tight rectum and left it there while he waggled his hips and loins to increase her helpless groans. The little bitch was his to do anything he liked with - a slave for his cock to wallow in whenever and however he wanted to!
"Oh God, oh God, oh God," she chanted. "Don't stop ... just fuck it forever!"
Forever was goddamned close to that very minute, Mudd's achingly bloated balls advised him as he drew his ravishing penis out just beyond the coronal ring then rammed it right up in to move her several inches forward on the bed. She squealed and he did it again, then again, beginning to pound more rapidly into her with hard and fast strokes that pummeled her quivering white buttocks with his heavy hips.
"Reach back and pull your ass-cheeks open farther!" he commanded and she did without hesitation, the lewd sight of her subservience almost triggering his orgasm.
He tried to fuck faster, throwing everything he had into it... into her. He gripped her waist as if it was made of ivorish putty oozing between his clutching fingers. His mouth gaped, the breath pounding from his lungs, and then he picked her up off the bed with his big hands gouging into her upper thighs while her legs jackknifed out to the sides frog-like as she continued to hold her trembling ass-cheeks pulled wide open for his angry sodomizing cock. Suddenly, the entire submerged length of it grew leaden, the intense weight of it heavier at the head as if it were going to rupture like a boil!
"Sweet Jesus!" Mudd roared.
Delores was crooning incoherently, turning her face from side to side on the bed, feeling him tossing her around in the air and flinging her forever-stretched rectum back onto his burning cock as if it were a rubber boot and she made of papier-mache. His convulsing penis had grown to horrendous proportions, and she could feel it beginning to jerk and pulsate like a flexing fist in the depths of her bowels. Abruptly, the first throes of a giant cataclysm rumbled in the far-reaches of her screaming loins and she matched it with an ecstatic wail of her own.
Mudd bellered like a bull moose. He lunged a splitting, ramrod thrust up her spasming rectum as the vat of his roaring balls spilled and thick molten cum raced the length of his pumping cock. His guts knotted to the undammed deluge, then loosened in the manner of a gripping hand opening and closing around them, while spine-shattering spasms tore fiercely through his shuddering loins. His body jerked from head to toe in pleasure-wracking release while his squirting penis sent wave after wave of scalding sperm up into the bowels of the nakedly writhing girl he held doll-like in his powerful hands, all the while listening to her screaming with erotic fulfillment.
CHAPTER NINE
"I've seen shiners before," Captain Singer said with a mocking laugh, "but those are gems, sergeant. What happened, a door?"
Mudd hadn't slept well or long enough. He had to curb himself... it wasn't time to uncork on this bastard yet. "It's a lobster reaction. I should never eat seafood."
Singer chuckled. "Sit down, Joe."
Mudd did. "You heard the coroner's report on Roger Kilane."
The captain nodded, manipulating his artificial leg with his hands and leaning back in his swivel chair. "The blow to the temple, probably a kick, was the cause of death. He was a hype . . . and I trust you're only wasting one man on it at this point..."
Mudd ignored the question. He said, "Through reliable sources, I've learned that Kilane was at the Roller-Drome the night he died, looking to buy 'H' ..." He realized he was stretching a point, but that was part of it. "I've also learned that Birt Halstead couldn't have pulled the trigger on his service revolver. His arthritis wouldn't let him, according to his wife and doctor."
Lou Singer sat upright with a jolt. "What the hell are you saying? I thought we settled the Halstead suicide yesterday?"
"It wasn't a suicide. It was murder. And I'm going to prove it! Furthermore, I think Jules Villa is in this up to his fat ass, and that's where the ninety-seven pounds of heroin is going to filter out of Onega Falls, if it hasn't already."
Singer gaped at him, then struggled to stand. Hollow sounds filled the small, stale smelling office as the police official began to thump around in limping moves. "You got anything tight on Villa?"
"I'm still working, captain," Mudd replied, convinced he'd hit home.
Singer glared at him. "Don't give me any of your goddamned evasive answers, Mudd. I asked you a question!"
Joe grinned. He thought of Effie Halstead, whom he'd just left en route downtown. "Be careful of him, Joe. He's a viper, " she'd warned emphatically.
"I'll be able to tell you more before this day's dead on the calendar, captain," Mudd said. "Right now, it's all supposition . . . but it'll either materialize or I should've been a mortician."
Singer stammered. He came back to his desk and found a cigar. "You know I don't like this type of shit, Joe. Innocent and tax-paying citizens can make it rough if you're wrong, especially about them."
"It's my neck," Mudd said, watching him light the stogie.
Singer paused in the middle to glare at his subordinate. "And maybe mine," he snapped, waving the wooden match dead.
Mudd stood. "If I'm not right, I'll check out - resign. There's going to be some hell to pay today in the Falls. These shiners you see were layed-on by a couple of hoods last night. All in all, the whole fucking mess had dug into the sore part beneath this Irishman's scales. Like I just told Effie Halstead not twenty minutes ago, unless a roof caves in on me somewhere along the way, Joe Mudd's going to draw some vital blood in the next twenty-four hours . . . and God help the sonovabitch he finds behind it!"
Singer gaped after the burly man who had swung his back to him and walked from his office. The police captain stood there and watched for several minutes before he moved behind his desk, sat down with an effort and picked up the phone.
Joe Mudd descended into the noise of the street, the warmth of the sunshine hardly reaching him. He walked toward the rear of the building where his car waited, his mind still clogged with thoughts of Robin. She'd been dead asleep when he'd gotten home from Delores Martin's, and four hours later as he swung out of bed, she'd still been lifeless. He'd mentioned it to Effie, but the older woman had seen no reason for alarm, so he had tried to forget it; but he couldn't forget the fact that he'd made a special effort to awaken her and she'd barely responded.
"A girl her age needs her beauty sleep, Joe," Effie'd said. "Be thankful. She ain't one o' them hell sc'llions racin' out when your back's turned, anyway. You talk to her 'bout 'Rzona?"
He hadn't wanted to tell her. "I did but only briefly. After this fall I took, she couldn't concentrate on much else. Why don't you call her today, Effie, and talk to her?"
"I will, son."
"And I may not see you for awhile now . . . I'm going to turn it on with Villa and Singer. Like 1 said, Effie, there's a big connection, I'm sure."
