For Hal Anderson, life was a lost fight-a fight for survival among his fellow slum teenagers, a fight for whatever shabby scraps of sin he could borrow or steal, a fight for power in the juvie jungle where you were either a swinging stud or a stepped-on serf. Then a final battle with his own father forced him into the gutter world and on to a career of uncontrolled passion. In the Hotel Arlington, room service meant sex service, and in no tune at all Hal became a bellhop with more sin calls to answer than he could count. And the guests were insatiable in their demands, where a woman's charms were only outweighed by her decadence and shame. It was a life of one orgy greater than the other, of one twisted hunger more desperate than the next could possibly be, a cesspool of degradation swirling with arms, legs, whips, knives, and the final assault on a slum rooftop as he lay locked in passion with the one girl who might hem* been able to save bin...
CHAPTER ONE
HAL WATCHED THROUGH THE bedroom door as his sister popped an oral contraceptive into her mouth. He snickered. "Big night, huh?" She turned, eyes blazing furiously, forgetting to close the front of her dressing gown.
"You I Get out of here what's the idea of sneaking around my bedroom door anyway?"
"You ought to close it," be jeered, eyeing the milk white protuberances that pushed her powder blue gown to either side. "Hey what size bra you wearing now, Sally? I mean, when you put one on, that is."
Sally turned, blonde hair swirling, and seized a bottle of cologne from her dresser top. Hal ducked away from her door and sprinted down the hallway before his sister had a chance to hurl the bottle at him. At the apartment door, he fumbled with the snap lock, but the stinking door wouldn't open in time his mother caught him, her gray and embattled face appearing from the kitchen doorway.
"Harold Anderson I You're not going out again tonight!"
"Harold Anderson! You're not going out again tonight!" he jeered, mimicking her ruthlessly. "You're going to stay home and play tiddly winks with your little sister!"
"Harold! Don't mock me I'm your mother."
"I'm going out, Ma. Stop handing me the kid bit."
"You'll get in trouble again-"
"Yeah. Sore I will. Look, why don't you watch her, keep her in nights." He jerked his thumb toward his aster's bedroom, "She's the one who needs watching, not
"Your sister's practically engaged."
"Sure. To every boy in the neighborhood."
"Harold! How can you talk about your own sister that way?"
"Because it's true!" he shouted, and gave the door a jerk. It flew open and he dodged outside, slamming it shut after bun before his mother could say anything more.
Five flights down and freedom. Hal poised at the topmost stair, balancing on the balls of his feet like a diver about to take a plunge, and then began to sprint down them, two at a time, a tricky thing to do, going downstairs. He enjoyed the feeling of descending, his feet bouncing on the wide marble slabs as he went down one flight, turned at a landing, and down the next
Escape.
Escape from the stuffy five room apartment and his mother and sisters and his father, who would come home later from the night shift after having stopped in a bar and downed beers and shots with his union cronies, home and in a mood to argue and cuff him around if he thought Hal was "sassing" him. And it seemed every-time the old man was around and Hal said anything, the old man interpreted it as sarcastic. So Hal didn't bother saying much to him any more. Better to get away from the house.
Escape to the streets.
The brawling sprawling Jungly streets, dirty, stink-tog, promising adventure. It was nine p.m.
Hal emerged from the apartment building. He was tall and well built for his age, hard muscled, with sandy blonde hair that curled and strayed down over his forehead. He was sixteen, almost seventeen. He wore a dark blue, open-collar short sleeve pullover knit shirt, new, and black, combed-cotton tightly pegged slacks. Also new. His sharp-toed black slippers might have been new for all their shine.
They would tease him about these things but he didn't care. He liked looking sharp. The girls liked it too.
Girls. Watching his sister through the door had excited him. Her boobs looked full grown now, not like when he used to feel them up when they were kids, sleeping in the same bed in that other apartment, the one they had lived in before the old man made shop steward and more dough. A cruddy place on the East Side, with roaches and everything. The gangs had been real tough there.
Well, they were tough here, too. Maybe not so quick to pull a shiv or use the knucks, but tough. Only he preferred to stay loose, not get in too close yet. No sense getting back on probation just to prove how tough you were. Only let any of them make fun of him, he'd show them.
He didn't want to fight. He wanted a girl. Any girl, just so long as she'd give for him. Seeing his sister that way and thinking about the things they used to do together in the old place, before she started going out with a lot of boys, had gotten him hot all over. He had a yen to get his hands on something soft and warm and cute, take her somewhere, in the park behind some bushes or like that.
Hal took deep gulps of the night air as he stood atop the stone steps leading down from the entranceway of the apartment building to the sidewalk. A wind was blowing from the direction of the river, making the air temporarily clear of city stink. It felt good in his lungs, cool, and his blood became excited. His wide clear blue eyes peered from a sharply chiseled face over the street, brightly illuminated by the streetlight directly overhead; ears jammed bumper to bumper along either side, parked for the night; an older guy with a swell looking girl in a tight white dress sauntering by, casually conspicuous.
Hal eyed the girl and thought she half turned, smiting at him. A warm looking broad with a nice wide rear. Eighteen, maybe. The guy twenty or twenty-one. Hal flexed his muscles automatically, wondering if he could take him.
But they passed on and nothing happened.
He decided to go find his friend, Nut. He ambled down the steps and began walking up the sidewalk toward the building where Nut lived.
It was much like his own, a five story rough brick-faced building, forty or fifty years old with banks of windows up the side. Bright orange, fresh-painted, fire escapes slashed across its front in a zigzag pattern. He walked around to an alleyway with stairs that entered down into the bowels of the building. Nut's old man was the super; the whole family lived in the basement. Hal walked down the three steps to a narrow cement walk, past rows of garbage cans to a cavernous arch leading into the cellar of the building.
He went in.
The entrance led into a deserted laundry room lit by a dim bulb casting shadows over a ghostly white automatic washer and dryer. An inner door with two glass panes led into the cellar apartment of Herman Nutowski, the super. The place always reminded Hal of a secret hideout, the Bat Cave or something like that He went up to the glass paned door and tapped on it, looking inside. The glow of a TV set lit the interior. At first ha thought no one was there, but a shape detached itself from a long couch in front of the TV and came toward the door. Hal saw, at first with disappointment, that it was Nut's little sister, Angie, She opened the door for him.
"What do you want?" she said tartly. Angle was thirteen years old. Hal disliked her she always acted snotty to everyone.
"Where's Nut?"
"He's not here."
"Well, where is he?" Hal asked impatiently.
"He went somewhere with Father."-"Is he coming back?"
"I guess so." She opened the door wider. "You can wait here for him if you want. Ma's out. I'm watching the kids."
Hal hesitated He didn't like the gloomy basement living room but there wasn't much else to do. He followed her in.
For the first time, as they sat together on the couch in front of the TV set, he noticed Angie. She was wearing only a slip, and she was sitting next to him it was hard not to notice this. And instead of watching the Western on the TV he began watching her.
Angie had blonde hair, like his sister. He'd never looked at her twice before, but now, close up and alone with her in the dark cavern of a basement living room along one wall there were rows of electric meters, one for each apartment in the building he was forced to look twice, and he was a little surprised at what he saw.
Breasts. Hal had never even thought of Angie as having breasts, but then he had never even thought of her as being a girl, either. She always ran around in faded jeans and sloppy loose sweaters and acted so much like a tomboy it was annoying to be around her.
It wasn't so annoying now.
The lech Hal had been feeling all evening transformed his attitude to Nut Nutowski's sister.
Her breasts were small, but not so small they didn't push the top of her slip out into two neat little rounded divisions. And in the flashing glow from the TV, he thought he saw round dark spots through the thin material her nipples.
Hal was definitely interested. Nut's older sister, Mary, had big full boobs that were the pride of the block. All the guys noticed her, and commented about it, making jokes. Mary, whether she knew it or not, had been elected the Boob Queen of the neighborhood. Mary was twenty.
Hal could see that Angie was going to develop the tame way. It occurred to him that he might be able to help her along in that department.
Why not? Nut was his pal, but so what? He wasn't around, and neither was his father or mother. And the younger brats were safe out of the way in bed
He looked at Angie again. She was a little on the skinny side, still hard and angular in places.
But not everywhere. With the slip pulled tight around her, he could see that she was in the process of developing a nice little figure. Did she know it? There was one way to find out
He stretched lazily on the couch, his arm brushing her breast as if by accident
She didn't move.
He said, "This is a corny show, Angle. Don't you have anything better to do?"
She looked at him narrowly, oat of the corners of her eyes.
"Like what?"
"Oh-lots of things. Hey how'd you like a cigarette?"
She hesitated, considering the proposition seriously. "I don't know if I ought to if Pa caught me smoking-"
"Well share," Hal said quickly. "Then if he comes, I'll take it and he'll think it was just me."
Angie warmed to the conspiracy, smiling.
"Okay. I don't think they're coming back till around ten anyway."
Hal smiled back and fished in his pocket for the crumpled pack of cigarettes he had copped from his old man's dresser. He got one out, straightened it with his fingers, and lit it After dragging deeply, he handed it to Angie.
She drew on it awkwardly, holding it between her finger and thumb like a greenhorn.
"That's not the way," Hal said disdainfully. "Here, let me show you."
And he edged closer to her and took the cigarette, making sure he touched and brushed her as much as possible in the process. He let his arm slide around back of her on the couch.
"Like this?" She took a deep drag and held it down, wanting to show him she was as good at it as he was. She let the smoke out slowly.
"That's it hey, you've been kidding me along. I bet you've been smoking since you were eight."
"Well," she said haughtily, "this isn't the first time."
"For what?" he snickered, letting his hand glide over her thigh.
"For smoking," she said. "Silly!"
"Oh. I thought you meant something else."
"Don't get fresh!"
It was fun, teasing her along. Hal forgot all about his original idea of finding a girl with Nut and taking her into the park. He had Angie cornered at one end of the couch. Each time she moved away from him she acted tough and snotty, but Hal saw that she was really scared of him he moved closer, until he had her cornered against the arm, and in the process her slip hiked itself halfway up her white smooth thighs.
Slim, but nicely curved already.
Soft and warm when he stroked them.
"Don't do that!"
"Why? You afraid, Angie?"
"No."
"You like it, don't you?" She didn't say anything.
"How'd you like to have a whole pack of cigarettes, Angie?"
"What do I have to do?"
"Let me touch your breasts."
"That's not nice. I shouldn't let you."
"A whole pack, Angie and all the rest of these."
"Well all right."
Hal slipped his hand inside the front of her slip. It dosed over one little round lump, somewhat smaller than a teacup, but sufficiently hand-sized.
He squeezed, "Ohhh"
Again.
"Ohhh!"
Her little breast became hot in his hand and the nipple seemed to swell. He groped for the other one, barely able to contain his excitement.
"Oooh!"
She seemed to go all limp. Her arms and shoulders moved twitchingly and her head want back against the couch, mouth slack.
She had damn excitable breasts.
Hal began to work in earnest, rubbing (hem until (he nipples were stiff as wooden dowels.
"I I feel faint," she groaned.
Hal took the long-ashed cigarette from her fingers and threw it to the concrete floor, grinding it carelessly with the sole of his shoe. Then he pulled at the strap of her slip and it popped in his hand. One breast, milk-white and perfectly round, appeared. He ducked his head down and caught the taut little nipple in his teeth. Her back arched like a spring and she yelped. "God! Oh! Oh! Oh! Ma-"
Hal quieted her by putting his mouth down over hers. Her lips opened in a soul kiss and her tongue flicked at his in little snake-like lips.
She was hip, Hal thought. She had kissed like this before. He wondered how far she had gone, the sneaky little witch. He ran his hand up the smooth curvature of her thigh, underneath the slip, to see what would happen.
"Uhh," she groaned.
And then her hand seized his wrist and directed him, her thighs parting momentarily and then clamping together again in a spasmodic movement.
She was as eager as a hopped-up kitten.
Hal rubbed his hand back and forth, leaning hard against her. His hand went to the fastening of his clothes and pulled.
She heard the noise.
"No, no! Not that I never went that far, honest Hal, honest!"
"Come on Angie! It won't hurt none."
"No-I'm afraid."
He could feel the fear mixed with her excitement. His own body had become so painful he could hardly stand it but something told him to be wary. Stealing a piece of cherry pie in a park was one thing here was another. It was tough enough just to do, without her making things more difficult. Nut's old man was a hairy ape; might tear him apart if he caught them at it.
"Okay," he groaned, "okay. But you've got to do something for me, too. If you don't, so help me I'll slap you silly, Angie."
"I will, I will!"
He rolled off her, sat next to her, and she proceeded to keep her word. His right hand stayed to her lap, her slip crinkled up around her waist, and her right hand went to him.
"Like this?" she said.
"Yeah like that"
Hal soon forgot his anger as she began to help his passion find release. It was corny kid stuff, not what he wanted, and he promised himself he would take care of her in another way at the first opportunity, but the situation now was out of his hands.
And in hers.
The sounds of their breathing grew more rapid, mounting with their mutual caress.
On the TV, some guy was talking about greasy kid stuff and how you shouldn't use it on your hair. There was this older guy, a baseball player, showing a younger kid how to hit home runs, and then they were in the locker room combing their hair. The older guy told the kid he shouldn't use the stuff be was using on his hair, it was too greasy. Curiously enough, the younger guy didn't tell the older guy to mind his own business or go fly a kite, but acted very humble, as if the older guy knew everything from home runs to hair tonic.
Then the Western came back on. A man was holding a double barreled shotgun, aiming it directly at the audience. His finger tightened on the trigger.
Neither barrel went off. On the screen, the sound of horses hoofs interrupted the man, and on the couch they beard the sound of footsteps coming down the alleyway.
Hal groaned, bending nearly double as he fixed himself quickly before Nut and his old man had a chance to enter. Angie bounced up from the couch, pulled her wrinkled slip down over her white bare flanks and ran out of the room.
Hal sat there, gritting his teeth, pretending to watch the TV screen.
Nut, a thin, gawky kid with a broken nose and big sad eyes, hopped like a monkey, dragging his knuckles across the pavement ahead of Hal. He wore his baseball cap screwed on sideways.
"Cheep! Cheep! Cheep! You Tarzan, me Cheetah," he said over his shoulder. He had earned his nickname for more reasons than just his last name.
The balled-up bitter frustration Hal had been feeling released some of itself in loud harsh laughter.
"Get up, you ape! Save it for the park where there's trees!"
Nut straightened and fell in step with his buddy. He looked at him seriously, the grin fading from his wide slash of a mouth.
"I dunno, Hal. It's dangerous to go up there tonight. The Pigs is having their Saturday night meeting. They liable to bust anybody up comes into their territory. They real mean, those Pigs is. I mean man, they like to stomp us if we go up there tonight!"
"They don't own the park," Hal said tersely.
"Oh, no, they don't own the park. The city owns the park. They just run the park, is all."
"You sound like you're scared of them," Hal jeered.
Nut cackled like a chicken. "Like that's it, man. like I is scared of them! Oooh! those chains hurt I"
Hal spat disdainfully at a corner sewer.
"See you then, Nut. I'm going for a walk in the park." He began to walk away from his friend.
"Hey you can't do that! You can't go up there by yourself, baby! Cheetah go with Tarzan, huh?" He resumed his monkey stance and hopped up to Hal.
"Okay," Hal said, "Let's stop wasting time, then. Let's go visit Pigland."
The park was several blocks away. Normally, Hal would have been afraid to go to it this time of night. A year ago, a kid had been stomped to death not ten feet
Inside the entrance, a result of two rival gangs jockeying for power, control of the neighborhood, Now there was only one gang. The Pigs.