"Damnit, Joe, why you gotta do this? Let it go! It ain't that important to you and Robin! Listen to old Effie ..."
"That's the way it is, honey," he'd said, patting her arm. "I've got to do it and you know it ... if only for Birt . . . got to. Now you get in touch with Robin and leave the rest to me. You sway her, and I'll love you for life, I promise."
"You're a headstrong fool, Joe Mudd, just like Birt was!"
"I hope so," he'd said, grinning back at her as he walked down the front steps.
Now he drove toward the Falls Diner for some bacon and eggs and a couple of yards of steaming coffee. There'd be time to waste while the hornets' nest he'd stirred up with Singer really got humming. Fireworks would explode today, all right - he'd dumped his roll on one number, and, if it didn't come up, Joe Mudd was dead; not a pleasant thought, but he wasn't reading it from a loser's angle. After breakfast, he'd go back to headquarters and look busy while he waited and watched for developments. Christ! His body was sore from the hosing it'd taken, and his swollen face was tenderer than . . . than Delores Martin's stretched little ass-hole must be this morning. Sonovabitch, what an orgy that had been, the vivid memory reacting immediately on his loins. Damn, he'd been drunk out of his mind, or he'd never have fallen into her trap . . . would he? What the hell! No time to be thinking like a frigging whore-master - not with the kettle of fish he'd set simmering toward a boil!
* * *
A pair of front gold teeth glistened as the big swarthy man finished replacing the telephone in its cradle on his desk. Jules Villa looked absently at the three hoods sitting around the office of his private bastille. He started to address the small thin-faced one engaged in filing his fingernails when the telephone jangled again.
"Yeah?" he said gruffly into it. Then he leaned forward with his eyes animating. "Go ahead, boss; I'm listening ..." And he did for long seconds while the three picked up their ears. "The hell you say! That sonovabitch! We can't let him go any further, boss; he's getting too close ..."
Villa stopped talking and just listened, the pair of gold teeth beginning to sparkle again behind his grin. Finally, "Right, got yuh, boss. Beautiful. Should work like a charm, especially after what my nephew's been telling me. She made a buy from him yesterday. Yeah, that's right; the little blonde bitch's a coke-fiend, hooked solid . . . Right . . . Don't worry, boss; there'll be no slip-ups."
The big swarthy man hung up and looked from one to the other of his three petty gangsters. They waited silently while he smiled.
"That was number one," he said, "and the show's on. It's going to be a busy day, so pay attention. Put that fucking nail-file away, Leslie, and look intelligent! That's better . . . Now - we'll move the stuff from the boss's over the highway to New York tonight. The big boy's'll be waitin' for it. Meantime, you're gonna hit Mudd. That fucker's all set to blow things wide open, but we're gonna beat him to the punch."
"Jeez!" Birch Shale gulped, his scarred face grimacing. "Hit Mudd?"
Villa glared at him. "That's what I said; hit him. He's too thick-headed to let a little working over like last night's slow him down. I've known all along it'd come to this sooner or later, but the boss said no ... until just now."
"What's the strategy, Uncle Jules?" Leslie questioned respectfully.
Villa leaned back in his executive chair. "A perfect plan the boss came up with. The three of you pay a call on Mrs. Mudd. Pump her up on cocaine if she isn't already. Call headquarters and get Mudd on the horn. You're a neighbor, see, all excited, and you've just seen a couple of men forcing their way into his apartment. That should bring him running. When he walks in, he gets it right between the eyes or in the heart -no more than a couple of slugs, right? Plant the rod in his wife's hand and shoot her with an overdose. Results: the perfect family quarrel killing ... a loving little wife whose husband discovers she's a hype, et cetera, et cetera."
"Yeah, well, supposing Mudd alerts the whole fucking force and throws a cordon of pigs around the building?" Pinto Davis put in.
"He won't," Jules Villa replied confidently. "Leslie, before the call is made to police headquarters, you phone me here to let me know you're ready. I'll see that a fake alarm is raised at that bank branch just opened in the new Highland Shopping Center. That's far enough from downtown. At the same time, Mudd is called, and, while his blue-boys swarm down on the bank, he's bound to head for home to protect his little dolly. Any more questions?"
Leslie Davenport's mean little eyes sparkled. "I like it," he said. "How much time do we have, Uncle Jules?"
"Plenty, why?"
The effeminate young man smiled lewdly. "I'd like to finish a little party with Mrs. Mudd which was interrupted yesterday by her dog . . . and take care of that brute at the same time."
Villa thought about it. "Listen, if anything goes wrong with this setup, you three better commit hari-kari," he growled.
"It won't, uncle, don't worry," Leslie assured. "But you don't mind us having a little sport, do you?" He smiled slyly at the other two grinning lustful faces. "After all, it's only right that such a lovely young thing have an erotic send-off, isn't it?"
Villa stared at his nephew. Christ! Even after two years, he couldn't figure whether his sister's son was a queer or not. He was a blood-thirsty bastard, though - cruel but trustworthy. He'd get the job done, as long's he could do it his own way.
Villa swallowed at the dry ball in his throat. "Just don't muff it, you hear? Bring it off clean - or else!"
CHAPTER TEN
Robin moved quickly around the bedroom of the apartment, folding the things she tossed into the valise with a heedless eye to future wearing. She had awakened sick with guilt, but a light fix had helped to soothe her. In tears, she'd finally made her decision; she couldn't stay here to ruin Joe Mudd's life anymore than she already had.
Where she would go, the distraught young wife had no idea . . . maybe on to Miami. She still had the money from yesterday that Leslie and Ginger hadn't accepted for the cocaine, plus enough of the stuff to keep her pacified until she could make another contact wherever she ended up. She'd never be more equipped to leave than at that very moment . . .
The door bell startled her. In nothing but a robe, Robin froze and waited, trying to think. It couldn't be Joe; he had his key. She wouldn't answer it. Twice, three, four times more it rang with a terrible persistence and she stood fast, determined. Finally, after long silent moments, she went about her packing again with mind racing. Next, to slip out of the robe and into the shower, comb her hair - then disappear forever.