They got their name from Porker Street, which got Its name from God knows where, some era in the dim past of the city when farms instead of apartment dwellings covered that part of the land and hogs had been raised for market
The Pigs were feared. The Pigs reigned in the neighborhood and in that section of the city they were the top gang. They used chains, knives, lengths of pipe wrapped in electrician's tape, various types and shapes of fist hardware, guns of the homemade and factory-made (the latter acquired through instances of rack and nerve), and various other instruments by which a gang may maintain its superiority in a given section of the city, including even such items of apparel as wide large-buckled belts and heavy soled leather boots. They used them circumspectly and as seldom as possible directly in the neighborhood itself, but they used them. The Pigs were feared.
If you wanted to become a Pig, which might be a good idea if you were a certain age, you first of all had to live in the neighborhood. Second of all, you had to be tough. City-tough, which is a special brand of toughness. Thirdly, you had to be lucky. Candidates who flunked the test for becoming a Pig might cost their parents large amounts of money in doctor's bills.
Hal had lived in the neighborhood not quite a year and had already made some contacts. This was not easy. The Pigs kept to themselves and there was no telling who belonged and who didn't for certain. Hal had had previous experiences with gangs in his old neighborhood experiences that had resulted in his appearing before a judge in Juvenile Court Lucky experience. Only a year's probation. He had helped some guys strip radios from parked cars, for which they got five bucks a deal. One thing he had learned was how to strip a radio out of a car in less than five minutes.
He had become a technician.
After that experience, Hal had considered himself more of a loner, not liking to depend on other people k was the guy playing chickee, supposed to sound the alarm if anyone showed, that had ruined the job by chasing after a girl who came down the street. So he hadn't tried hard to get in with the Pigs.
But there were advantages in joining which had to be considered. He had heard tales of their Saturday night drinking brawls in the park; that and the girls who attended them as guests. Some of them, it was rumored, the better class girls from High School. And he had walked through the park in the daytime and seen the litter of broken brown glass from beer bottles and the white trailing snakes of safeties in the grass.
Advantages.
Definite advantages.
like getting loved regularly every Saturday night, for instance. That was something to think about
Hal thought about it as they reached the low stone wall bounding the park along Porker Street A hot resentment burned deeply in him. Every chick in the neighborhood who might be good for a fast boff seemed to be off the streets tonight And he needed one bad by now. That goddamn little teaser Angie had given him nothing but an aching pair. He felt like a gun primed to go off with no one around to pull the trigger. No one around to squeeze it and make the damn thing go off.
The Pigs had them all.
He kicked viciously at a beer can lying on the sidewalk. It hit the stone wall and rebounded, danking noisily into the gutter.
"Hey," Nut cautioned, "you want everyone in there should hear us?"
"To hell with them."
"You really going in, huh?"
"Sure. Over this wall." He laid a hand up along the top of the stone wall and vaulted up onto it in one smooth, springy motion. Then he swung his legs over and dropped noiselessly into the darkness of the other side. After a few seconds, Nut was crouched beside him.
"Smart, coming in this way," he said. "We can sneak up and see where they are before they see us."
"Yeah." Hal snickered. "And I bet I know what they're doing. Only it's a big park. We may never see them."
"Okay by me. I ain't a hero like you."
"Go climb a tree!"
"Cheep!"
"Lay off. Let's look around."
Hal punched Nut roughly on the arm, more to reassure himself than from anger at his clowning companion. The wildly overgrown, rambling park was as dark as a witch's cape where big spreading trees slumped together and tall weeds grew up to their knees. Hal didn't like to admit he was scared to anyone, but in this creepy place he had the feeling unseen eyes might be watching. He shrugged it off and forged ahead boldly, his cowed friend close behind.
It wasn't long until they heard voices up ahead, coming from a grassy clearing surrounded by tall trees. Hal stopped, touching his friend's arm.
"Something's going on up there," he whispered.
"Yeah. like maybe we ought to go back, huh?"
"Nah. I'm going to have a look."
Nut said nothing but he followed Hal as Hal crept cautiously forward to the edge of the woods.
They reached the edge. Farting long stalks of ragweed, Hal could see into the copse formed by the trees. Moonlight made it a miniature arena.
He breathed loudly at what he saw.
There were five of them in there. Five of them, and a gM. Six, all told, but Hal only saw the five at first, because they were standing.
The girl was lying on the grass.
Nut nudged Hal with his elbow.
"It looks like a gang fuck for sure," he whispered. "I'm for getting out of here."
"Shh!" Hal hissed.
Nut fell silent
Hal resumed his watch. They were taking their sweet time of it. At least it looked that way at first They were grouped around a short heavyset youth, practically ignoring the girl lying in readiness on the grass.
Stupid, it seemed to Hal. He was hot as a pistol already, just looking at her. She was wearing some kind of a dress, not much else, and it was twisted up over her white moon-bathed thighs. They looked like ivory. They looked like there wasn't a hair on them, not even that microscopic peach fuzz even the most hairless of girls has. She was very young. Younger than his sister. Younger than Nut's sister no; about the same age. Yeah, she might have been Nut's hot little sister lying there, except he knew where Nut's little sister was. She was lytng in bed now, amusing herself that's where. Hal grew excited and impatient with the group standing mere, as if he were one of them.
It was the leader, Punky Jahns, who was holding them up. Bragging. He had a bottle. He was like daring any one of them to touch her before he did.
The louse.
The louse was saying something. "What's the matter, you guys? Never had any before or something? You guys make me sick-acting like little green cherries on a branch ha ha!"
"Cindy's waiting," one of the guys said in a half-whine. "She's all worked up and ready. like she might get cold lying there."
Punky turned toward the girl, bottle dangling carelessly in his fingers.
"You cold, Cindy? How's about a drink, Cindy?"
The girl leaned up on one elbow and spat a curse at him.
It was the wrong thing to do, or the right thing, depending on what kind of a girl she was. If she was looking for rough treatment, it was the right thing.
Punky walked over to her. He reached down and grabbed her by the hair. He yanked her head up and poured whiskey over her face. She sputtered and yelled. Punky threw her back down and she rolled over, moaning.
Punky took a long drink from the bottle, emptying it, and then tossed it toward the bushes. It just missed hitting Nut. He ducked down beside Hal, the both of them scarcely breathing.
Punky began singing: "Cindy, oh Cindy--Cindy don't let me down. Please let me love you soon, or I'll jump in the lake and drown !"
The four standing a few respectful feet off from Punky and the inert girl thought it was very funny. They laughed.
But then one of them stepped suddenly forward.
"Listen," he said, "I brought her in here, I ought to get first crack!"
Punky whirled on him, a menace.
"You creep! Maybe you think she's your girl, huh?"
"Well, she was-"
"You know the rules, meathead: a girl comes into the park, she's ours. She goes down for every member present Democracy. Maybe you want to change the rules, hob creep?"
"I didnl say that"
"Maybe you want to change the rules," Punky repeated. "You know how, Jewboy. Just start swinging. If you get up before I do, well take a vote. Nice and democratic, Jewboy creep. Start swinging!"
The youth backed away defensively.
"Nah, Punky; I didn't mean that--honest. I don't think we ought to delay it too long. There might be a cop along or something."
Punky laughed loudly, disdainfully. He looked directly at where Hal and Nut were crouched, "Hey, you in there!"
Hal felt his throat muscles tighten.
"Hey you fuzz, hiding in the bushes! Come on oat and arrest us, huh? We're all juvies, we're going to lay this here young under-age chick you better come on out and arrest us, fuzz!"
Hal was scared but then he realized it was a joke, a coincidence that Punky should be looking their way. He relaxed. He felt Nut's hand on his arm, tightly. Nut's fear. It gave him reassurance.
He stood up.
"You're all under arrest," he snickered.
Astonished silence. He might have been Lazams, standing there. Or the Phantom, with Nut his right-hand pygmy, Friday. He was God Almighty, and he laughed at their dumb staring faces.
No one was more surprised than Punky, but be recovered first
"I know him! That new guy on Syckles Street! Come on you guys, let's waste him!"
' His words galvanized the group to action. They sprang across the clearing, Punky in the lead, in hot pursuit of the two intruders.
But Hal was just as fast, and Nut even faster. The odds were bad and he had seen the glint of bricks being tugged from a pocket His heels sprouted wings.
He ran wildly through the underbrush, sharp grass and thistles tearing at his new slacks, limbs cutting his bare arms. Somewhere ahead of him was Nut, and ahead of Nut, the wall.
He had to make it He had to make it or get his head bashed in and his gut stomped with hard-heeled boots. He could hear them behind him, crashing noisily through the underbrush.
He wasn't afraid. Running, he felt exalted, sure of himself. A rock whizzed past his ear, tearing into leaves, but he ignored it Zigzagging, he crossed another open patch of ground, made a low line of trees, and then found the wall.
He vaulted over, into safety.
CHAPTER TWO
The next day Hal stayed dose to home. It would have been a drag except for one thing.
He was alone.
Both parents and his sister were working. Fine. He had the whole apartment to himself. Nobody yammering at him to do this or that. He could just lay around and do nothing if he wanted to, which suited him just fine.
He had things to think over. Problems.
All of which may sound kind of silly to anyone else. How can a sixteen-year-old, good-looking blonde male possibly have any problems worth thinking about? You'd gladly trade places with him, maybe, because your problems seem a hell of a lot more serious to you. You'd gm a lot to have a crack at being Hal or somebody like him again, and the hell with work, home, wife and kids and installment payments and heartburn and indigestion and ulcers wouldn't you?
Naturally you would
But the point is, you're not Hal Anderson. Maybe you never were a Hal Anderson. Maybe you were, but you don't remember how it is to be sixteen and footloose in spirit but imprisoned by a whole vast menacing world run by adults who ignore your wants and desires except to slap you down when you start kicking up your heels a little. Maybe you weren't born in the downtown section of a large city, the city's navel, so to speak, where the houses are falling down and the landlords are getting rich by letting them do just that Maybe you never grew up that way.
Even so, chances are you were sixteen once, unless you're fifteen now. Right? Of course.
So think back. What is it like to be sixteen and a boy? Forget about the slum background if you didn't happen to have one and concentrate on the feeling, the special feeling that goes with being a boy that age anywhere, anytime, anyplace, Moscow or Hell's Kitchen or Pine Grove, Illinois.
Think about sex. At eighteen the male reaches his peak of sexual desire, supposedly, but sixteen is close enough. Think about being sixteen and having sex all around you, grinning at you from magazine bra ads, from the TV screen with the big boobed girl in a tight low cut dress babbling about the weather, from subway posters, cigarette ads, shop windows and plaster walls of public Johns. The girl in the cigarette ad smiles oral sex at you around the filter of a weed, but you can't have it. You're only sixteen remember?
The same with the girl who pushes her boobs out at you as if she thought she could bust her brassiere straps, and the same with that unreal beautiful tanned blonde who sucks so prettily on the business end of a Coke bottle and all the girls who dance barelegged across the TV screen in an endless procession of bouncing buttocks and teasing boobs. Buy a new convertible and the girl on the billboard is yours.
Only you're sixteen and can't buy a new convertible.
So there's sex all around you. You can satisfy it maybe, if you're good-looking, tough, athletic or popular, or if you're not too choosy. There are always the doers to satisfy your hyped-up appetite. But it's not the same. It's not the ideal thing, the Ultimate Experience the ads promise. So if you're lucky and don't have a problem making girls like you, you go through one after the other, hoping to find the Cigarette Girl one day the perfect, Ail-American dame.
But if you're the average teen-ager, you just think about it. All the time.
And sometimes you do something about it, but that something is a poor substitute and you hate it afterward, because the Cigarette Girl's smile, cool as mint and white-toothed, now mocks you. Sucker, it says. Fall guy. Pimply young kid go home and have a ball by yourself. And don't forget to lock the bathroom door.
Sex. It hangs in the air like fog. It colors everything. It's there, really and truly and visibly there when you wake up in the morning, and it's the last thing yam think about when you go to bed.
Then there's the matter of toughness. Tough b good, might is right, and all that other jazz they try to feed you is pure baloney. First the law of the playground, then the first law of the streets.
Hit a guy. Get him down. Kick him, stomp him.
Or hell do the same to you.
Even out in Pine Grove, you have to act tough. rru the accepted way. Nothing touches you, nothing bothers you. You're cool. Forget that volcano inside you when anyone else, a buddy or an adult, is around, be cool.
Be tough.
Nice guys don't win ball games. They don't even get obi the team.
Other things. Money, for instance. There's a lot of dungs you want, but you can't get them yet. You aren't recognized by society. Two years and they can draft you, but you can't vote. How many "teen-agers" were killed in Korea? Tough. Cruddy cookie crumbles that way.
Other things. Resentment against the whole freaking indifferent world, anger at the way it leaves you alone when you want to be left alone and bugs you when you don't want to be bugged. Take all these things and stir them together and add a drop or two of gall and wormwood and you get the picture. You're sixteen and you've got a lech a yard long that makes you want to boff everything in skirts in sight and a big huge mad on against the world and a crazy compulsion for kicks of the weird and strange and unexperienced-yet type. You got problems, buddy.
Hal stretched out on the divan, arms behind his head and shoes carelessly propped on the silk cushion his mother always bitched about if anybody put their shoes there, enjoying the feeling of being alone with his problems. As the stupid little song doesn't quite go, Count your problems one by one.
One. The old man was after him about working again. Lazygoodfornothingbum, why don't you get a job like other kids, I had to work when I was ten, damn you get in trouble again I beat the hell out of you. That type of scene. Here it was pretty near time to go to school again and the louse acted as if he ought to be working in an aircraft or something.
Two. He was in dutch in the neighborhood. Last night had been a fool stunt, beggaring to get him a broken head the next time he met up with a Pig. They would be laying for him, too. Remembering their faces when he'd stood up and let them see him, he couldn't help laughing at the dumb jerks. But now they might gang up on him, do him in good. He could have joined, too. But now he was out, definitely out. A leper. All he needed was a bell hanging around his neck. All he needed was a target painted on the back of his shirt.
Nuts to them. He was sick of gangs. He could move Eke a tiger, take on the best of them. A tiger didn't run with a pack. But he wasn't anxious to meet up with them, either.
Three. School. Not an immediate problem, but coming soon. He didn't want to go back. He hated it. Why not quit? His old man would bust a gut. Wouldn't be able to stay around the house long, not if he didn't start bringing in money right away. Okay. But what was the percentage of staying in school? He wasn't going to college, he knew that now. The old man was making more dough, but he was spending it, too. Union graft. And anyway, he didn't have the marks.
There was the road. He thought dreamily of the load, hitching somewhere, just miles and miles of highway ahead and nothing to worry about and nobody to take care of but yourself. Frisco, maybe. Or Seattle. Maybe even Alaska. Why not, Alaska? Mine gold and get rich ha ha! like Rockefeller. Yachts, swimming pools, cars, women.
Women.
Four. He had to get made. An immediate problem. A real, true, necessary, present, right away type problem. Just thinking about it gave him the urge. Thinking about Nut's sister on the couch in front of the TV gave him the sweats. His hand cupped automatically, remembering the feel of her hard little breast. He saw her eyes cloud ever again the way they did when he did that, and her mouth grow slack with a low moan. Hot Angie. She'd sure fooled him. He wondered if she'd never really bad it yet, like she said. Maybe not It would be fan seeing.
More fun doing.
He thought of Angie and he thought of other girls some of them real girls he had known and boffed or almost boffed or never put a hand on and some of them concoctions of his own imagination; older, glamorous women in swell clothes with neat figures and full breasts. He imagined them fully clothed in the best Fifth Avenue style and when he imagined taking off the clothes, piece by piece. They were all willing, grateful for his attentions.
He dosed Ms eyes and he concentrated and saw one, a redhead with smiling ruby lips and green eyes, wearing a neat two-piece knit suit that stretched over her breasts and buttocks, showing just about everything she had. "Take me, Hal," she said
He was indifferent He was drinking a glass of whiskey and pretending to ignore her, but she kept pawing him and pleading with him to help her off with her things.
Finally, he did. Each item, slowly, carelessly. No hurry. They were in her apartment, no one to bother them or interrupt
Alone.
It was the perfect situation, the ideal setup. The Ultimate.
The only trouble with it was it wasn't real. It was very dose to real he could smell her perfume, fed with his fingers the texture of the expensive clothing she wore, item by female item. He smelled the smoky smell of her smooth red hair. The touch of her bare skin was like live velvet And she was a woman, all woman, fully mature and ready to go for him.
Finally he had her down to bra and underpants and dark silk stockings.
He lingered there. Something about bras, sheer stockings over well shaped female legs, was more exciting in its own way than a woman completely nude.
That was the way he would have her. The rich witch who walked her poodle along Park Avenue. He'd make her parade around for him like that, up and down the room, while he relaxed and smoked a weed and watched her. He'd make her turn this way and that, come closer, touch her tenderly or ruddy, just as he choose.
Until she was begging him for ft
Down on her knees. Please, Hal, please, Hal baby, mk please let me have it now. I want you so much, Hoi honey. Don't be mean to me like this.
When he had her good and ready like that, he'd begin. Not before. He'd stroke her bent back, pretending indifference, and then suddenly jerk the strap of her bra and it would fall to the floor, her breasts hanging there like ripe, squeezable melons.
He'd squeeze.
Man how he'd squeeze, take two big handfuls and work them till she had to cry out for him to stop.
Then the couch. He could imagine her on the couch, beside him now. Black stockings, panties and all.
Leave the stockings on.
Remove the panties.
Black stockings against white flesh, no bra, no pasties. Leaning down on him, breasts pressing against him, ewer him ...
Then ...
Then the whole thing clouded over and became mixed up and finally was gone, and Hal arose from the couch in angry hot frustration.
It was an effort to stand straight. One thought horned through his mind more a pressure than a thought; one which had to be relieved.
But he didn't want to. Not that way. Not again.
He was tired of that What he wanted was a girl. A real live fleshy girl with real legs you could touch and who didn't pop away on you the minute you started jazzing her, to leave you practically empty-handed Almost empty-handed, but not quite.
He didn't want that
Not this time.
The trouble was, he didn't know where he could make a score right away. That was the hell of it there wasn't any girl available to him, at least not the type he wanted.
It was Ids own fault, he realized. There was no reason a guy as good-looking as he was shouldn't get boffed whenever he wanted. He had what it took in the looks department and plenty of girls had given him the eye in school.
But he had screwed up. When they had first moved into the neighborhood, he had made his big mistake, played it all wrong.
Aloof. Tough.
Too aloof and too goddamned tough, maybe. It was because he wanted to be independent. He hadn't associated with any of the gang kids and he'd stayed away from the squares, too. Hell, he despised them both, coming from a tougher neighborhood than this one, even. The gang kids were stupid and the others were all lilly reared fags. He was better than any of them. The girls would come to him.
They had, too, at first. There was Lila, who had put out for him the second day of school, down in the furnace room. She'd fallen in with him leaving the last class of the day, and they had walked together to their lockers.
He'd seen right away she wanted something from him. A big-breasted little girl, she'd managed to joggle them against him while they walked. Then they'd hung around the locker room together, making silly talk, until just about all the other kids had gone home. He was the "new kid." She wanted to know all about him. So be told her his old man was a union boss and drove a Caddy and other jazz like that, just to set her up. And she told him she loved him. Just like that Love at first sight
So naturally he'd started kissing her, just to see what she knew, and right away she began giving him long soul kisses, opening her mouth for him and sliding her tongue over his.
And when he began foiling her breasts through her sweater she got all weepy and twitchy and he knew right away she was ready for it
He felt her up some more. He slid a hand under her sweater, expertly unhooked her bra, and found himself a great big handful of boob.
"Don't do that! Oh, Hal; I'm not that kind of a girl what will you think about me?-oh, oh!"
OA, nuts. He'd let her have it good after that, crashing her right up against her locker door and letting her fed it Her plump little hips twisted against him convulsively and the rest of her went all limp and he knew that she'd go down for him right there on the tile floor of the main locker room if he wanted to.
They didn't do that. They found the door and the steps leading down to the boiler room and they went down them.
Then, in the semidarkness, he pulled off her sweater and had himself a good long session of boob squeezing; driving her damn near out of her silly mind.
She had very excitable breasts. When he touched them he could fed it go all through her down to the tips of her toes, and soon she was blubbering like a baby.
After that it was easy. Her skirt went up and her pants went down on cue, and then he was leaning her up against a wall, a dirty rough cement wall.
And damn near driving her through ft
A warm, sexy little witch, Lila. Afterward, her cheeks were all scratched and bruised and dirty. He looked at them and laughed.
"Go take a shower," he said.
And then he left her there.
It had been an easy score. Too easy. He found oat the next day from listening to lunch hour talk that Lila was indeed a pushover-for just about anyone who wanted to push. And her specialty was "new kids" ones who weren't wise to her secondhand wares.
It made him mad. He kept his mouth shut about knocking her over in the boiler room, stayed sullen and silent. But he was glad he had treated her the way he had. It made him feel a little less miffed about the whole deal.
As for Lila, the next time he saw her he turned her off quick with a punch in the breast That turned her off real good. She didn't bother him after that
But neither did the others. It didn't work out the way he planned as far as girls went at all. The cute ones, the pretty ones, the ones who were popular the ones, in short, he wanted to bang the most weren't used to chasing after anyone, and they didn't chase after him. It wasn't quite like the old neighborhood, where if a girl liked a guy she'd do it right inside her front hall or down in a basement
These kids were all stuck up. They could go to hell.
All of which left him right where he was, in his own living room, still stiff and unfulfilled from a freshly hot erotic daydream about boffing a swell broad. Still thinking about something he wanted, something unattainable. He didn't quite know what it was. He thought maybe it was a girl that was always nearest to his mind but even that might not be it. Aside from his highly charged sexual desire, there was something else his young mind and body craved. There was a restlessness which, not being able to understand the reason for, he attributed to the want of a woman.
Hal went to the refrigerator in the kitchen. He opened it up and looked inside, thinking maybe a quick snack would make him feel better. He reached for the tail end of a roast his mother had stashed in the back of the fridge, thinking of days when they didn't have such succulent leftovers to stash away, when he saw something else and changed his mind.
Neatly stacked cans, copper-colored and in a row, six deep and two high. His old man had brought them home last night. They looked inviting, perfect, tempting as a beer commercial urging you to get tanked on the excellent suds.
His old man would never miss a few.
But just in case someone came back, his dumb sister or his mother the old man had left over an hour ago for work he decided to take them up on the roof to drink. A salami sandwich and some cold beer. He'd have himself his own little picnic.
Hastily he got two slices of bread from the pantry, slapped three rings of delicatessen-fresh salami between them, and grabbed three cans of beer and an opener. Then he left the apartment.
The roof. It was a favorite spot of his when he wanted to be alone. To get up there, he had to go up a narrow flight of stairs that led to a heavy metal plated door. He pushed this open, beers and sandwich bagged under one arm, and went out onto the tar surfaced front roof.
The late afternoon sun burned down hotly, bubbling the tar in the cracks. Hal minced over the black burning surface in his sneakers, heading for the water tower. In its shade, he climbed the ladder which led to a platform just under the tower. In the platform's protected shade, he sat cross-legged and opened the bag, taking out a can of beer. It hissed life-like as he cut into the round metal surface with the pointed tip of the steel opener. He drank. The cold bubbly liquid constricted his throat as it slid down. He took another, longer draught. The sandwich could wait till later. The beer was fine. He felt a spreading peace and contentment, seated atop his private throne, with a view of the river and the city and, if he leaned over, the streets below.
Here, he was King.
Here, no one could touch him. It was his own private world. He drank.
The turmoil in his breast began to lessen. He had the illusion of being in control, of controlling everything that went on below. like God.
Leaning over, he could see people walking in the streets, small as puppets. An old man shuffling along, clutching something wrapped in a newspaper. A fish. Or a bottle of booze. Three girls in shorts walked down a side street, arm-in-arm. Young. Nice legs. Six stories up, you could still tell nice legs. The one in the middle had very nice legs, tanned, strong calves. Blonde hair, like his sister. Jerk the string, pull her up to the roof, pull down her shorts ... They were all his puppets. A real weirdo way to think, but fun when there was nobody to catch you at it
Real fun.
Pigeons were flying, a whole flock of them, circling around the tall middle-class apartment buildings at that end of the city. Going to roost. Nut's pigeons, they were or rather, Nut's old man's. Biggest flock in the neighborhood. Nut's old man had a coop on the roof of his building. Soon they would land there. Chow time. Was Nut up there, getting ready to feed them? Hal envied the pigeons. He would like to be free like them, and fly. He would never fly back to the coop, though. Stupid pigeons; they were free and didn't even know it Dumb birds.
Hal thought about how ft would feel to be a bird. You soared high, the sun turning your wings to gold or silver. High, out over the blue river. You spit down on people's heads. That would be fun. If he was a pigeon, he would aim at every convertible with the top down and a rich louse with his girl in it Fun.
If he was a bird he'd fly across that river and never come back. Fly, fly, fly...
He took the empty beer can and tossed it toward the roof of the next building. It bonged loudly against a brick wall and rolled over and over, coming to rest finally in a storm gutter. It lay there, flashing like a jewel in the lowering sun.
Hal ate part of the sandwich and then tossed that away, too. He opened another beer.
Now, his mother would be coming home. Walking up the steps looking old and gray, too tired to wonder where he was when she found the apartment empty. Too tired to give a damn, after sewing all day at that sweat shop down on River Street. He didn't feel sorry for her. He remembered when he used to, but he didn't now. She didn't have to do that. "Money in the bank," she'd say. For what? What the hell good did it do her now. She was old and washed up and couldn't enjoy it? All her life she had nothing and now they had money in the bank and she couldn't stop. Too dumb to know any better, make the old man take her out, show her a good time. That's the way everybody was. Dumb.
And then his sister. She'd be coming home too, from the department store. She'd scream at Ma and go into her bedroom and pick out a new dress for the evening date with Mike Melino, Guinea louse. Mike the pimp. Why didn't she just go love for the money? She never gave Ma a cent anyway. She put it all on her back. Thought she was hot stuff or something, the way she queened it around in her new clothes.
Hal wished he was eighteen and didn't have to face school any more.
Maybe he could join the Army, lie about his age. Maybe he could hop a freighter and sail to Panama. He was strong enough, could do a man's work any day.
Ah, nuts!
The beer began to taste sour to him. He lit a cigarette and smoked it, draining the beer and tossing away the can, trying to hit the first can and missing it.
He had one beer left. He would drink that and then It would be dark and he would go down to the streets. The back way, the fire escape. If they were laying for him, they wouldn't catch him that way. He'd head downtown, toward some other territory. He'd find something to do A broad, a broad...
The streets were dark when, spiderllke, he climbed down the fire escape, passing darkened windows and flitting quickly past lighted ones. At one, he paused A bedroom, a woman inside wearing a slip, too dumb, or not caring, to close her blinds. Her big spreading breasts almost spilled out the top. Was she going to take it off. But she disappointed him, turned and walked out of the room. He continued on down.
At the last step he hung by his hands and dropped softly on rubber cushioned feet to the alleyway below.
Darkness and garbage cans surrounded him. Ahead of him he could see the solid rectangle of light cast by the streetlamp between the two buildings. The street That would be the tough part making the street H they were laying for him, they would get him there. Ho crept forward.
The street was empty except for a woman wheeling a baby carriage. Relieved, Hal straightened and began to stride boldly down it But he hadn't gone ten steps when a voice stopped him.
"Hal!"
He wheeled. At first he didn't see anyone. He looked Up and down the street, but even the woman with the carriage had disappeared. Then the voice spoke again, and he realized it was close to him, coming from the shadows of the building he had been passing.
"Hal, it's me."
He saw her then. Angie. She moved into the fight and he saw her clearly. She had fixed herself up. She was wearing a skirt this time, a tight one with a slit in one side. She had on a tight yellow silk blouse and her hair was done up in a helmet-like fashion with the ends curled up in a half-curl. Black eye shadow rimmed her eyes and her mouth was a swatch of pale red. It took him a minute to realize it was Angie Nutowski.
"What do you want?" he said foolishly.
"I was waiting here for you. I knew you'd come by if I waited long enough."
"Yeah. Well I'm busy. I can't talk to you now, Angie." He was nervous. He didn't want to stay on this street long, afraid of being spotted by one of the Pigs he had rousted the night before.
"Well," she pouted, "you don't mind if I walk with you a ways, do you?"
He hesitated. He wanted to be rid of her, but he didn't want to make a project of it
"Okay-c'mon!"
She fell in next to him and they walked. They reached the corner.
"Where are you going?" she said-He shrugged, annoyed. "Downtown. Shoot some pool."
"Oh. Can I go?"
"What? You crazy or something? They don't let girls in a pool room!"
She sidled close to him and he could smell perfume. She must have doused it on with a ladle, he thought.
"Take me to a movie, then."
"Some other time, Angie I'm busy now,"
"You weren't busy last night."
"That was different."
She pouted, touching his arm.
"Look at me. Don't I look good to you? I fixed myself all up, just so's you'd like me."
He looked at her. The attempt hadn't been entirely unsuccessful. She looked at least a couple of years older, dressed that way. But she was still jail-bait. He didn't want to be caught with her in a movie house.
She said, "Or we can go to my place. Nobody's borne again."
His eyes narrowed.
"No? Who's watching the brats?"
"They're with Ma. She took them with her to Aggie's."
"The hell. I'm not going there. We almost got caught last time."
"Please! I wont chicken on you this time Hal, honest!" She put her hand over his bicep. "Honest, Hal. I want to be your girl."
If she hadn't touched him, it might have been different Angie was just a squirt, but Angie was female
Definitely female.
And female was what he wanted. She wasn't the girl in the Coke ad. She wasn't the cigarette girl with the suggestive mouth. She wasn't the Park Avenue broad with the little poodle But she was here and she was female
"Not there," he repeated obstinately. "I'm not getting Into trouble over you."
"The park?"
He thought about that. The park would have been a fine place, if he hadn't messed it up by getting the Pigs down on him. The park was just the place for a quick tussle in the bushes with a little piece of jail-bait like Angie. But the park belonged to the Tigs at night
On the other hand, it was a big park.
Could he risk it?
"Come on," he said, taking her by the elbow.
He felt her hip bump against him as they walked, She was putting it on good and thick, the little whore. And it was working, too. Every bit of last night came back to him graphically. Her hard little breasts. Her straining thighs, her eager hands.
She was young. But hell, if they were old enough to bleed, they were old enough to slaughter.
There were many entrances to the park. It was a big park, big and wild and rambling. Hal's confidence grew as they neared the opposite end from the one he had entered the previous night. They wouldn't expect him to come there. They wouldn't be looking for him. And Angie's sexy little body did the rest.
To hell with the Pigs.
He ducked down between some tall bushes, pulTing Angie in after him. There was no wall along this end of the park another reason why they wouldn't expect him to dodge in here. And it was far from their meeting grounds.
They skirted the edge of a small artificial pond until they came to a large clump of pine trees. Hal plunged into them, holding Angie's hand tightly in his.
It was like being in a cave, underneath the pines. The long needles on the ground made a dry bed for them to lie on. Faint light from a distant lamp filtered in, but it was very dark.
Angie grew afraid. She shuddered against him.
"Hal ooh, Hal; be nice to me, won't you?"
"Sure, Angie," he said, stroking her.
She was seated next to him, head bowed, waiting for him to make a move. He put his arm around her back under her shoulders and felt for her breast through the blouse. His fingers cupped it gently through the smooth material.
"Oooh!"
"You like that?"
"Yes-I'm not wearing a bra."
Hal snickered.