A clicking noise in the living room commanded her attention. It sounded like the door latch . . . and when she looked the alarmed blonde wife saw that it was! A man, a terrifyingly familiar man of slender build with his back to her was opening her door from the inside! Robin gasped aloud as she glanced at the open fire-escape window, realizing that was how he had entered. He turned and smiled viciously at her, at the same time pulling the door inward to let two more men walk in.
"Nice to see you again, Mrs. Mudd," Leslie said with unmanly inflections. "I brought along a couple of friends today I'm sure you'll like, but they do have devilish tastes sometimes."
Robin saw and heard their sniggers as they moved inside and closed the door behind them. Instinctively, she pulled her robe tighter around her, too frightened to cry out as she stared at them with widened, terror-filling eyes.
"Seeing that we couldn't finish our little party yesterday, I thought you'd appreciate our dropping by today," Leslie said. "Ginger sends her regrets, but she had to work. Now, where's that goddamned dog?"
Though choked with fear, Robin still felt indignation. After all, this was her own home. "G-Get out of here. Get out before I call my husband!" she ordered as they moved closer and she backwards.
"Let's not waste a lot of fucking time," Shale said, a tic above the scars on his cheek working vigorously while his eyes raked over her with open lust.
"Where is the dog, Mrs. Mudd?" Leslie repeated, inches from her.
"None of your business! If you don't leave at once I'll ..."
With a movement which took her totally unaware, Leslie caught one wrist and twisted her arm behind her back so that she pivoted involuntarily and fell back against his wiry frame. Her robe flew open, and even with the wincing pain shooting along her arm into her shoulder, Robin was conscious of their brutish eyes leering at her exposed breasts quivering before them. She saw the two bigger men move slightly so that they could get a better look at the long panel of exposure her rounded naked body offered them.
"Nice, eh?" Leslie said to them. "Take a quick glance around, Pinto, and see if you can find the mutt. Be careful, he's mean . . . and while you're gone, Birch and I'll prepare Mrs. Mudd for the party."
Robin started to scream when Leslie clamped his other hand over her mouth, and then the scarred-face one moved into action. He went to her open valise on the bed and grabbed up a pair of her pantyhose. She tried to struggle and again to scream when Leslie took his hand away, but the other man had stuffed her mouth full before she could make a sound, and wrapped the nylon stockings around her head until she could barely breathe.
Pinto came back and said: "I can't find no goddamned dog."
"Good. It's probably outside," Leslie decided as something akin to icewater began to flow through Robin's veins.
At the very least, they intended to rape her! Scenes out of yesterday's degrading performance flickered shamefully through her brain, and then she was being forced toward the bed. Her suitcase was jerked away and dumped onto the floor. She whimpered and tried to twist free, but instead was flung onto the bed face down and the robe torn effortlessly off her body.
"A fiery bitch, eh?" Leslie commented, letting free of her and looking at Shale.
It was an untimely move for the slightly-built young man, for with a burst of desperation, Robin flopped onto her back to lash out with one leg, the sole of her dainty foot catching Leslie beneath the chin to send him sprawling backwards. Though Shale and Davis easily subdued her from either side of the bed by pinning her shoulders with one hand while clutching at the erect fullness of her thrusting white breasts, both of them were laughing at the little man as he shot to his feet with eyes flashing in deadly rage.
"You fucking split-tailed cunt!" Leslie squealed, crouching like a tormented rat creeping viciously toward her. "Let go of her!" he snarled. "Take your hands off the bitch until I'm finished with her. She's my toy first!"
Robin started to lurch from the bed the instant they withdrew their hands, the verminish man coming toward her sending chills of horror up her back, but there was no escaping him! With the speed of a cobra he struck, and the breath was knocked out of the helpless nude wife as his knotted hard fist sank deep into her stomach, while the slashing edge of his hand cracked against her cheekbone with just enough force to stun her. Another caught the other side of Robin's face to flatten her back on the bed, and then both hands were slapping at her breasts sadistically just as they had yesterday when Shadow interfered.
She rolled away from him onto her stomach and painful blows rained down on her naked shoulders and buttocks. Pain screeched through her body like shards of glass ripping at her defenseless white flesh, and his squeaking hisses went on and on to match his fiendish whipping. And then it stopped, leaving her dazed as she lay there face down gasping for breath.
"Sit on her feet and shoulders!" Robin heard Leslie's order, the snarling words bringing her instantly alert. She twisted her head in time to see the long, thin leather belt he was pulling from his trousers. He grabbed it at the buckle, winding it once around his small hand while his lips drew back from his teeth in a terrible grin. Then, she was being smothered down brutally at both ends of her body so that her calves, thighs, buttocks, and most of her back were naked before him.
"You like it that way, eh Leslie? I mean better than fuckin' or getting sucked off by a broad?" Birch Shale questioned in genuine befuddlement. Hell, he liked to work 'em over too, but in the end he had to fuck 'em to get his charge off.
The littler man only glared at his scar-faced cohort with contempt. What did this vulgar bastard know about the venom hidden in the exquisite beauty beneath him . . . poisonous beauty that was too perfect and had to be beaten, mutilated, and destroyed? Or the fat tub who sat on her feet? Neither of them were any more than dumb-witted animals! What did they know about beauty, for God's sake? Why should he explain to them his desires or intentions?
Leslie stared down at the soft whiteness of Robin's red-welted curves stretched out helplessly before him. His chest burned with excitement, his long slender penis stirring rousedly in his pants. The mere thought of watching his belt gouge into that satiny female-flesh that had to be punished filled him with sadistic delight. Yesterday, he'd been denied; today, he wouldn't be.
He raised the belt and brought it fiercely down across the ovalled mounds of her naked full ass-cheeks to tear a muffled scream of torment from her lips, while her young body jerked in a desperate effort to jackknife against the weight of the two men. The belt rose and fell again in the same place, finally beginning to creep up and down over her exposed flesh until the back of her thighs to her shoulders was a gridiron of raised fiery stripes.
Now, his stiffened cock throbbed strainingly against the fly of his pants, and with one hand he ripped it free from his trousers to stand out like a red-knobbed arrow.