"What do you need a bra for?"
I'm getting big there, Hal Anderson you ought to know that!"
Hal laughed softly. "Yeah I guess you are all right."
"You can take my blouse off if you want"
"Gee, thanks Angie!" He said it as straight as he could. His hand slipped to the buttons down the front of her blouse, undoing them quickly. The blouse fluttered open, its smooth material sliding easily down over her slim shoulders. He could see the two little bumps of her breasts in the faint light His hand reached out and stroked them, gently at first
They were very warm. Very firm. The little nipples grew hard as rubber erasers under his fingers.
"How come you came after me?" he teased.
"I I was thinking about you all day," she breathed.
"No kidding? What were you thinking Angie."
"About you know; about last night What yoa did to me."
"I didn't do anything to you."
"But almost."
"Have you ever gone all the way?"
She shook her head.
"No."
"Do you want to?"
"I I don't know. It's wrong. I wish you'd stroke me like that again. I I'll touch you, too."
"Gee, that's swell."
"Hal . "
"Uh?"
"You know how it feels when you do that to my breasts?"
"No-ten me."
"Like-like they're melting. Inside. like something hot is pouring down through me and oh, oh!"
He pushed her back against the pine needles.
His mouth found her breast and bit at the nipple.
"Oh!"
Then his hands reached down and wrestled up her skirt until it slid up over her white slim thighs.
He began stroking her legs while he kissed her stiff little breasts.
"Uh uh uh-" she groaned.
His hand slid under the edge of her panties.
"Buh be good to m-me, Hal-"
"You're damn right, Angie baby."
They fell silent, heaving against each other on the bed of pine needles. And then she heard the little sound of a zipper being opened and panic stiffened her body.
"No-not that!"
"Look, stupid what'd you come in here for."
"I I don't want to have a baby."
"God, how could you be so dumb? See this?" He waved something in her face. "This will keep you safe."
"Oh I thought you didn't have one."
"You know what they are then."
"Yes. I found a whole box in my brother's drawer."
"Okay. Relax then, can't you."
"I'm afraid!"
"Shut up! You'll have every guy in the park after you if you don't keep it down!"
That worked. She fell silent and her body relaxed under him. Hal had to contort himself to do everything, but at last he managed to free his clothes and get ready. Then he lifted her knees.
She was ready by then. Scared as a rabbit, but ready. He had caressed her until she was good and ready, and now there was nothing to stop him.
Nothing at all.
Except for the flashlight which blazed suddenly down into his eyes.
CHAPTER THREE
It was like when a deer is startled to immobility by car headlights, only in this case the light was not from an automobile and the deer was a stag.
Hal was caught in the act Or, to be exact, he was caught before the act Caught, as the funny little saying goes, with his pants down or damn near down. They were at half mast
It was not so funny. Hal didn't laugh a bit. Somebody laughed, but it very definitely wasn't Hal. And the laugh had a very final, ominous sound. Hoping against hope, his first thought had been that it was a cop, flushing lovers and would-be lovers out of the foliage.
The laugh told him different. The laugh was younger, more raucous than a cop's would be.
The laugh very definitely belonged to none other than the leader of the Pigs, Punky Jahns.
Then he felt himself being jerked to his feet by two pairs of rough hands, and he knew the jig was very definitely up. His jig was by then very definitely down, but that counted for little. When his eyes grew accustomed to the light, they were looking into the surly face of Punky Jahns. He was being held by two other kids, his arms pinioned to his sides.
"Hi, smart boy," Punky said Hal said nothing.
"What's the matter cat got your tongue? Hey, guys; cat's got smart boy's tongue!" Laughter.
Somebody said: "That's more than she's got," and there was more laughter. Hal didn't even struggle. There wouldn't have been any point in it. And Angie just lay there in terrorized silence. There was little point in her doing anything else, either.
Punky's open hand slammed across his face, making his ears ring like a plucked banjo.
Again.
"Say something, smart boy!" Hal said nothing.
They all moved in closer, forming a circle. Punky held the light to his eyes again, blinding him.
The guy on his left said: "Hell, he's a lover, not a fighter."
"He lost his weapon!"
"He looks pretty tame now."
"Hey; he thinks he's a cop remember? Let's show him what we do with fuzz!"
This time there were nine of them. They began to close in, shoving each other and making the circle smaller.
"Wait a minute!" Punky snarled. "Keep your dukes off him he's mine!"
Hal let his muscles relax. He had been startled, then afraid, but now he felt nothing but a slow icy anger. They could beat him senseless if they wanted to, and have Angie all to themselves. He didn't particularly care about Angie. She'd lived in the neighborhood long enough to know what happened to girls who went into the park after nightfall."
What he couldn't stand was the thought of being mauled by Punky or any of his gang. The taste of fear in his mouth had turned to one of bitter arrogance. He was better than any of them and he knew it. Small time punks, they were, living off a reputation that had been established years ago when gangs were really something. They probably hadn't seen a good rumble in years.
Hal began to laugh.
Punky glowered, "What's so funny, creep?"
"You boys had me scared at first. T guess you really turned the tables on me. Last night you thought I was a cop. I thought you were one tonight."
"Oh, yeah? Well maybe you ought to be sorry we wasn't!" His hand flashed to his pocket and came up with a long slender object, A loud metallic click filled the silence. Punky held the knife inches away from Hal's face. "When we get finished with you, you'll make good bait for river fishing!"
"Go ahead," Hal said calmly. "Cut me." Punky shoved the knife closer, till the point touched Hal's chin.
Hal didn't flinch.
"Tough, huh?" Punky sneered. "Let's see how tough you are. I got a better idea how to use the shiv on you."
He lowered the blade suddenly to where Hal's clothes still hung open.
The silence was deadly. Hal knew Punky might be bluffing, but that was little comfort in this predicament. If it was just between him and Punky, it would have been different. But Punky was the leader, and the leader of a gang like the Pigs can't afford to lose face by idle bluffing. Unless Hal thought of something, Punky would be forced to actually commit the vicious, cruel act he was threatening. That was the danger, the horror of the situation.
Hal made his voice as low and clear as he could.
"You do anything like that," he said, "and I'll get you. No matter what happens to me, I'll get you for it, you damn louse!"
"Go ahead," somebody from the circle urged. "Fix him up good, Punky he's asking for it!"
Hal felt the deathly touch of cold steel against him. He'd pushed it too far Punky had to go through with it now! His legs turned to water and his eyes blurred. If he'd felt arrogant before, now he felt only the mortal fear any male would feel at this real threat against his masculinity. For a moment, the blood roared in his ears; he saw and heard nothing.
Punky was toying with him. He used the flat edge of the blade, prodding and poking. But Hal felt nothing after the first cold thrust. He was numb. Dimly, he realized he was about to faint
A voice saved him. It came to his sinking senses as from some distant place, hollow, unreal. The slipping away of consciousness was momentarily halted.
"The hell," the voice said. "Why don't you fight him, Punky? He challenged you, didn't he?"
Hal opened his eyes to see the plump Jewish kid who had argued with Punky the night before step forward. Punky whirled on him angrily, removing the knife.
"You want some of the same, Jewboy?'
But then another voice spoke up.
"Wait a minute! Maybe Jewboy's right. Let the dude fight if he thinks he's such hot stuff!"
The others began to mumble sounds of agreement.
Punky stood there, short, squat and swarthy, holding the open knife in his hand. He wavered.
It was enough. Hal knew that both of them had been saved by Jewboy's intervention. Punky wouldn't do it now; an excuse was provided which didn't make it look as though he was backing out.
"You guys stink!" he sneered. "Me, I'd just as soon cut it off and hang it from a pole, but if it's going to make you sick I won't do it." He turned back to Hal. "Let go of him."
The two kids at his side released Hal.
"Now," Punky said, "Let's see how good you are with your hands, dude. You going to fight or ain't you?"
"Sure," Hal answered, fixing his pants. He hoped Ms hands weren't shaking. "Just you or all of them, too?"
"Just me, creep. I'm going to stomp the hell out of you."
Instantly, the circle widened and moved out from under the trees, Hal and Punky in the middle.
They were on hard, rocky ground. The moon shone down from atop clouds, making the scene eerie and unreal. like actors on a stage, they took their positions.
Hal crouched, waiting for Punky to attack first. Punky was shorter than he, but had muscles like rocks. They bulged and rippled under his tight tee shirt, perfectly confident of their ability to waste a guy. Hal was well aware of Punky's reputation as not only the toughest but the best fighter in that part of town.
Which meant, of course, the dirtiest.
Punky was shorter than he, but definitely stronger. He couldn't allow him to get a good hold or he'd be crushed by those python-like arms. Mauled and battered by those ham-like hands and kicked by those vicious tough soled boots. Punky looked like an ape, crouching, circling him, showing off his muscles before the gang members.
On the other hand, Hal knew a little bit about gang fighting himself. Not enough, maybe, to take Punky but he'd get at least one good shot in to pay him back for the humiliation he had suffered at Punky's hands. One good shot was all he wanted. Then the bursting fury in his blood would be satisfied; then he could accept the beating that was sure to come to him.
Punky moved close enough for Hal to see the surly sadistic grin on his face.
"Watch yourself, creep," he snarled, feinting with a left.
Hal nearly bit but saved himself in time, back treading quietly. He had reach on his opponent. Once Punky got in, it would be crude, vicious infighting, in which the Pigs leader would have all the advantages.
And then, just as Hal had hoped, Punky became impatient with the game and came barreling in, head down. It was too good to be true. Hal danced aside and clouted him hard with his fist in the side of the neck. The chunky boy stumbled past, nearly falling.
"Uh! You louse I'm taking you now!" He spun, roared, and came barreling in again. Faster this time. Hal wasn't able to avoid him completely. He caught a glancing blow on the side of the head and another in the ribs. He was rocked backward off balance. A searing pain ran up his side.
But Punky became reckless at the smell of blood. He charged once more, fists flying. This time Hal was ready. He ducked quickly under and sent his fist deep into the gang leader's midsection, ignoring the pummeling he was getting. Everything he had went into the blow, and it was nearly enough. A quick uppercut and then a left into the surprised mouth of his opponent drew a rush of blood. The cheering gang fell silent.
Hal wanted to finish it then and there. He had hurt himself, he knew he couldn't hold out long. He aimed several more blows at Punky's face, but Punky had gone into a cover-up crouch that was impenetrable. All Hal connected with was arms and elbows. His knuckles were now bleeding.
With amazing strength, Punky threw him back. Hal, lighter, felt air rushing past him suddenly and only barely stayed on his feet. Then they were apart. Punky yelled something to one of the group watching and a brass colored object flew through the air into his hand. Then he came after Hal again.
Dusters.
Knucks.
Whatever you wanted to call them. Just a simple piece of metal which slips easily over the fingers, around the knuckles and the palm of the hand. You close the hand and its a lethal weapon, as lethal as a club or a pistol. More brutal than a pistol. A pistol is quick, deadly. Dusters are brutal, sadistic They break bones. If you ever come up against a pair of dusters, you'll know. A guy doesn't have to put much behind them to ruin you for life.
Not much at all.
And Punky had plenty to put behind them. Hal knew this. He had thrown just about everything he had at the stocky kid and it hadn't stopped him. Now, with dusters, it was a little like facing a Russian tank with a slingshot
Punky's first ornament glinted evilly in the moonlight as he advanced. Blood was streaming down his chin from the corner of his mouth where Hal had connected. His dull eyes were glazed with a combination of hate and amusement His voice was hoarse and animal-like when he spoke.
"I'm going to kill you now, baby. I'm going to kill jrou slow with these."
Hal side-stepped the first blow. The fist shot past his ear. Again this time tearing flesh.
The dusters were spiked!
The next blow crunched into his rib cage as he Staggered backward, and he felt a spreading warmth go down his side as he fell to the ground.
But every nerve and sinew was now alive as a result of the pain which stung him. He rolled, lashed up with his foot. It caught his lunging assailant in the area of the crotch, stopping him cold.
Punky bent, howling, and Hal arose with a rock in his hand.
A rock. It had been there in the grass, waiting for his wildly groping hand, as if some guardian spirit had put it there. He didn't even remember reaching for it. But now he had it in his hand, and the rumble was going to be more equal.
Maybe more than equal. Punky was still bent, one hand covering his painful area, the other momentarily hanging loosely the one wearing the deadly strip of brass.
Hal lashed out at it with his foot. Connected. The brass went flying into the bushes.
Hal knew he was bleeding, but didn't care. He was elated, drunk with the powerful stimulation of pain and power. He stood over the hunching figure, rock held high.
He struck.
The gang leader went down to the hard ground, rolled over, tried to get up, quit. Blood ran from the side of his mouth and head now, wetting the dry grass. He was moaning softly, like a girl about to be made.
There is a time to kill. It comes to every person's life at least once. You have the motive and you have the means. Most important of all, you have the opportunity.
Hal had all three at that moment. An eerie thrill ran down his spine. The word formed itself deliciously, deliriously, in his fevered mind.
Kill!
He still had the rock In his hand. And the others hadn't moved in on him. They could have taken him, torn him apart, but they weren't moving. The stupid jerks were standing there as if the guy laying on the ground and bleeding was somebody they had never seen before instead of their leader.
Kill!
Why not? It would be easy. One more swing at the prone figure and it would be the end of the crummy louse. He deserved it. Nobody would miss him. Nobody would care whether this miserable bug was on the face of the earth or not. He would be doing everybody a great big service. Kill!
Do it quick, get it over. See how it feels to kill someone. They weren't going to stop him; they didn't care. The Leader was down; damn the leader.
He stepped over to the groaning figure, prodded him with his toe, knowing how the gladiators felt in ancient Rome; knowing what it meant now to have someone's life in the palm of your hand. They hadn't ganged him. It had been man-to-man.
He had the right to kill.
He stood panting over the fallen leader, jagged rock in hand, for a moment becoming Kirk Douglas or Charlton Heston in a big technicolor movie, victorious in the arena.
Then a hand touched him.
"You got nerve, kid going up against dusters like that."
Hal's bloodlust reverie was broken. He turned, flexing his muscles automatically. It was Jewboy.
"How come you didn't jump me?" Hal said Jewboy looked down at his feet, shuffling them nervously.
"Ah, he had it coming right, gang?" There were murmurs of assent. "He was getting all puffed up on his brother's rep his brother's a con, you know up for first degree assault. Micky Jahns used to run the neighborhood, so Punky just took over after he left. None of us like him, but you know, he was real mean and can handle his dukes. Hey we all thought you was a imagine pants! Where'd you learn your stuff?"
Hal shrugged. "I was with the Henry Street Angels before."
Jewboy whistled and held out his hand. "I heard about them! No wonder you gave Punky the works. My name's Lenny Shapiro. You know what they call me. This neighborhood used to be all Jews. I'm the only one left in the world, I guess."
Hal laughed, shaking Lenny's hand. "Thanks, Lenny."
Lenny introduced him to the other guys.
"Duke, Jerry, Finky Fred, Red Blaas, Ratnest, Hunky Joe and Bernie Heeny. You coming in with as now, Hal?"
"Yeah; we need talent like that!" the kid called Ratnest said.
"Sure, come on in man the water's real cool!"
Hal's face grew sullen, evasive.
"Maybe. Where's my chick?"
"She split," Ratnest piped up. T tried to grab her but she was too fast."
Ratnest got boos for that. The toe-head kid called Hunky Joe, a big boned Polack, came up to him and tugged at his shirt.
"Hey you bleeding man, like real blood. You want to come up to the Caves and smoke with us? We got real home grown Pot up there, good for cuts and bruises and like that."
The idea appealed to Hal. Pot was something he had never smoked, though he had seen others do it and was sure he could imitate them well enough to pass as an initiate.
But he wasn't interested in Pot.
He was interested in finding Angie.
"Later," he said. "I've got to find my chick."
But it wasn't as easy as that. The guys gathered around him, angered at his rejection of their invitation. He was still in Pig territory, even if he had vanquished their leader. They meant to let him know this.
"You've got a lot of nerve," Lenny said, "but don't
Eke push ft. Forget that dumb chick, Hal baby you'll find something better at the Indian Caves. C'mon!"
Hal shrugged, reaching in his pocket for a cigarette.
"All right," he said. He jerked his thumb in the direction of Punky. "But what about him?"
Lenny the Jewboy spat at the prone figure.
"Him? Who's he? like we never saw him before. Any of you guys ever see him before?"
They all shook their head or said no.
"Let's go then!"
They left
That end of town was built on a hill, a long sloping hill rising up over the river and looking out over its opposite shores. The park itself included the topmost part of the hill, and had quite a history behind it. Composed mostly of solid granite and igneous glacial rock, it had been inhabited by Indians before the first white man ever set foot on the Northeastern shore of the continent. The Indians of that era lived in natural caves formed by the glacier eons before. These caves were not many, but the tribe was small, and the caves were used mainly for ceremonial occasions. Their fires had burned brightly high up over the river, their rites hidden from view in the cave's gloomy interior.
Much had changed in the several hundred years since the red-skinned savages had been driven out by the white man's advance. A community, then a town, and finally a vast sprawling urban industrial community had grown up along the shores of the river. But in that particular portion of the town which Hal and his newfound friends were visiting, amazingly little had changed. The park was an old one, set aside by the founding fathers to commemorate a massacre which had taken place there or rather, a double massacre. The red man murdered the white man, so, naturally, the white man turned around and murdered the red man. Naturally.
The caves sprawled over a piece of land where nothing had ever been built. It was fenced off, called an Historical Site, and promptly forgotten by everyone except history buffs, Sunday strollers, midnight lovers, and modern day gangs of kids. The last of these reverted back to style: they became the new Cave dwellers. History had run full circle. And the new Cave dwellers, the Pigs, were just as ready to massacre anyone, should the opportunity arise.
Naturally.
Hal stumbled upward over the broken stone steps that led to the caves. It was extremely dark in this central part of the park, no electric lamp had been left undamaged by determined hands. Even drunks, who were known to obtain a night's lodging in various parts of the park, stayed away from this area.
Hal followed Lenny as he left the path and went through the low brush along the side of the hill. Although big towering trees made it near impossible to see, Lenny seemed sure of where he was going. And at last, following a treacherously narrow footpath, they reached the caves.
Hal had seen them before, but by day. Even then, they had been awesome in their silent testimony to something ancient and mysterious, something prior to civilization.
By night they were spooky as hell.
The mouth of the main cave was a darker blob set against the darkness of the side of the mountain. A couple of kids switched on pencil lights and they entered.
The entrance was small, but deceptively so. Although none of the caves were deep, they were roomier than they appeared from the outside. And Hal suddenly realized they weren't empty. Suddenly all the lights flicked off and he was surrounded by total darkness. His instinct was to dash back out of there, but he realized it was some kind of a test. And he heard someone giggle. A girl.
"Hey what gives?" he said, his voice resounding hollowly.
No one answered. He felt hands grasp at him, pull him along the wall to the deepest corner of the cave, which instead of going straight back, slanted into the side of the hill in a twisting motion. Not knowing what to do, he let himself be guided, fearing he had walked right into a trap. If they wanted revenge for what he had done out there in the park, there was little he could do to stop them now. He couldn't see his hand in front of his face.
And then, just as suddenly, the place was blazing with light.
Hal blinked stupidly at the scene before him.
It was unbelievable. He had heard rumors here and there about what went on in this private domain of the Pigs, but he was hardly prepared for what he saw.
The place was laid out in primitive luxury. Two portable electric arc lamps provided the lighting. Hal saw he was standing in the center of an inner chamber partitioned off from the rest of the cave by heavy woolen army blankets fashioned into curtains which would keep any of the light from reaching outside. Heavy canvas gym mats covered the floor, and kids were on them.
Boys and girls together. They all looked up at him, hard-eyed, staring, measuring him.
One girl, a hard-faced little blonde, looked up at him and said: "So he's the guy who beat the hell out of Punky, huh? Come here, sweetie let me feel your muscle."
"Shut up, Joan," Lenny said. "Don't be so goddamned greedy. Let Hal get used to the setup."
The others laughed at that and the tension was broken. Lenny began to introduce Hal around to the other members of the club. There were five more besides the ones Hal had already met, and there were a total of six girls present at the meeting. All of them wore heavy eye make-up, pale lipstick or no lipstick, and had their hair teased out in the latest teenage fashion. They all looked at him with obvious interest, competing for his attention. Hal was surprised that everyone knew about the fight already, but Lenny explained that a member bad run ahead and told them all about it.
"We all expected you to end up with a shiv in your back," the blonde named Joan said, taking his arm possessively. "I'm glad you didn't. You're cute, honey. Want to smoke with me?"
Hal sat down next to her cross-legged on a mat, rather stiffly, the wounds of his fight still throbbing. He had dried blood all over the front of his shirt and on his face and head, but nobody seemed to be bothered about it rather, they looked at this real evidence of battle with admiration.
"I hear you cooled him," a bushy-haired kid said, leaning toward Hal. "I hear you really wasted the jerk. Tell us about it."
Hal shrugged. "He was dumb. He acted like nobody had ever seen dusters before."
"Were you really with the Angels?" another kid said respectfully.
"Sure he was!" Lenny said. "Where else would he learn how to take a guy wearing knucks? He's all right, too. He was on pro a year for swiping car radios."
"Hey, want to see some of our loot?" the bushy-haired kid said. "We got anything you can name radios, clocks, watches, baseball mitts, guns-"
"Knock it off!" Lenny said sternly, taking command of the group. "He ain't in yet. We don't show him anything until he's in."
"Yeah? What's he doing here then?" someone wanted to know.
Lenny grinned. "He wants to see some of our hospitality. Then he'll be in-right, Hal, baby?" Hal nodded.
Joanie leaned over and kissed him on the neck. "That's a start," she said in a low sexy voice. "You got more after we share a joint."
It was all pretty fast and pretty overwhelming, but Hal relaxed and began to get with it. The Pigs, he decided, weren't such bad guys after all. And Joanie was a swell chick, all of sixteen and well built, with a sexy little figure and boobs that pushed out at the front of her sweater like they were going somewhere in a hurry. And, sore as he was, he had an idea just where they ought to go.
Somebody cut the juice on the arc lamps until the room became very dim, and it was very nice, sitting there with his arm around Joanie. He began to admire their setup. He began to see all the advantages to joining the Pigs that he had been missing. He felt like a celebrity, a king, a visiting potentate or something like that. He forgot all about little Angie and the hots he had had for her. Joanie was built better, rounder, despite the toughness of her face. He wanted to take her right then and there, but he realized there was a formal procedure that had to be followed.
The procedure was simple. Somebody turned on a trans-oceanic short wave radio, probably copped from a downtown department store, and softly sensuous jazz began to play.
Then a guy handed them a thin brown cigarette and said, "Here turn on, blow up, live modern." He snickered and was gone.
They huddled together against the wall of the cave, Hal letting Joanie take the joint and light h. She sucked hungrily at it, firing the end to hot orange ash, closing her eyes and holding the inhaled marijuana fumes down as if she meant never to give them up again.
Then she handed the stick to Hal and he did the same.
It was good. Very comfy and very cozy, very warm and very nice, with Joanie stroking him and leaning her head against his chest and purring like a kitten. Hal smoked carefully, wary of getting a high too fast. The others were all doing the same. He noticed casually that there were not enough chicks to go around, but the members had accommodated themselves to that situation nicely. On some of the mats as many as three guys were huddled around a single girl.
Hal watched distractedly, the joint he smoked was giving him a pleasant detached feeling. On the next mat, a girl was getting her legs stroked by one guy and her breasts by another. A third was busy taking off her clothes, which was not much of a job as it turned out. She was wearing a sweater and skirt and nothing underneath.
It was funny. He found himself giggling at the sight of it three guys and a girl on a mat. Very funny. How the hell did they expect to do anything that way?
Joanie took the nearly smoked-down joint from him and put it in her mouth. Hal slipped his hand up under her sweater and found her breasts to be bare, also. Very nice. Very convenient. He played with them idly as he watched the activity on the next mat. It was just like sitting in the balcony at the movies only the shows on film were never as good as this.
Now, the guys had gotten undressed, too. He could see all of them in the dim light a shadowy trio enacting a very strange little scene.
And suddenly, he realized he knew the girl.
Lila. Good old Lila, his first and damn near only make since coming into the neighborhood. Cute little, sexy little, insatiable little Lila-
About to be satisfied.
Joanie was watching now, too. Both his hands were under her sweater, touching her there, enjoying what his fingers were doing to them, the tips standing tall at attention like soldiers in front of an inspecting officer, their pebbly surface rough and excited
But it was fun to watch. By silent mutual agreement they watched, stimulating each other and being stimulated by the three ring circus on the next mat. The joint was smoked down past reusable size, so they crushed against the stone wall, discarded it.
Things were at the launching stage now on the next pad. The boys wrestled Lila into position, and a very unique position it was. But it had to be, all things considered.
Lila was half-standing, half kneeling. One boy was half under her, the other kneeling in back of her. The third was standing up and stroking her hair as he encouraged her.
Lila was satisfying all of them at once.
Her generosity was outdone only by her versatility, which is saying a lot
She seemed to be enjoying her role as a human pincushion.
They all were. The heaving human mass on the pad were as busy as a bunch of bees, servicing the queen. Hal laughed. Joanie stroked him.
Hal realized he was excited. That was funny, too, and he laughed at that. It was very funny, discovering he was excited like that. Usually, when you are excited you know it right away, from the first titillating little ticklish sensation. There's no mistaking it and you enjoy every minute of getting there, which is the way sex is meant to be enjoyed.
But this time he was just all of a sudden there, and it was very funny because he didn't remember becoming excited at all stroking Joanie's breasts had been a matter-of-fact friendly little gesture, like saying hello or having a Coke together.
But when she squeezed him he knew he was ready. It was like discovering the North Pole the way they do in comic books a real pole standing there.
Hal laughed again and pulled Joanie's sweater up over her head.
She had nice breasts. Very nice breasts. They were as nice to look at as they had been to feel, and now It was nice to look at them while he felt them. And she was wriggling against him in a highly agitated manner, trying to get at him.
"C'mon sweetie can't you see I'm ready?" she whispered.
"Oh yeah, sure you're ready," he said, laughing and taking his time unzipping her skirt. "I'm ready too see?"
"Umm! You've been ready for a long time, baby!"
"Have I?" He was surprised.
"Of course. How ready does a boy have to get? I've never seen one so ready. God, I'm glad he didn't cat you like they said he was going to!"
"Me, too," he giggled. "That would have spoiled everything, wouldn't it?"
"Oh-don't talk about that!"
"I won't. I don't want to talk. This is more fun." He yanked at her skirt. She moved her buttocks and it slid down over her round thighs.
She had a very small waist. But her hips flared wide and her thighs and calves were white and smooth muscled In the dim light, Hal could see she wasn't a real blonde. either. But that didn't matter. The hell with real blondes.
He liked brunettes too.
Hal began to take off his shirt. "Leave it on."
"It's bloody."
"I know. I like that. I want it against me. Just take off your pants, honey leave the shirt on."
"Okay."
Hal did as she said.
Then they moved around on the pad. He leaned her back and moved atop her writhing little body and, mouth to mouth, they began a wildly erotic little duet. He filled his hands with her breasts, pushed his mouth hard against hers until her tongue came sliding through to meet his, and his knees forced themselves inside her soft white thighs.
"Oh, baby!" she groaned.
She liked it. She was wild for it, warm for his form. She acted crazy, biting him and scratching his back and whispering in his ear, telling him in plain terms what she wanted him to do to her.
Hal found it fun for him too, but in a different way than it had ever been before. It wasn't the most excited he had ever been, but it was fun in another way. The marijuana seemed to slow things down for him, but in a pleasant way. Her reaction was to become hot and passionate, a hellcat. But with him, it seemed as if he had a million years to do it in. And this only made her more eager and passionate, which made him in turn enjoy delaying it more. He was ready and it wasn't going to go away. There was no rush.
He did everything he knew of to tease her, raise her passion to the bursting point. He took her breast to his lips and nipped the nipple. He kissed her and he teased her with his hand. He pretended to begin and be held back at the last moment.
He drove her nearly out of her head.
And then, while he was teasing her like that, he felt ft happen. Her back arched and her body stiffened like a longbow. A shudder went through her and he felt a spasm tremble her thighs.
"Ahh!"
That was so funny he almost laughed out loud. She'd gotten there, gone all the way, and he hadn't even begun! So he did the only thing there was left for him to do. He began.
CHAPTER FOUR
IT was a nice feeling, being king. Hal enjoyed ft He enjoyed the feeling of warm water rushing over his naked body as he stood under the shower in his bathroom. It eased the soreness in his muscles and brought all the cells of his skin to fresh tingly life. Tenderly, he examined the place in his side where the spikes of the duster had ripped into flesh.
It wasn't as bad as he had thought. Punky hadn't hit him squarely, or he might have had a broken rib to explain to his parents instead of a few bruises and scratches. And they hadn't seen this, the bad one. The water rushing over his body started it bleeding a little bit again and he decided to finish up the shower, relaxing as it was, and get dressed for the evening. The last bit of soap rinsed away from his body. He turned off the tap and stepped out of the shower stall onto the bath mat.
He looked at himself in the full length mirror on the back of the bathroom door.
He looked good. His muscles were hard and firmed up. His stomach was flat. He was proportioned well, with a good-sized chest and lean, muscular biceps. Hal the fighter. Hal the lover. Hal the King.
The marks on his face didn't look too bad, either. They could be covered up with talc easy enough. He wanted to look sharp at the dance. There would be lots of chicks there. Good pickings, and he could pick the best Which was just about what he intended to do. Only the best was good enough for him now.
Joanie wasn't the best. She was good. She was smooth and racy and she had a nice little gear box and the gears shifted like synchromesh. But Joanie wasn't the best.
A day or two ago she would have been. Sure, twenty-four no. make it forty-eight hours ago, he would have jumped at the chance just to get one little squeeze of her nice round boob that was how hungry he had been.
But that was before he became a kingpin. The hub of the wheel. The Man.
Now everything was changed. Now he was getting ready for a dance, and they would know him when he walked in. Hal the Terrible. Hal the Tiger. The chicks would love him, the guys would whisper about him. Overnight he had become a new person, a celebrity.
And all he had to do was to knock a guy senseless.
At first he hadn't believed it, that he could do k. Even afterward, it had seemed like a fluke. Punky was older, tougher. Punky had sent a kid to the hospital who was twice Hal's size and weight.
But Hal had won. That made all the difference m the world whether you were a winner or a loser. New status was now conferred; no one could ignore him now. And it seemed to him, thinking back on the whole thing, quite natural that he should have won. He had been faster, smarter Muscles weren't everything. Brains count, too. Brains and guts. You had to have brains and guts to make it, and he had both. Brains-Guts.
It was good to be a winner.
Hal finished toweling himself dry, then slipped rate fee underwear he had laid out on the toilet seat before getting under the shower. He turned on the cold water in the sink and began to comb his hair, carefully, making sure he achieved the right effect. His long blonde hair glistened smoothly without the aid of tonic He combed it back flat along both sides, carefully shaped the curl in front, allowing it to dip down over his forehead slightly. Then he ran the brush over the sides, sealing the damp hair in place, and checked it once again.
Perfect He wanted to look perfect tonight at the Youth Club dance. Suave and casual on the surface, hard as nails underneath. Cool.
The bathroom door started banging. His sister's voice came from the other side.
"Hey! What are you doing in there? There wont be any hot water left for my bath!"