"Get off her, Birch! Quick, pull the gag away!" the crazed-face Leslie cried, crawling onto the bed above her head as he dropped the belt and grasped his pulsating penis. "Look up here, you bitch!" he ordered when Shale had jerked the pantyhose gag from her mouth. He wound his deadly hand in her blonde hair to haul her tear-stained face inches away from his menacing hard cock.
"Jesus Christ!" Pinto Davis blurted, grabbing at the huge bulge in his own pants's front.
"Open your mouth!" Leslie shrilled. "Don't try to touch it! Just open your mouth wide! Wider!"
Robin had lost what fear-inspired hostility she'd possessed. She was too grateful for the end of his whipping to refuse his any command. With shrieks of pain still wracking her naked flesh, she saw him kneeling there before her with the sordid hardness of his thin vicious penis in his hand and somehow knew what was expected of her. She'd started to reach for it when he'd cried: "Don't touch it! Just open your mouth wide!" And she had. "Wider!" And she had done that, realizing that he intended to use her mouth as a receptacle for his lustfully ejaculating sperm!
"Now, you bitch! It's cuummiinnggg! Catch it! All of it! Oh Christ! Drink it!" he screamed at her. "Drink it allll . . . !"
Through tear-hazed eyes, Robin saw the first bursting emmision spewing from the tiny slit at his cock-head's fiery-red tip, saw its thickened whiteness like diluted toothpaste spurt from his cock and rush toward her open mouth. She felt some of his steaming semen strike against her cheeks as she swallowed the acidly viscid spurts and prayed that he wouldn't be angry for what she had missed. On and on it went as his hand pumped the swollen rod of flesh furiously and his hot thick sperm shot into her mouth, filling it time and again to be swallowed away until she could feel the seething liquid pool of his raging cum thickly puddling in her belly.
Pinto Davis had already kicked off his pants and shorts, his breathing rasping out of his gaping mouth. The sight of Leslie's weird show had flipped him . . . and the way she'd tried to catch his squirts of cum, like a fish jumping at insects. His goddamned cock was ingot-hard! They wouldn't have to give her an overdose - he'd fuck her dead!
"Kneel up!" he ordered, climbing onto the bed between her legs from behind. She hesitated and he swatted her ass-cheeks with the palm of his big hand. "Up, you cunt! Be nice before I lose my temper."
Robin did, convulsive little sobs racking her sperm-filled belly. She was so totally helpless. She could scream now without the gag, but that would be stupid; she knew it would. Who listens to one scream these days? And she'd never get out another.
"Go ahead and fuck her, Pinto," the other one said. Robin had no idea where Leslie had gone . .. probably to her boudoir chair to watch. Her mouth was still slick with his semen . .. "She's gonna suck me off. You hear that, Mrs. Mudd? You're gonna suck me off!"
Shale's big hand in her hair jerked her head upright to look at his scarred face. "Y-Yes ..." she whimpered.
"You want to, don't you, baby?" he persisted.
"Yes . . . yes, I want to," Robin assured him, the throbbing pain from Leslie's belt still a horrifying reminder.
And then, she cried out new torment as suddenly there was a thickened blunt intrusion that felt as if a railroad tie was being forced and thrust up into her unprepared vagina. There was wetness, but not enough, and though her passage was far from an erotic dilation, it wasn't totally normal either. Leslie's obscene act had somehow erotically aroused her, even against her will!
She begged for him to stop, tears spilling down her cheeks. But the log-like invasion went on with her thighs being swept wide apart, and suddenly, the enormous weight of brute loins was smashing against her naked buttocks and pushing her face down into the bed with every searing, pain-splitting thrust. Her cuntal passage was tormented with fire. His painful cock-raping felt as if it were wrapped in abrasive. Already, her back ached from bending before him, and she felt the other man's hands smoothing over her lewdly spread buttocks. The burgeoning penis began to fuck into her helpless vagina with a sadistic ramming force, establishing a rhythm in her own body as if she really wanted him there. Alone, it was a torment, but then a finger, no . . .fingers, moved up into the virginal little hole of her rectum! Oh God, she could never endure it . . . !
Irrepressible gasps of pain exploded from Robin's lips. The sensitive walls of her tight vagina felt as if they were being scraped with a rasp. Yet, they began to moisten, but not enough to ease the agony, for it only helped him fuck up into her belly faster and deeper. God! Her belly was being split open and her hanging breasts squeezed and kneaded cruelly, while the fingers thrusting up into her nether-passage were about to make her retch with their brutal routing.
Kneeling behind her bent white body, Pinto Davis clenched his uneven teeth as he fucked in and out between the spread taut ovals of her lush buttocks and rounded full thighs. His eyes were fixed on the pink flesh of her tight cunt with its blonde, curl-lined lips hugging his throbbing hard cock slamming up into her defenseless vagina. He began to fuck with such merciless jarring lunges that Shale had to pull his fingers from her rectum and concentrate on her breasts as he worked around in front of her face.
Jesus, she was so soft, yet firm-fleshed, and her cunt was the tightest woman-hole he'd ever been in, more like a teenager, for Chrissakes. He dug his shoe-points into the bedding for leverage and rammed with all he had, feeling his mushroomed cock-head bursting her hot vaginal flesh in all directions. His hands clutched at her tremoring curved body, gripping sadistically so that he could hear her cries of anguish as she writhed and squirmed helplessly with the pain.
His cum-filled balls had begun to pulse with their own bloated weight while his pistoning penis prickled achingly. He ran his hands tormentfully over her unwilling, helpless flesh that was completely at his mercy. He jerked her straining white buttocks further apart, spreading them obscenely to better reveal her tiny inflamed anus with its angry surrounding flesh from Shale's plunging fingers. But the bastard had stretched the snug little opening a bit, letting his own slip right up into the clutching spongy heat with damned little resistance. Jesus Christ Almighty, but the bitch was tight all over! Her gripping cunt-hole was almost pulverizing his battering rod!
"Fuck!" he blurted toward Leslie in the chair watching. "What a pussy! Mudd must have a finger-sized prick not to open her up more than this!"
Jules Villa's nephew looked on with disgust. Only that they were helping to destroy that perfect white body gave the slight man any satisfaction. But time was running out. "Come on," he ordered. "Get it over with, Davis ... you, too, Birch. We've got things to do."