Ignoring her, Hal reshaped his hair.
"Come on Hal I can't wait all day!"
"Go to hell," he muttered.
"What? What did you say?"
"I said, Go-To-Hell!" He threw the comb angrily at the bathroom door. It hit with a satisfying crack, venting some of his anger at not having any privacy around his own home. Home? Hell; he hardly belonged here at all.
His sister continued to pound on the door, irritating him. This was the way it always was she came first; he had no rights at all. And the old man would back her up, too he always did whenever they fought over something. It had always been that way. It would until the day he got out
When?
He stepped to the door quickly, slipped off the knob lock, and yanked it open. His sister, dressed as she always was around the house, in nothing more than a slip, nearly fell into him.
"Oh! Damn you, you nearly made me fall!"
"Too bad," he jeered. "Next time try knocking politely-pretend like you're a lady or something!"
Quick tempered, Sally began to swing at him with her open hand.
"You little brat, I'll show you-"
But Hal slapped her arm away easily, and in ha anger caught her by the shoulder, spinning her. She went crashing against the wall and, slipping on the bath mat, he fell against her roughly.
He hadn't meant to hurt her. He hadn't laid a hand on her since a year ago, when his old man had beaten him up for it. But now, leaning against her and looking down into her pretty surprised face, he felt a sudden desire to hurt her good, make her feel his naked strength for once and for all. He twisted her arm until her mouth fell open in pained surprise.
"You you'll be sorry," she breathed. "I'm going to tell Pa about this!"
"Go ahead," he snarled. "And tell him about this, too, while you're at it!" While he held her wrist with one hand, he drew back and gave her a sharp backhanded blow across the face with the other. Her head jerked sideways like a doll's. When she opened her eyes again and looked at him, Hal saw that for the first time in her life she was afraid of him. Afraid, but not completely subdued. Making a claw of her long fingernailed hand, she lunged for him, breaking his hold.
Again Hal moved quickly, knocking her arm aside, but as he did so his hand caught the top of her slip. There was a sound of silk ripping as it gave way.
Hal stood there looking at her naked breasts.
This time she didn't move. She stood there cringing against the wall, trying unsuccessfully to cover herself up with her hands. Her hands were inadequate. They were too small for that particular job.
"I I hate you!" she breathed.
Hal said nothing. The sight of his sister standing mere with her slip ripped down to her navel did something to him. He remembered suddenly all the little games they used to play together, their bodies pressed dose side by side in the small cheap bed in the old apartment. The fun they had sought and sometimes gained from each other's bodies nights when there had been no heat in the flat and they had had to huddle together, listening to the sounds of the springs coming from their mother and father's bed in the next room of the tiny place. All this came to him in a flash, nearly choking him as he saw changes that had taken place in his sister. She was an "older girl" now almost a woman.
She had a damn neat body on her.
Sally saw the look in his eyes. Her fear changed to that of another kind as she, too, began to see her kid brother in a new light. She began to edge slowly along the wall toward the door.
"Don't touch me!" she half-whimpered. "I swear I'll tell Pa if you do!"
Her voice snapped Hal's mood. He laughed nervously, embarrassed at having his thoughts read so easily.
"Who says I'm going to touch you?" he said disdainfully. He turned back to the sink. "Go on, get out of here. And next time don't barge in on me."
Hal deliberately took his time at the sink after that. And he forced himself to think of other things, such as the evening before him. He was glad he had hit Sally, bat he knew there might be trouble because of it.
To hell with it, he thought, shrugging. If the old man went after him this time, he'd be in for a surprise.
Lenny Shapiro had turned seventeen a month ago. His father owned a butcher shop on Beagle Avenue, where he did well enough to present Lenny with a secondhand Ford convertible on his son's seventeenth birthday. Lenny was waiting in the cream and gold-colored car as Hal came out of his apartment building. Hal walked over and got in. They both lit cigarettes, neither of them in a hurry to get to the dance.
"You look sharp, Killer," Lenny commented, eyeing with approval Hal's camel-colored sports jacket, razor-creased brown pants, off-white button down shirt and sienna string tie.
Hal accepted the compliment without comment. He was inwardly pleased. He was proud of his ability to look sharp. AD the money he had saved from previous part-time jobs some of it a result of dipping into the till had gone into clothes. Instead of letting his mother buy things for him, he always demanded the money, and, together with his, managed to obtain good things. His mother was glad to give. She thought his dressing neat was a sign of reform, that he meant to stay out of trouble now that he had taken an interest in his appearance. She couldn't understand why he didn't get correspondingly better marks in school. But she wanted him to be popular, too. Being popular was just as important as getting good marks, and to be popular you had to dress the way the "nice" boys did. That was the extent of her thinking on the subject of Hal's school career. Somehow he managed to eke through each semester without failing, and that was enough for her.
"You got anything in the glove compartment?" Hal said, running his fingers over the padded dash of the convertible admiringly.
"Sure," Lenny said. "I got a pint. Want to go somewhere and swig now?"
"I don't know what about the girls?"
Lenny waved his hand deprecatingly. "They'll wait. I told them we'd meet them at the dance."
"Okay, let's taste then."
Lenny started up the car and they drove away. The car twisted through narrow side streets as Lenny gunned it recklessly toward the avenue. They turned left into the bright lights and noisy evening traffic, up the boulevard for seven blocks, and then right into side streets again. Lenny finally parked the car about two blocks away from the church where the hop was to take place.
He reached into the glove compartment and brought out a pint in a bag. Keeping the bag tight around the neck of the bottle, he unscrewed the cap and offered k to Hal.
"You're first, Killer bottoms up!"
Hal took the bottle and sniffed it. He recognized the odor of bourbon, its alcoholic tinge tightening his guts. Then he put the mouth to his lips, tilted it, and took a quick swig. He wasn't used to whiskey. The few times he had tried it, it had made him sick, but he put such thoughts out of his mind as he determined to show Lenny he could handle booze as good as anyone. Nevertheless, the whiskey burned over his tongue and raged fire down his throat, threatening to regurgitate itself, and tears stung his eyes. But with an effort, he managed not to gag, and in a moment he was all right again.
"Some stuff," he muttered. "Make it yourself?"
"Hey I resent that, Killer. That's the old man's finest bonded bourbon. He'd skin me alive if he knew I snitched it. Here, give me some."
Hal handed the bottle back to Lenny and lit himself a cigarette. The whiskey settled in his stomach, giving off a slow, spreading warmth. He felt his blood quicken to the expected pleasures of the evening which lay ahead. He could see couples, arm-in-arm, drifting past in the direction of the church. It was going to be all right. It was going to be one hell of a ball tonight.
He turned to Lenny. "This chick you got for ma you sure she's all right?"
Lenny's almost olive-colored face broke into a white-toothed grin.
"Sure what do you think I am, a fink or something? I fixed you up with a real nice broad., Wanda Sue's a looker, and she's heard all about you. She's dying to meet you. The rest is up to you, baby and by the looks of things you won't have any trouble. Unless you're shy around chicks you ain't shy, are you Killer?"
"Nuts, I'll get to home base in the first inning. I just wanted to know the score with her, that's all."
They both had another swig and sat smoking. Hal was feeling good now, primed for action. If Wanda Sue was half as good as Lenny described her, she'd be a tasty piece. Nothing could spoil it for him now. He was in, and he liked it.
"How do you feel about being in the Pigs?" Lenny asked suddenly.
Hal thought. "It's okay, I guess," he said finally.
"You don't sound too convinced."
"Sure, I like it fine. Only..."
"Only what?"
Hal blurted it out despite himself, the whiskey loosening his tongue. "You know it's kind of kid stuff." Hal was sorry he'd said it immediately afterward. It didn't pay to get too puffed up like that. He liked Lenny and didn't want to lose his new friend by appearing too conceited.
Lenny's voice was serious when he spoke again. "You know it's funny you should say that I've been thinking the same thing lately."
Hal was surprised. "You have?"
"Yeah. like, you know most of the guys are younger. I think the gang's folding anyway."
"Really? It didn't look that way Sunday night, man."
Lenny brushed this aside. "It was due to happen.
The neighborhood's changing. Used to be a lot tougher like where you came from. Oh, I don't mean the Pigs are dying out. But they don't stick together so much you saw what happened when you beat Punky. Hell, they were glad. Jeez, I remember a time when if a strange kid came in and did that, they would have stomped his rear good before he ever had a chance to finish it"
"Sure that's the way it was in my old neighborhood."
"And there hasn't been a real rumble-you know, like a mob scene in a long time. Soft, they're getting. Sure, it's fun to smoke pot and make the Junior High tramps, but like if they were ever really threatened . . .
"You mean like another gang?"
"That's it. Listen; I heard rumors that some of the West Street Marauders may be at the hop tonight, so watch yourself. You're going to be identified as the Leader, now we don't exactly have one."
"If they want trouble, they'll get it!"
"Sure, and we'll back you up, too. But those guys light mean, so watch it."
"I can take care of them."
"Sure you can, Killer!"
"Let's have another belt and then go pick up oar chicks."
"Right!"
They each had another drink from the bottle and men Lenny stowed it back in the glove compartment, locking it.
"There'll be plenty of booze at the hop," he explained, getting out of the car. "Well have this for later, with the girls."
"Swell. We'll fill them up with passion juice and men ball them, man!"
They got out of the car, laughing and slapping each ether on the back, and in this fine and light-hearted mood stumbled down the dark street in the direction of the hop.
The dance was in the cellar of the church. The young priest who had taken over the parish a year ago had made the large finished basement available for such purposes, being a civic and social-minded person who wanted to cooperate with the authorities in helping stamp out juvenile crime.
The idea behind it all was simple. Kids were rebellious and full of animal spirits. Of course. They liked things they weren't supposed to like-like sex, for instance-and did things they weren't supposed to do like kick each other's brains out, for instance.
Naturally.
Well, the thing to do was to organize all this rebellious animal spirits up into some adult-run activity, like a dance or a basketball game or a hike up Mudge Mountain. Keep them off the streets. Keep them doing things and make them do things they thought they wanted to do anyway. like rock 'n roll for instance. Or the Twist. Or the Mashed Potatoes or the Pony Express or the Slump or the Slop whatever the latest fad was, organize it and let them let off steam with it. Hire a hall, let 'em stomp the floorboards instead of each other.
So the local priest and the local rabbi and the local minister and the local social worker and the local precinct captain got together on it and pretty soon the kids were rocking and rolling and twisting and shimmying in the cellars of churches and in school auditoriums, often to the music of bands and young entertainers who in a few years would make a million dollars out of the whole enterprise, going on TV and selling things like chewing gum, Twisting shoes, Kookie combs and cures for assorted acne and pimples.
Everybody was happy.
Why not?
The priest and the social worker were happy because they were doing good.
The cop was happy because other people were helping him do his job of keeping gangs off the streets.
The TV sponsor was happy because he was making oodles of money selling chewing gum and soft drinks and candy bars (not to mention cigarettes and beer) to a ready-made market.
Hal and Lenny were happy because they were going to be boffed.
"I don't see them," Hal complained in front of the church. "I thought they were going to meet us out front!"
"They probably went on in," Lenny explained confidently. "Come on; let's see what's happening down there."
They went around to the side entrance where they could hear the visceral twanging of a fender bass coming up the basement entrance way. Lights blazed through the cellar windows, showing a crowd moving briskly on the dance floor.
"There she is," Lenny said at a window, pointing. "See that redhead near the post that's Wanda Sue."
Hal saw. She was dressed in a tight fitting powder blue sheath which clung to her curvy figure like sprayed-oh plastic. She stood in profile, leaning against a post which had been decorated with bright red crepe paper like a candy cane. Hal could see the outline of her thigh clearly twin springy curves narrowing down to an exposed dimple knee, and then the strong fleshy calf below. Her breasts looked like twin cannon shells pushing at the top of her blue sheath.
She was nice. She was about the nicest thing he had laid eyes on lately. And the big jerk standing there next to her obviously thought she was nice, too he was practically drooling all over her. Hal couldn't blame him. Hal got a lump in his throat just standing there watching her, and his fist bailed up in anger at the guy cutting his own time with her.
He pushed himself away from the window.
"Let's go. That leech is going to eat five knuckles if he, don't buzz off."
They hurried down the steps. Lenny nodded to a little balding man at the door and they walked past. The floor was packed with twisting, swirling young bodies teen-agers with serious, intent looks on their faces as they danced to the music of a small combo of musicians not much older than themselves.
When they reached the other side, Wanda was still standing there, and so was the guy talking to her a tall Puerto Rican kid with dark brows and pock-marked skin. They were both holding dixie cups in their hands and smiling.
Lenny barged in between them.
"Hi, Wanda we were looking all over for you. Where's Jane?"
Caught by surprise, Wanda, turned, and Hal saw that she had a very cute face to match her figure.
"You're late," she frowned. "Jane's in the little girl's room. And this, I suppose, is the terrible Hal Anderson?" She gave Hal a wry smile, repaying him for making her wait.
Hal stepped up to her, a little awed by her looks but not wanting to show his nervousness.
"Hi. Sorry we got hung up, but you know how it is."
"No how is it?" she teased.
Hal grinned. "It looks very nice from here." He nodded toward the floor. "Let's get out there and make it with the others, honey."
The Puerto Rican started to protest.
"Hey, wait a minute-"
Hal froze him with a glance, taking Wanda's arm and shoving her drink into the Puerto Rican kid's hand, "Take two buddy they're small!"
And with that he pulled his date out into the moving crowd, leaving Lenny and the Puerto Rican standing mere.
They were doing the Twist. Hal felt loosened by the whiskey he had drunk and found no trouble falling into the rhythm of it, and as soon as Wanda saw his skill she joined in with equal earnestness. The music was loud and fast and the sight of Wanda's swiveling body, her alternately thrusting thighs and jiggling breasts, did things to him. Their eyes locked; they faced each other, moving, almost but not quite touching, and somehow their supple motions seemed to define an embrace that was more intimate than physical contact itself. They were with it just like that.
And they were good. Others slowed down or stopped dancing altogether in order to watch them as they threw everything into it.
Faster and faster.
Hal circled around her, sank to his knees while maintaining the rapid revolving motion, rose again, leaned toward her, backed away....
When it was over, they drew applause. Then the band began playing a slower number and she glided into his arms. The contact of her breasts against his chest was electric; he could feel their firmness even through clothing. He held her intensely and they began to sway to the slower tempo.
"You're good," she said, leaning into him. "How come I never saw you before at any of the dances?"
"I've been to some," he said. "But I didn't see you either, or I'd have come to all of them. Lenny wasn't kidding when he said you were a looker. Were you his girl?"
"Sort of. I mean, we had a few dates, that's all. He's not my type, really."
"What's your type?"
"You. You're my type, honey. I like the way you look and I like the way you dance. Do you have a car?"
Hal frowned. "No. But Lenny does."
"I know Lenny does, honey. Only I was hoping you had one, too. You know so we could go by ourselves later."
"I had one," Hal lied. "But I smashed it. I figure on getting one soon, though. This guy's been trying to sell me his rod and I'm waiting for him to come down a Utile."
Wanda signaled her approval by moving in even closer. Her breasts burned into him like live coals and she let her pelvis slump forward as they swayed against each other. If the music had been a little faster, they would have been doing the Dirty Boogie. As it was, Hal was afraid of being embarrassed afterward. But right then it was sweetly agonizing and he felt like he could go on forever like that. But. the number ended and the band got up to take a break.
"Look," he said, pointing. "Lenny and Jane are over there. You go sit with them till I come back, okay?"
She gave him a wide smile. "You bet, darling. Only hurry back."
They parted. Hal threaded his way through the crowd toward the men's room, nodding and saying hello too kids he recognized, most of them members of the Pigs. He was hot all over for Wanda now and angered and frustrated over not having a car to take her for a drive right then and there. The invitation had been clear. She liked him as much as he liked her. and she didn't look like the kind who would tease. He needed time to collect himself before seeing her again.
The John was crowded and dense with smoke, since smoking wasn't supposedly allowed in the recreation loom. Guys stood along the walls or at the urinals, dragging on red hot butts and blowing the smoke toward a small open window. Even so, the atmosphere was heavy with nicotine fumes.
He waited for a stall to open and then he moved.
A hand fell on his shoulder.
Hal turned his head, not able to move away, and saw the tall Puerto Rican with the dark eyebrows looking at him.
"Hello, dancer."
Hal was conscious of the sudden silence in the room. The Spic kid continued to grin intimidatingly.
"Shove off, creep," Hal said softly.
"That's no way to talk. I was just being friendly." He looked around at the other faces in the room. "Wasn't I being friendly, guys?"
They didn't say anything. But Hal knew by their silence that he had stepped into a nasty situation. They were all with the Spic and two of them had moved in front of the door, blocking it to further entrance. He remembered Lenny's warning from before, an icy feeling ran down his spine. He was dumb to have come in here without making sure some of the guys lounging around were Pigs. He didn't recognize any of these faces, but he had a good idea where they were all from. West Street. It figured.
"All right, what do you want?" Hal said, looking straight ahead.
The Spic's face showed phony innocence. "I just wanted to like talk, is all. You got time to talk, don't you dancer?"
"Sure. Go ahead and talk all you want!"
"Well, I don't like the way you cut in on me out mere. That wasn't sociable like"
"She's my date."
"Come on now you kidding me."
"I said she's my date."
"That swell piece? What makes you think you rate staff like that?"
"Why don't you ask her, stupid!"
The Spic stepped closer, nearly pushing Hal against the stall.
"Don't give me that! I heard she was supposed to be with the leader of the Pigs!"
"That's right," Hal nodded, not flinching.
The Spic hesitated a moment, then laughed loudly.
"You? A pretty-boy like you the chief honcho? Since when?"
"Ask Punky Jahns about that if you want to," Hal said coolly.
"Yeah?" The Spic thrust his face close to Hal's pointing at a white scar along his chin. "You see that? Punky gave me that a year ago. You trying to tell me you beat him now?"
Hal laughed in the Spic's face.
"He wasn't that tough. Maybe you were sleeping when he cut you."
The Spic's dark eyes blazed with fury, but he didn't press.
He shrugged. "Okay, dancer. Maybe I got you wrong. Maybe you are the man now come to think of it, I don't see the Punk around tonight. T came to give him a special message, too."
"Punky's all finished. And if you guys try to gang me here, you won't make it out that door."
As if to back up Hal's words, a pounding began on the John door.
It couldn't have been better timed. The Spic, suddenly not so sure of himself, told the kids guarding the door to unlock it. When they did, Lenny, Ratnest and Hunky Joe came rushing in.
"What's going on?" Lenny demanded. "Somebody trying to rough you up, Killer?"
Hal shook his head. "Nah these guys just decided to come all the way up from West Street to see toe scene. At least, that's what they say"
"Yeah? Maybe they're looking for a rumble," Hunky Joe chimed in, towering over one of the Marauders near the door. "You guys looking for a rumble maybe?"
Spic stepped forward. "Anytime you guys want k, we're ready!" His boys fell in behind him and the two groups faced each other threateningly. A mere movement en anyone's part would set off the mayhem
But at that moment the door burst open and the little balding guy who had been at the door earlier walked up.
"Okay, okay you guys; bust it up! I don't know what's been going on in here and I don't want to but if there's trouble you're all going to wind up downtown!"
"Fuzz," somebody muttered. "Might have known they'd stick a goon in here."
"Now you guys beat it out of here! If you can't en-toy yourself like civilized people, well close the whole shindig down for keeps!"
There was angry muttering and some defiant snickers, but one by one they began moving toward the door.
Outside, Lenny grabbed Hal by the arm and steered him away from the others.
"Let's get out of here," he said. "The girls ate plenty mad. Those guys aren't going to try anything now. And if they want a rumble, they know where to find us anytime."
The girls were waiting impatiently at the table. When Lenny suggested they go for a ride, Wanda got up. "Let's. This place is getting fall of creeps!"
"Don't worry," Lenny laughed. "Old Killer here can handle them all. Why, he had your Spic friend backed into a corner, ready to shove him down the drain. Lucky we stepped in to save him."
"Oh, baby let me feel your muscle," Jane said, feeling Hal's arm.
Lenny frowned. "Lay off you're mine tonight! And don't you forget that, sweetie or you'll end up walking."
Wanda said nothing as they left and Hal was a little troubled by her blank expression.
They drove West, then up along the river. A good drive, a nice drive. It was a clear night, clear enough to see the lights from other cars driving along the other highway on the other side of the river if you were interested.
Hal wasn't interested. Not in that. He had gotten in the back seat with Wanda and he was interested in other things.
Two things. They rested under his nose, giving off a scent that was partly store-bought and partly homegrown. Giving off a warmth that was all home grown and a softness that was as nice and firm as foam, but nicer because it wasn't foam. It was all real, all natural, and all home-grown. His hands, exploring the way hands will explore in back seats of convertibles, had told him that quite soon after getting into the car.
Wanda hadn't stopped him. Maybe she took pride in her homegrown products; wanted to show right away that they were not phony like some girls' her age; establish that they weren't the invention of some eighty-dollar a week designer in a Junior Miss brassiere manufacturer's design department. When his hand plunged in. they found a bra, but the bra wasn't padded. Not with foam, anyway. Both cups were full of what they were supposed to be full of.
Breasts.
There are breasts and breasts and more breasts. They run in pairs and may be shaped like pears, or apples or persimmons, or melons, or not like fruit at all. They range from mere bumps to foothills to mountains. They may be high, low, widespread, spreading or compact.
They are generally nice.
Wanda's boobs were more than nice.
They were superb.
Perhaps that remark needs qualifying. If there are so many kinds of breasts, such as the ones just described, which of these types is qualified to receive the adjective superb?
Answer: just about any of them. Contrary to popular mythology, it's not the size that counts. Nor is it always the shape. And if it isn't the size or shape, it must be something else. The "something else" is not easy to define, either. Perhaps the best definition, when none is quite satisfactory, is tone. Tone is something that communicates itself to you when you touch a breast; no other way. You can gape at a hundred or a thousand slick photographs of breasts, and still you won't know much about tone. Oh, some will look livelier and more touchable than others, of course but photographs in slick magazines are gone over with an artist's airbrush, so that the tone may be quite artificial. The girl who poses for the Naughty Nude picture magazine may have breasts as tired and done-in as an old punching bag, bat when the artist gets done with them they look as fresh as a newly filled five-and-dime balloon.
Ergo: the touch test is the only valid one.
Wanda's breasts were damn near perfect Just as a good set of seventeen-year-old breasts should be: not yet overblown, but close to the fullest size they would ever attain. And Wanda was the type of girl whose breasts would define the character of her physique fn general. Breasty.
Breasty is as breasty does, and Wanda did very well. She let Hal touch almost immediately, and, what sight had merely promised, touch soon fulfilled. He slipped his hand inside the low cut top of her sheath and found that her breasts were lively and had very good tone. The tone was pure and clear as bells, which they in some ways resembled. The one said ding, the other said dong. Not loud enough so you could hear them, but loud enough so you could feel them. But then, who wants to fool around with noisy breasts?
Wanda's breasts were not noisy, and neither was Wanda. In fact, if anything she was a little too quiet. This worried Hal. She didn't resist him, but neither did she climb all over him the way Joanie had that night in the cave. That would have been difficult, considering the fact they were in the undersized back seat of a convertible moving about seventy some odd miles an hour along the open highway, but Hal had expected more response on her part, judging from the way she seemed to have taken to him earlier. Not that he wasn't happy about having lively breasts to fill his hands and salt his tongue. That was hardly a score to complain on. But Wanda herself seemed to have become rather remote and indifferent which is the way you might expect a whore to act while you are giving her the business, but certainly not a high school sex-pot and a knockout redhead to boot who has already told you she thinks you're hot stuff.
When he kissed her, her lips were relaxed rather than receptive. Worse, when his hand went to her knees with the idea of investigating those strong thighs, her legs closed.
Not good.
It was okay if you just had a mind to take a ride sm the country and cop a few feels. But not good if you had a mind to find out what those strong sexy thighs felt like wrapped around your rib cage.
Hal definitely had a mind for the latter. He was primed. His fuse was lit and the whole works was threatening to go off before the dynamite ever got ignited. He felt jerky as a kid on his first date pawing for his first frantic affair, which was disconcerting as hell, because this was neither.
So he decided to change tactics. He decided if she wanted to fool around and come on cool after leading him on, there was another way to get her warmed up besides caressing the hell out of her boobs.
He asked Lenny for the bottle from the glove compartment. It took Lenny a few minutes to disentangle himself from Jane, driving as he was with one hand, and open the glove compartment. But Lenny managed, and Hal got the bottle, which was well over half full.
He took a drink and then handed k to Wanda.
"Go ahead take some!"
"But I don't want any."
"Come on baby don't party poop. This is Mr. Shapiro's finest if you refuse, hell probably kick us both out of his car."
"Well all right"
She took the bottle and drank some, gagging on ft a little.
"Oooh-it's awful that way!"
"Just the first. You got to get your pipes used to it, sweetie. After a few it tastes just like a chocolate malted right Lenny?"
Lenny laughed. "Sure. Don't be a stiff, Wanda. Hal's a real sweet guy; all he wants is for you to enjoy yourself."
Hal realized Lenny must have been watching his unsuccessful attempts to find home base in the rearview. He felt grateful to his pal for the boost, while at the same time wondering how far Lenny had gone with her himself. She was a strange chick, one who ran hot and cold, obviously. His job was to run her thermostat all the way up, and a little fuel from the jug wouldn't hurt his cause a bit. When she finished drinking he pulled her dose to him, nuzzling her cheek.
That taste better?"
"Mmmmm not bad."
His own head began to buzz a little from the strong drink he had chugalugged. When he let his hand slip down inside her dress again, she squirmed
"Hey what's the matter? Something bugging you?"
"Don't do that."
His fingers held her nipple. Despite her words, he felt it stiffen and grow hard as a rock.
"Why? You mad at me or something."
"No."
"You like me, don't you?"
"Oh, Hal you know I do!"
"Well, you're not exactly acting like it," Hal said angrily. "Every time I start warming up to you, you Start blowing cold. Have I got bad breath or something?"
She giggled at that, but her face rapidly turned serious again.
"You like it, don't you?" he insisted, pinching her nipple again.
"Oh! God, yes-I just don't want you to get me so excited, that's all."
Hal was warmer than ever, feeling her breast grown bard under his hand, and in his impatience with her, be cupped her whole breast with his left hand and squeezed it hard
"Ohh!"
"I don't get it, Wanda you like me and you like to do when I do that, but you don't want me to do anything! What the hell's the matter with you?"
She was silent a minute. Then she said: "It's not because I don't like you. That's not it at all, Hal. First I hated you because I thought you stood me up, but then when I saw you I knew right away I couldn't stay mad because my blind date turned out to be the best looking guy in the whole place. I was only talking to that ape to make you good and mad for making me wait like that And then when I saw you and we danced I knew I liked you a whole lot wham! Just like that, and I thought you'd be fun and I didn't care what you we did."
"Okay, so what changed the picture?"
"Nothing. Nothing changed the picture. I still like you a whole lot and I like what you're doing to me now and I don't want it to stop, only I'm scared!"
"Scared? Of what?"
"Of liking you this much, silly! If you squeeze my breasts much more like that I'm going to want you so bad you'll have to do it right here in the back seat and and then you won't like me so much. That's the way boys always are. They like you and they want to do everything nice for you until they get what they want, and then when they've had that, it's all over and that's the end, so-long Charlie!"
"Wanda-"
"And if you think you're going to do just that to me you've got another think coming. Somebody else, maybe. Somebody else I'd let do that. But not you. I like you too much, damn you; and you just sit there squeezing me and thinking what a good time you're going to have when we park somewhere. If you don't let go of me I'm going to bite your hand and "
Hal didn't let go of her breast. Surprised as he was at her outburst, he knew enough not to let go of her breast.
That would have been stupid.
Damn stupid. Because now he knew he had it made. Made in the shade, in spades.
Getting her to drink had been a splendid idea, a brainstorm. Her resistance to alcohol must have been zero, because she was on a talking jag that might go on the rest of the evening if he didn't turn it off. And he knew he could turn it off anytime he wanted to. All along she had been drooling for him and telling herself she wasn't going to do it, but the whisky had loosened her up and made her tell him the score, which was something like sixty-nine to nothing, his favor.
So he didn't remove his left hand from her left breast and she didn't bite it. She began to swear a blue streak at him in between sobs and tears, still trying to talk herself out of it, but Hal knew just what to do to turn it off.
He still had his right hand free.
He used it.
Zip! before she had a chance to close her knees this time, all the way up to Home Base.
And this time when her knees closed they were to late, but they stayed that way.
And she stopped talking.
Hal almost laughed. You had to handle every girl a little bit different. Wanda should have come with a set of directions to save time: press this button up here and it starts talking and telling you how much it loves you. Finger the lower button and it turns off and starts making love to you.
It was as simple as that.
This time she leaned over to kiss him, wriggling her buttocks on the seat like she had accidentally sat on a red hot stove. And it was just about what she felt like. She was all over him, nipping him with her teeth, probing him with her tongue, and finally pulling him right down onto the seat with her, him on top and her on the bottom, her legs scissored around his waist so tight that her leg muscles corded up like soft velvet ropes.
"Love me, love me damn you, oh you louse you, rip my panties off!"
They felt the car turn off the highway and jiggle to a stop under some trees. But that was far away, in another world they were oblivious of the sounds that came from the front seat. That world might have been interesting, too, but it wasn't part of theirs.
Nylon panties are not easy to rip. It takes considerable doing to tear a good pair of nylon underpants because the damn things are strong as hell despite then-light weight and flimsy appearance. Which is why they used nylon in parachute cloth in World War II and why they still use it. It takes either a good man or a lot of determination to rip a girl's panties off her.
But it can be done.
Hal was a good man.
Hal ripped Wanda's panties off her. He had a lot of determination. It would have been easier just to pull them down, which is the normal, accepted way. Get the girl good and ready and then she raises her bottom and you slide them down and your troubles are over, buddy; no sweat, and strain.
On the other hand, if she asks you to rip them off her, you better do it. If a girl's eager enough to want to be ripped, you better damn well go ahead and rip away because a piece that eager is going to be one of the sweetest ones you'll ever have.
The sound of ripping might have been violins as far as Wanda was concerned. Her back arched and her dress went up and her tongue went into Hal's ear like molten honey.
Hal fumbled quickly with his belt and then his clothing. In that brief moment he heard something like a moan or a scream from the front seat. A door slammed and the car rocked, but these dull sensations came as from far off. His whole interest was pointed at the seat beneath him. Desire swelled in him until he felt as big as the Empire State building. A glimpse of white naked thighs, of bare smooth belly beneath a crumpled dress and Wanda's mouth hanging slack was enough to set his senses ablaze.
Her thighs felt like live marble in his hand as he moved them.
"Do it, baby; do it!" she groaned.
If there had been more room, a bed, it would have made things easier. But after a moment's struggle he was surrounded by her warmth and the smooth skin of her thighs.
And it began.
In the beginning was the word. The word was, "Ahh!" And then came the deed.
The deed was something more, something better, something warm and passionate and heaving. Limbs locked together, a furious striving to be nearer. The deed was like a rocket slamming into the other side of the Moon, a roller coaster ride off the edge of the world into a black pit of pure sensation. The deed was something that happened in two minutes, but in those two minutes were crammed enough sensation to equal two years.