Robin, wallowing in her aching degradation with her face sideways against the bed, felt only the burning fierceness consuming the expanded pussy hole splitting her loins, while the depths of her belly was an anguishing ball of white-hot sensation from the ramming pressure of his surging, iron-hard penis. Her lips opened and closed in torment, her breasts heaving with occasional sobs. There was no escape; she just had to kneel there, bent over in painful subjugation while he thrust his filthy cock harder and further up into the soft shuddering depths of her enslaved vagina to push the tender inner flesh aside with every lust-plunging insweep.
Suddenly, her head was jerked erect and she saw the husky swollen cock of the one called Shale not an inch from her mouth. His hand encircled it, lewdly working the thick foreskin back and forth, exposing its wet bulbous head.
"Now, baby, suck it!" he growled. "Old Birch's gonna blow his nuts right down your pretty throat!"
Unresisting, Robin let him open her lips with its semen-smeared tip and shove his erected penis into the warm cavern of her mouth. She gasped for breath as the hot thick shaft pushed brutally in, feeling it on her tongue, its blunt rubbery solidness forcing her attention away from the incessant thrusts up into the depths of her wincing belly from behind. Again and again the bloated cock-head torturously pummeled the soft cushiony tip of her tender cervix to lurch her forward with the pain, but she forgot that agony now as another invading cock stuffed her mouth full of rigid masculine flesh.
His hips began to undulate in toward her lips to make his blood-engorged penis slide in and out of her mouth, never withdrawing all the way, but leaving a measure of it to bathe in the warm saliva rapidly accumulating around her tongue. To her dimmed tear-filled eyes, it seemed to grow fatter at the nob and felt like a hot, blood-engorged plum on a spit riding the length of her small tongue toward her throat. She closed her eyes again in despair, praying to God it would be over soon as she struggled for breaths, catching short gasps on the outstroke. In the beginning, she coughed and gagged but forced herself to acclimate to his merciless fucking of her mouth and the increasing velocity of his ruthless penis moving in and out at a faster cadence than the pummeling cock battering frenziedly up into her skewered cunt from the rear. Now they were buffeting her between them as if she were something less than human, spoiling and defiling her to the sadistic depths of obscene debasement. And it went on and on and on, seemingly for an eternity without end.
Abruptly, Pinto Davis felt the first racing spasms of climax. He began to claw and squeeze at the smooth white fleshiness of her firm buttocks spread helplessly beneath him, adding angry red splotches on top of the raised welts Leslie had put there. He sensed the impelling pressure increase with every buttock-shuddering thrust up into her inflamed, tightly gripping cunt-hole, until the swollen head of his cock felt as if a sash-weight had been tied to it. Christ, he was almost there!
Leslie continued to watch it all loathingly. Only the sight of Mrs. Mudd's tender glistening lips clasped around Shale's burrowing penis as he writhed his hips and pelvis without mercy actually enthused him. Yet, he was envious of her, too - it'd been a long time since he'd seen one quite that size. The bitch, he wished she'd strangle on it, but he knew that sluts like her were capable of taking anything, no matter how inhuman or cruel.
Slave-like, Robin sucked the massive penis in submissive obedience, her jaws aching now to their obscene, endless torture. Her prayers had gone unanswered; it was never going to end, though she was straining with her slavering mouth and fire-filled cunt to make it so. She would go mad with the unbelievable torment if these two men didn't climax soon.
His cock-glans locked beyond her clasping lips was slippery with her saliva and abruptly that moisture thickened, and then, his loins began to crush in against her face with a tensing, trembling movement. His big hands grasped her cheeks as he thrust his huge pulsing shaft back toward her throat. Utter terror gripped Robin at the asphyxiating rod shutting off her breath; still he held her there while the other man's battering cock bursting up into her vagina from behind drove her mouth and throat further onto the orally impaling cock-shaft. Once, twice, three times, Shale withdrew it before ramming his jerking penis back down her throat and held it there while she fought for breath.
Suddenly his cock erupted, flooding her mouth with gushes of its boiling cum and he screamed out: "Suck it! Suck it, cunt! It's cuummiinnggg!" the released torrent choking her as it slithered obscenely down her throat toward her cock-stuffed young belly. Simultaneously, the spewing organ began to lose its rigidity, mercifully shrinking so that she could gasp needed air into her lungs even before it pulled from her lips, leaving strings of white semen clinging to her lips and dribbling down her chin.
Then there was just that one trunk-like bestial hardness still painfully stuffing her vagina, that unceasing brute object barraging up into her sperm-drenched belly with untiring savagery. Only misery and chaffingly inflamed passage-walls had Robin felt throughout his barbaric rape, and now his orgasm was nearly there. She heard him panting faster and harder as he forced her thighs wide beyond reason with his knees, until she was almost flat on the bed with her hips and pelvis aching from the obscene stretching.
"Sonovabitch!" she heard him curse. "You sweet-assed bitch! I-I'm going to cuummm..!"
Like a rocket, the explosive climax ripped through Pinto Davis's loins, shattering him so that he lost his rhythm. He swore and shuddered behind her, trying to regain the tempo as he felt her tight burning pussy contract automatically around his wildly probing penis. And then the swirling, mind-bending rush started. It charged through him, quaking his heavy body in a form of delirium. Her gripping, reluctant passage was pulling the sperm up out of him with a suction to shrivel his spine. He snarled aloud like an animal, gnashing his teeth and clutching at her hips, clawing and twisting the soft white flesh, while his big body shook in the convulsive tremor that accompanied the rifling shots of his scalding cum ricocheting up into the bruised and battered depths of her tormented young vagina.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Mudd had been down in the evidence vaults taking another look at Birt Halstead's service revolver when the bank alarm rang out. Those minutes it had taken for him to cover the stairs three at a time had nearly emptied headquarters. Foster, a sharp little brunette working the PBX, gave him the picture, then shouted after him as he started down the stairs.
'It's for you, sergeant! Urgent! You can take it right here!"
Joe cursed and scooped up the phone on a front desk. "Mudd!" he barked, and the male voice began. Before it was halfway through its frightening information, the burly police officer felt a sickening knot draw tightly at the base of his gut. They were following through with their threat and going for Robin! Jesus!
He never hung up the phone. In less than a minute, his patrol car was screeching wide-open into the street, and in less than five more it slowed before their apartment building.
One question had raced back and forth through the burly cop's mind en route, and was still foremost as he charged up the stairs. Who the hell was that kind neighbor who'd made the call ... or was he slamming hell-bent into a trap? Christ! He had to gamble - anything for Robin! He found his key, dropped to his knees, fitting and twisting it into the lock as quietly as he could. The big man flattened to the floor with a .38 in hand, then shoved the door hard inward!
An unmistakable blast shattered the serenity of his living room the instant the barrier swung open. Mudd jerked reflexively, firing deadly lead back at the belch of flame which had come from the doorway of the bedroom. A big raw-boned individual with a scarred face stood for long seconds, gaping blankly toward him before the blood began to saturate his shirt front, and he started to slump, totally empty of life.
Mindless, the police sergeant bolted to his feet to charge the entrance-way where the body lay, and a second explosion rocked the apartment. Joe Mudd's brain burst into an array of white-hot and stabbing crimson flashes. He felt his knees caving helplessly beneath him . . . knew he'd been hit, but had no idea where. The last thing he'd caught a glimpse of was Robin lying naked on the bed, stretched out in a dead-looking white curvaceousness, the lingering horror raising choking bile up into his throat. Then he saw another one coming toward him, a big one with crooked teeth grinning menacingly and an ugly steaming automatic held out at arm's length pointing toward his face.
"You fuckhead, Mudd!" he sneered.
Joe swung up an empty hand, looking like a kid playing cops and robbers and simulating a weapon. Christ! He'd lost his gun when he was hit! Joe heard the other's laugh, his guts cringing inside him. Blood trickled down his forehead in a zig-zag pattern to run into his right eye, half-blinding him.
"Know any prayers?" the crooked-teethed one said. "Say 'em fast, pig, 'cause you're knocking at the gates ..."
He never quite finished the sentence. Something black and massive swept out of nowhere before Joe Mudd's dazed good eye to topple his would-be assassin as if he were a statue. Fierce and savage snarls filled the apartment as Mudd saw vaguely the gleaming ferocity of sparkling white fangs sink into a fleshy human throat. Horrible human screams rained around the prostrate policeman whose body refused to move as he fought back desperately against the veil of blackness trying to claim him.
Somehow, he worked to his knees and dragged upright, moving in lurches toward the dying man that had just had his throat ripped away. Instinctively, Mudd wrenched the automatic from the convulsing hand before trying to force the dog back. Jesus! I-It was a dog, wasn't it? Whatever, it'd saved his life!
Suddenly, Mudd buckled again, his legs just seeming to go out from under him from the shock of his wound, and he felt the automatic squirt fumblingly from his grip. He saw his own blood spilling down onto his coat and shirt front. . . C-Christ, he had to get to Robin...!
"You dumb gorilla bastard!" a voice whinnied out. "They couldn't do it, but I will! You're dead, cop, and so is that monster beside you!"
The German shepherd bleated out a yelp with the first shot. Mudd forced himself not to pass out. His vision was like a bad TV picture. He saw the animal drop and half-crawl, then lay still. The pansy-voice laughed, and Joe spotted him coming from behind Robin's boudoir chair. He had a gun, but simply dropped it!
"I'll kill you! Pig bastard! And I don't need a weapon to do it. I'll destroy you with my hands and feet!"
Again, Mudd struggled upright, knowing the queer little sonovabitch was preparing to kick him to death. From the corner of his good eye, he saw the dog's head had been grazed, probably like his own. There was plenty of blood, but the animal was moving. Then Joe tried to focus onto the scrawny fag doing a ballet routine toward him.
"All right, you lavender prick!" Mudd spat, lunging at him.
Leslie sidestepped the bull-like charge with ease to catch Mudd with a stunning rabbit-chop on the back of the neck when he was part-way by, flooring him like an ox. He laughed gleefully as the bloodied lawman stumbled toward his feet once more. Staggering, Mudd charged again in blind rage.
"You ignorant pig!" Leslie sneered, kicking the lumbering police sergeant painfully against the kneecap with pointed boot and felling him again without effort. "God! How I wish Uncle Jules were here to watch this! Get up!" He taunted in his effeminate voice. "Come on ... because this is your last time. I'm going to slash you to ribbons, Mudd!"
Joe's brain swam in its torment as if it had been nakedly beaten with bamboo sticks. He hardly knew where he was, and one eye was completely submerged in a burning pool of his own blood. But he could still make out the scrawny little sonovabitch, and, as stunned as he was, Mudd realized that the bastard had karate going for him. Shakily, he clawed himself upright, trying to steady his tottering hulk and focus like Cyclops, when the booted foot crashed with the force of a bowling ball into his face.
Mudd felt his huge weight hurtling backward through the air helplessly and tried to prepare for the landing. The breath burst from him as his back collided with the floor and his head crashed into the plaster of the wall. Blackness enveloped him like a sheet of death, and for a moment he resigned to it. The world disintegrated before him, the slight figure moving toward the sprawled animal with a raised death-dealing foot.
"Y-You goddamned cockeater!" the gasping lawman got out with all of the deriding venom he could spit to antagonize the vicious little killer. "Is that the best you can do ... kick a wounded dog to death?"
Leslie glared fiendishly, his poise leaving him as he pranced back toward the stretched out lawman, one booted foot getting set to pulverize the bulging crotch scissored open before him.
"You want more, right Mudd? That's super, you oafish pig! How's this for a kickoff ...!"
His foot lashed out and Mudd came to life, catching the crippling boot as he twisted his loins away. The big man lurched upright to wrap both huge arms around the bony leg; then, like a spider tentacling his prey, Joe Mudd overwhelmed the trapped man, grinning through his blood-smeared mask as he wrenched the dainty chin to just the proper angle for the clipping hamish fist that turned out Leslie Davenport's lights slicker than a mercury switch.
Joe made it back onto his feet and stumbled toward the bed, grabbing up his young wife's naked limp arm. There was pulse . . . thank God! He heard the animal whimper as he staggered to the phone.
"Hang tight, fellow! This is just the beginning!" Mudd garbled at the dog. "I can use you in the next hour or so. You saved my life, boy . . . maybe I can do the same for you sometime ..."
* * *
Joe wasn't surprised when Officer Tom Whalen explained that the bank alarm had been false. While he waited for the ambulance to come for Robin, along with the mop-up crew from headquarters, he'd persuaded Leslie Davenport into a bit of illuminating conversation. The fag had been reluctant, but Mudd had convinced him by grinningly breaking both of his little fingers.
Jules Villa, Leslie's uncle, had ordered the hit, though it'd come down from a "number one." The limp-wristed bastard had spilled everything, from Roger Kilane's death to Robin's planned overdose, the latter of which they'd been unable to follow through with because of Mudd's unexpected survival of their ambush.
Then had come the real blow. Leslie knew Robin had plenty of cocaine on hand of her own because he'd sold it to her yesterday. Christ in heaven! His little bird was an addict! From that moment on, Joe had to force himself to listen as the pinched-faced prick sobbingly told him that Robin had just received a considerable injection of cocaine to keep her quiet. But it wasn't enough to take her out for good, the whimpering punk had assured him.
The intern with the ambulance had affirmed the opinion; she would be all right.
"Better have him look at the crease in your skull, sergeant," Tom Whalen tried.
"I'm okay. Where's Captain Singer?" Mudd asked in the midst of the bustling activity going on in his apartment.
"Haven't seen him since that fluke bank alarm, sir," the other answered. "He wasn't at headquarters when we left."
Mudd looked down at the powerful German shepherd he'd discovered to be the dog, Shadow, that Delores Martin had said was Kilane's. The medic had finished patching up the superficial wound in the animal's head from Leslie's grazing bullet, and now the big fellow had moved up beside him as if waiting to be given a command.
"Looks like you've made a lifetime friend, sergeant," Tom Whalen said, admiring the sleek, black-coated dog.
"Yeah ... the kind a man needs, too," Mudd said, his brain alive with answers now, rather than questions ... all except the foremost one of all. Who was the Mr. Big, the bastard who'd ordered both Robin's and his murders? Find him, and he'd have Birt Halstead's killer as well as the ninety-seven pounds of "H"! It all fitted together too compactly for him to be wrong . . . and, unless he was a fucking fool entirely, he knew his man and probably where he'd find him! "Come on Shadow! You and me are going to take a ride."
"Jeez, sergeant, I don't mean to get out of line," Tom Whalen insisted, "but you should have that head looked at. Besides, you don't cut a very pleasant figure with all that blood..."
Mudd didn't wait to hear the rest - his job wasn't finished yet, not by a damned sight!
* * *
Villa's Roller-Drome was a place Mudd had never familiarized himself with. One way or another, Captain Singer had managed to keep his men away from the swarthy character's operation, and all of that was adding up to perfection in Joe's calculating brain. That's why he was surprised when Shadow's movements were so pointedly insistent, actually blocking his way when Joe headed for the front entrance, brushing against him as if trying to lead him around to the back of the building.
"Okay. You know something that I don't, maybe. Go on, lead the way," Mudd said, falling in behind the animal.
At the stairwell in the rear, the German shepherd's ears flattened to his great head, and a throaty growl grumbled from deep in his chest. To Mudd, though he hardly knew this animal who had saved his life, the sounds and gestures were a warning. He reached down and patted the dog's maned neck.
"All right, fellow. We'll be careful, eh ... ?"
Mudd descended the steps to the solid looking door. It was knobless with only an inset lock breaking the monotony of battleship-gray covered . . . metal, for Chrissakes! A regular stronghold! He spotted the buzzer-type button, gave it a moment's thought, then pressed. The last thing Mudd had expected was for the door to open - that would make it too easy. But it did!
A flat-featured bouncer type, big, muscular, and with a nose spread all over his face, glared out. Joe recognized him as an ex-pug who hung around a downtown gym regularly.
"Yeah . . . ?" he grunted, then his small eyes began to pop, reminding the police sergeant of his own bloodied appearance. The door started to slam shut just as Mudd heaved his better than two hundred pounds of beef against it. It moved inward, not easily, but nevertheless, inward.
"You fucker!" flat-face snarled, drawing back a battering-ram fist.
Mudd crouched and caught him with a straight from the shoulder solid right that splatted cleanly in the center of all that gnarled cartilage to open a gate-valve of gushing blood. Two more short, jolting hammers to the heart and a knee crusher in the crotch buckled the ex-pug before he ever really knew what was happening.
With Shadow beside him, the lawman bent over the has-been fighter's unconscious body to search for weapons before slapping his cuffs on him just to make certain he kept out of mischief. Then, he approached the only other door in the small vault-like room. It was a replica of the first one. He leaned his ear against it and listened . . . nothing. Probably sound-proof, which would be why anyone in there wouldn't have heard the little ruckus they had just staged. No buzzer though ... so, he knocked, but this time his .38 was filling his fist.
"What the hell do you want, Nails . . . ?" the gold-teethed Jules Villa growled as he jerked the door inward.
"Nails is busy right now," Mudd hissed at him, shoving the ugly barrel of his service revolver an inch into Villa's fat belly, pushing inside with Shadow right beside him. "He sent me!"
"Jesus Christ!" Villa swore, backing away and half-rising his hands. "What the fuck's going on ...?"
Joe saw Captain Lou Singer seated comfortably in a chair next to the massive desk, a cigar in one hand and a half-emptied glass in the other. Blind rage percolated inside the bloodied police sergeant at the sight of his superior, though he'd never doubted but what he was going to find him once he got to Villa.
"Mudd! For Chrissakes . . . wh-what happened to you?" Lou Singer blurted, struggling upright and thumping around on his artificial leg.
Before Joe could answer, Shadow let out a fierce growl, as if the hollow poundings of Singer's leg had set something off inside him. His vicious fangs bared, ears dropping to the powerful animal's sinking crouch.
"Stay, Shadow!" Mudd commanded, anticipating his spring. "Stay, boy! Stay!"
A rasping sound came out of Lou Singer staring with horror-filled eyes at the huge beast glaring savagely at him. He shrunk backwards to the wall, until he could go no further, and stood there trembling as slowly the animal's lips recovered its bared teeth.
"You filthy bastards!" Mudd hissed. "It wasn't enough to murder poor old Birt when he got wise to your stealing the heroin, Singer, you had to mark Robin and me. Now, my little bird's in the hospital, where both of you are going to be when I get through with you, if you're lucky! But first, where've you got the 'H' stashed?"
"Christ, Joe . . . you don't know what you're saying!" Singer managed, clinging with his back to the wall and eyes constantly flicking toward Shadow.
"Oh, I know what I'm saying, all right, prick!" Joe snarled, the vengence which had been mounting inside him so long confusing his thinking capacities. "Get over there by him, Villa. I want to make a package of you two, like the three hoods you sent to kill my wife and me. Two of 'em are dead, and the other one might as well be."
"Oh Christ!" Villa exclaimed, his eyes widening. He hadn't moved, only stared at Joe Mudd. "M-My nephew . . . ?"
"Leslie?" the lawman grinned mirthlessly. "He's alive, Villa, and all the worse for you. His testimony's going to put you away for life." Joe laughed bitterly. "And you, Captain, just be thankful we don't have capital punishment for murder any longer ..."
"Jesus Christ, Joe, I don't know what you're talking about! All right, I've been on the take from Villa, but that's all! I swear it! You're throwing fucking riddles at me!" Singer blurted, tears beginning to roll down his cheeks.
"You crawling liar!" Mudd charged through clenched teeth. "I've had you pegged from the beginning . . . !"
"But you had him pegged wrong, Joe honey," another voice as loud and unyielding as his own filled the room. The familiarity of it startled Mudd from head to toe. Christ! "He ain't got nothin' to do with it," the voice said. "Now, don't turn 'round, son . . . don't even move, 'cause Effie's got a gun pointed right on the middle of your big, broad back. Be a good boy an' drop it ... that's it... drop it easy-like on the floor, then go over an' stand beside that prick huggin' the wall."
Joe Mudd might have collapsed in the nature of a deflated balloon had it not been his Irish obstinancy. Even though his whole world was abruptly crashing around him, he had to see and hear it all! It was impossible, unbelievable, incredible, but he had to see ... to see and hear it from her lips . . . ! Effie's lips!
Villa picked up his revolver and shoved him across the room to stand beside a weeping Lou Singer. Joe saw Effie moving lamely into the room on the broomstick with its rubber tip that he'd sawed off for her. Little hollow sounds from its tempoed thumps reached him, and at the same time he saw Shadow's wicked teeth unveiled with a certainty.
"Birt did it, Joe. It was his idea stealing the heroin," she said, coming to a halt before Villa's desk. "We needed somethin' for our old age. He kept bringin' it home. It's all tucked safe in the cellar wall, but it'll be gone tonight." She shook her head. "Poor Birt ... he was sorry after. Wanted to put it back, but I wouldn't let him. Then, I got 'fraid 'cause he was gettin' senile. You know, Joe, couldn't trust him for what he might say. Get one o' those pangs of conscious of his'n and tell everything. So . . . ? I done what I had to. The damned arthritis was drivin' the poor old darlin' bugs . . . couldn't sleep a wink some nights. I figure I done him a favor havin' Jules here see to his puttin' to sleep nice 'n' quick like. He'd done the same for me. Now I'm afraid I'm goin' to have to put you and Captain Singer away too. Sorry, Joe, but I tried to warn you about the case ..."
There was more but she never got it out. Shadow leaped! Stunned, Mudd could only stand there gaping at nothing. He never saw Villa drop his eyes or Singer rip the picture from the wall behind them and throw it at the gold-toothed man before he lunged like an insect with a broken leg toward the incredulous gangster.
A scream shook the burly police sergeant from his awed lethargy. He saw Shadow holding Effie down and the look of horror on her face, then Singer and Villa struggling for the weapon that was inches from their grasp like a prop in a "B" movie.
"Stay, Shadow! Stay!" the choked-up police sergeant commanded as he walked over and picked up the gun. "Get up you clowns! The rehearsal's over. Now, let's just hold it all for your coming performance in the court room!"
* * *
Robin was sleeping when he'd left. They'd talked about everything ... all of it ... the way it would be when she was clean and they adopted the boy. Mudd had seen the warm fulfilling happiness in her eyes. He carried that vision with him out into the wet street of the night. The big German shepherd nuzzled him as he climbed into the car and the newly appointed police captain cuffed him back.
"A heavy-hearted night, Shadow," he said despondently as he drove the car a short distance, then eased in and parked.
The dog followed him into the Oak Room. Mudd saw the chestnut haired girl turned on her stool to smile at him.
"You're late," she sang, bending down to caress the big animal's head. Then rising up: "How is she?"
"Fine. Another week or so."
Delores picked up her drink and sipped from it. She felt like crying. But instead, she said. "Can I take you two to dinner tonight, Captain?"
Joe Mudd read the love-strain in her smile. It wasn't over, he knew, it wasn't passed yet. "Of course," he answered her, "as long as I can pay for it."
Her smile held and she squeezed his hand warmly. Except for her and Shadow there would be nothing left, he realized. But he would go on - they would all go on. Life was just one big, fat, frigging lie in the first place . . . wasn't it . . . ?
THE END
If you have enjoyed reading THE MIDNIGHT SHADOW by Trevor Travis, then we're sure you'll be interested in taking a look at these other fine books whose pages are filled with the sort of suspense and mystery that leaves you right on the edge of your seat:
RAS-1405 "Violated"
by Omar Victorine
A young girl is kidnapped by a ruthless band of politically-inspired guerillas. Held captive in a brothel, waiting for the arrival of her U.S. Army Colonel father, the girl soon realizes that her past sheltered life has been shattered beyond repair and that her own awakened sensuality must be faced realistically. A suspenseful story of violence and revenge - right out of today's headlines.
RAS-1411 "The Midnight Rapist"
by M.C. Franchone
For a year, Police Commissioner Ben Cook has been stalking in vain the Mad Rapist, an apparently well-educated psychotic who preys only on wealthy, well-guarded socialites. But the situation . . . and Ben's May-September marriage . . . changes abruptly when the criminal walks deliberately into the policeman's carefully laid trap, and walks out again with the bait - Adele Cook - in his arms!