The deed was one hell of a good deed and you don't have to be a Boy Scout to know that.
The springs of the Ford groaned with their matching motion.
Faster and faster.
And then the whole world blew up like fifty megatons whomping seismographs dear to Japan.
The fallout was almost as good. They lay slumped and entwined, feeling it cover their bodies with eiderdown while their breath grew gradually back to something like a normal rate of breathing. Off in the woods they heard something thrashing an animal maybe.
Or two animals. Hal raised his head and saw that the front seat was empty. Then Wanda began stroking him again and her incredibly soft body began to say things that needed to be answered.
CHAPTER FIVE
Hal's father was a big Swede who had worked as a scab carpenter at the age of thirteen, when he had first come over. He hadn't known a damn thing about carpentering but the guy at the boat had mistaken him for being a burly sixteen and a Norwegian like the other blonde and fair-skinned men he got off the boat with. The guy was looking for carpenters and as everyone knows all Norwegians are carpenters. Hal's father looked okay to the guy so he nodded him over with the rest, whereupon he made a little speech about how fortunate they all were to be in the land of plenty where they would all have jobs. What he meant by jobs was construction work. A benevolent guy named Flaxstein was going to put them all to work immediately on some buildings he was putting up in Brooklyn.
The two-story semi-attached and row-house development they were put to work on was obviously going to fall down in three to five years, but that wasn't their concern. They were getting paid good American money, about half per hour what regular union carpenters would have made on the same job, supposing any carpenter union would have touched it.
It didn't matter to Hal's father. When the foreman found out he couldn't drive a nail without smashing his thumb or ruining a green two by four, he cursed him out and set him to work carting the sand which went into what the benevolent construction magnate laughingly called cement. Hal's father did that until the development was completed, whereupon he was fired and that was that. The next day was payday but nobody showed up to pay anybody. So Hal's father got drunk on the money he had been saving toward the house he would one day buy in the land of plenty. The money lasted him three weeks, going from bar whiskey to beer to Sneaky Pete. When he was out of scratch, he tried to find another job. He was fourteen and looked at least eighteen. He was a big Swede. He couldn't find a job.
Then he remembered the guy who hired him off the boat. The guy lived in a hole atop a flight of stairs on Canal Street. The hole had a door over it and the door, in crumbling letters, said the hole belonged to the Agee Employment Agency. The guy remembered Hal's father and got him a job on the docks, which were then being struck. After that he got him other jobs, always taking his first week's pay, and finally, after several years and a marriage to a slender girl who worked in a lunch counter on Tenth Ave., Hal's father was set up with a more or less permanent position as a machinist's helper in a shop whose only distinction was that it was the last place of its type ever to become unionized. But by the time it became unionized, the guy who had met Hal's father on the boat was in the union business too, being a flexible kind of business man. And once more, he remembered the big stupid Swede who had come to him over the years for jobs.
"Look, Swede," he said one day, coming into the shop and collaring Hal's father during his lunch hour. Hal's father was about to bit into a large kielbasi sandwich. His jaw remained open as his ferret-eyed friend talked. They were out of earshot of the other workers.
"Things is going to change around here. Now, you been a good boy, Swede, and I we like good boys, see? Now, you know what a union is, don't you?"
Hal's father nodded. He had heard of unions. They didn't like them in the Daily News.
"Well, we're going to have one here. And since you've been such a regular guy all these years and done me a few favors, I'm going to see you get in on the ground floor. Now here's what I want you to do at that meeting tonight ... "
At the meeting that night, they voted in the union. And then, much to his surprise, some guys stood up and nominated Hal's father as Shop Steward. What the union man had told him earlier didn't make much sense, because he didn't see how he was going to be nominated for anything like that, but since he was, he accepted.
Needless to say, things went well for Hal's father after that. To wind up our story, he did just what the union man told him to do, and after a year he was able to move his wife and kids out of the rat hole apartment on the East Side into a neighborhood that was considered better, if not the best. He was able furthermore to afford good whiskey and a new car. What else could a man ask? The union had been good to him. And if he had had to bust a few wise guys in the nose from time to time new young punks who wanted the company to spend a lot of wasteful money on things like safety devices and like that he didn't mind that part of the job, either. And now he was on the Committee, even the big bosses knew his name and patted him on the back and let him smoke their expensive cigars.
He was doing fine.
Whiskey, cigars, a car ...
And girls.
It was this last thing that Hal's father was thinking about as he sat at his kitchen table, drinking beer from a can. Specifically, he was thinking about the last smoker for union officials he had attended, and the girl he had had afterward. A stripper, a sexy redheaded little tomato with big boobs and a wide-spread rear and a Li of waist and strong thighs...
Not like the old lady. Maybe it was wrong, boffing the young stuff that way. He had never cheated much during his marriage. Once in a while, a downtown hooker when he was out on a bat, but he had never gone out of his way. Women were too damn complicated. He had trouble talking to them when he was sober; he got all tongue-tied. And Mary had always taken care of him bed wise. Even if she did make a big thing about it, complaining she was tired and sick or just plain didn't want to. That was because of her goddamn religious background. But he always got his way.
Only now it was different. Now he was Somebody, a guy who rubbed elbows with the Big Boys in the front office. He deserved better. Why feel guilty about it? He was taking care of things. The old lady was working, money was going in the bank, everything was coming up roses.
Except for the lousy kid. Always in trouble, making him, a respectable union man, go to court like that in front of a judge, getting his rear on probation. And now, beating up on his sister!
He didn't understand how he could have a son like that. Ungrateful, he was spending all his money on clothes, refusing now to get a job. That was the trouble with kids nowadays they expected everything from you and didn't want to lift a finger for it.
Hell, when he was his age, he worked the docks right along next to men twice as old.
Not the kid. Dress imagine, get in trouble, take it easy that was all he knew. He was getting too damn big for his britches now. What he needed was a good taste of the strap, doing that to his sister. Tearing her slip and kicking her out of the bathroom. And now, staying out till after twelve.
Swede Anderson took another long draught from the beer can, emptying it, belched, and went to the refrigerator for more.
There wasn't any. Where the hell had ft all gone to One part of the day he enjoyed most was sitting in his kitchen with some beer after the night shift. Whiskey and cigars for weekends, beer at night. It was pretty damn plain that the kid had been stealing his beer. He drank exactly four cans every night and knew just how much was in there.
The rotten little louse! No son of his. He even looked like the old lady. Sally, now she took after the old man. Why couldn't she have been a boy instead of him? Furious, he slammed the refrigerator door shut, rattling the bottles inside.
And then he heard the front door open.
Hal crept quietly into the apartment, got as far as the kitchen door. There, his father confronted him, "You! Where the hell you been?" Hal stopped, gave his father a sidelong look.
"Out."
"Yeah, out! What kind of an answer is that out?"
Hal said nothing, but his face showed clearly what he thought.
"You smell of booze," his father went on.
"Sure," Hal said blandly. "I've been drinking. So what?"
"So what? I'm going to show you so what! You got money for booze, maybe you don't need to live here, that's so what!"
"Ah, lay off! You want to wake up Ma?"
"You shut up! You listen to me; I'm your old man and I'm telling you what's what!"
Hal sighed, slumping his shoulders and putting on a bored expression.
"So I'm listening."
Hal's father stood there in his undershirt, big and bulky, his fury showing in his reddening face.
"You're some wise guy, huh? You some imagine kind of hotshot, ain't you dressed up like a dude and smelling of booze I Maybe I ought to slam some sense into you, jailbird! Maybe I ought to knock your head off!"
"You better not touch me," Hal said, cold-eyed.
"You getting pretty big, huh? Beating up your sister, ripping her slip off-
"She asked for it"
"What?"
"I said she asked for it. She barged in on me and I belted her the slip was an accident."
"I'll show you an accident, you goddamned J-D-" He stepped forward, grabbing Hal's shirt in his huge hand. Hal wrestled away and the shirt ripped.
"I'll kill you, old man!" Hal yelled, raising his fists. "YOU CANT BEAT UP ON ME NO MORE!"
Hal's father lunged at him. Hal quickly sidestepped, kicking him in the shin. The big man howled, wheeling, threw a fist at his son. Hal ducked and the fist went crashing into the wall, splitting plaster.
Hal didn't want to fight his old man for the simple reason he knew he couldn't win. The big Swede was built like a tank and if he got one good hold on him that would be the end. But he was done taking any more crud from him, either. That fact was just as simple and plain. Knowing it, he backed off down the hall, grabbing a heavy glass ash tray from a stand.
"You come at me, old man, and I'll split your skull with this!"
Hal's mother appeared at the far end of the hall. "Stop it! Stop it!"
"I'm going to kill him!" the old man howled. "I'm going to kill the lazy no good louse!"
"I'm warning you!" Hal said, raising the ash tray higher. His mother screamed, but neither of them paid any attention now. They faced each other grimly, each of them meaning business.
"What's the matter?" Hal sneered. "Afraid I might be able to take you now? That beer gut you're carrying might slow you down. You come after me again, you're going to have to kill me!"
And for the first time, Hal saw his father's eyes change. He saw doubt creep into them after the amazement they had shown at Hal's words.
The old man's voice was hoarse when he spoke.
"Get out! You get out of this house, boy you're not mine any more, hear?"
"That's fine with me, fine! Only just keep your hands off me because I'm not taking that any more, either!"
"Get out!"
"I'm going don't worry. I'm fed up with the dump anyway!"
He turned and walked to his bedroom to get fab things while his old man stood there, choking on his rage.
Swede Anderson went back into the kitchen. He sat listened to the sound of his wife crying and pleading with her son in the front bedroom, feeling nothing except a dull, stupid, numbing anger. What had happened? He had meant to belt the kid, sure enough. He had meant to knock some sense into his head, teach him some respect. He was his father, wasn't he? He had a right. He could still go in there and do it
But something stopped him. Something in the kid's eyes. More than defiance. It wasn't at all like the times before. What had gone wrong. What was wrong with him? When a kid went bad, you beat some sense into him that was the way it was supposed to work.
Only, facing his son there in the hall, he knew nam was different
You couldn't knock sense into a stranger. He might kill you.
It was as simple as that. As painless as the extraction of an impacted molar under anesthetic. Less, even. The anesthetic this time was anger and hatred, and Hal was well out of the apartment, down the stairs and in the street before it began to wear off a little. He walked around the block, suitcase in hand, his fury smoldering like a crushed but not extinguished cigarette butt. He tried to gather his thoughts, figure out what he was going to do next.
Okay, so the old man had kicked him out. Swell. No, that was wrong; he had meant to leave anyway. The old man had merely jumped the gun on him, provided the excuse that was all. He had thought about it a long time, planned and schemed about breaking away, and now it had happened.
Only it had left him in a bad fix. Too quick; he hadn't known the old man would be laying for him when he got home. Too quick to make real plans, to figure out each move step by step. It was just too damn fast and he couldn't get his bearings. It had been a swell evening, double-dating with Lenny and discovering Wanda, a swell chick who really had the hots for him in a big way, dancing and drinking and then going out in the car with her and copping the sweetest piece he had ever had, maybe even getting serious about her, finding himself a steady girl at last ...
And then, Wham! right in the kisser. The louse. He couldn't have waited till later, till the end of summer to start on that again. He had to do it now, when everything was going swell and he was really making it around the neighborhood. It stank. The whole thing stank; his dumb sister, his Ma crying, the old man just sitting there like he was going to explode everything. The whole rotten world stank.
Nuts to the world!
Only now he had to figure out what he was going to do. They'd expect him to come slinking back, of course. His sister would expect him to be back, his Ma would expect him to be back, and so would the goddamned old man, because they all thought he was just a kid and ,not tough enough to face the world by himself.
They were wrong. He wasn't going back, not this time; not by a long shot. Never in a million years. He wasn't going back to them and he wasn't going back to school or any of the rest of it.
Only, what about Wanda? What would she think if she knew what had happened to him that he wasn't going back to school or anything? Wanda wasn't like any other girl he had ever met. She had something, something a guy could easily get hung up on. She had taken him for seventeen, maybe even older. It was the way he looked, handled himself. Well, he'd be seventeen next week anyway. What difference did a few months make?
Plans began to form in his mind, one after another, as he walked aimlessly through the darkened streets of his suddenly unfamiliar neighborhood.
First, he needed money. A job? He laughed to himself. That word could mean two different things. He could get a job or be could pull a job; either one. The main thing was, you needed money when you were up against it. Money was the only thing that counted in the whole damn world, the only kind of security a guy could have. Everything else was phony, baloney, for the birds.
He needed a stake and he needed it fast right away, in fact. As things stood, he didn't have more than a buck and some change to his name. That would last maybe one day, little more, even if he stretched it. With a little loot he could get himself a place downtown, a room of some kind.
Hal thought about the various possibilities there were of laying his hands on some cash, and it wasn't long before he came up with an idea.
There was a candy store on Sycles Street, It was run by an old Jew and all the kids knew it because they liked to swipe candy and cigarettes and mags from him. He made up by overcharging and short-changing everybody anyway. The louse deserved to be robbed.
The store would be closed, of course. But there was a back way into it and Hal knew the way to get into it. He had been there once with Nut. Maybe he ought to go get Nut now; two would be safer than one in pulling a job like that one guy could watch out for anyone coming along.
Hal quickly rejected the idea. Better to play it as a loner, he thought. That way, he wouldn't have to divvy up any of the loot in case there wasn't much. Besides, he was a loner now anyway. It was him against the world. Nobody was going to take care of Hal Anderson except Hal Anderson.
Spotting a patrol car turning the corner, Hal ducked quickly back into the entranceway of an apartment building, stooping behind an ornamental stone railing. The cop car moved slowly past him, neither officer looking his way.
When they were gone, Hal emerged again and began to walk with his suitcase toward the block that housed the candy store he had in mind. Presently he came to the place he was looking for; a flight of steps leading down under a tall apartment building into an inner courtyard. The building was directly opposite the one on the other side of the block that housed the candy store. By going down in the one building, he could cross through a series of inner courtyards and gangways to the rear entrance of the store. It was tricky by night, but safe in case someone spotted you it was Tike a maze in which any pursuer could quickly be lost.
He went down in. He realized the suitcase might be in his way, so he stashed it behind some garbage cans at the foot of the stairs. Then he went on his way, reaching the far end of the courtyard and climbing over a narrow fence into the rear courtyards of the buildings at the opposite side of the block. Some light showed in upper stories of the tall buildings surrounding him, but he was careful not to make a disturbance and no one took any notice of him. His luck held all the way to the rear entrance of the candy store; he encountered no one at all.
He paused, catching his breath after the exertion of climbing and dodging through the maze. His palms felt sweaty and his breath came quickly and he could hear his heart pounding with excitement. All he had to do now was jimmy a window or a door and break in.
He went to the window first. But to his dismay he discovered a grill of small steel bars and an inner screen covering it. Hoping against hope, he tried the door next, worried about being discovered with each little accidental noise he made. But on the other side of the door was money, and he needed it badly, and he kept thinking of that
The door was locked. But the lock looked easy; it was old and rusted and wouldn't need much to be sprung open. A jimmy would have come in handy now, only he didn't have one. He would have to improvise.
Luck! A flat length of iron, probably from a broken fire escape, lay not ten feet away. He seized it quickly and began to work on the door. It groaned, shivered and then sprang open with a dull scrape of metal. He stood there anxiously for a moment, waiting to see if someone had heard. But nothing happened. He went in. u was dark inside, a storeroom. Boxes and crates were piled on the floor and shelves lined the walls. Hal struck a match, gave it the once-over, and decided there was nothing there of any interest to him. He proceeded to the door which led out to the front part of the store, for protection taking up the piece of iron he had used as a jimmy. The store was deserted also. Light from the street shone dimly through the front plate glass windows, giving a ghostly gleam to everything inside glass candy counters, shelves with boxes of candy, magazine and newspaper racks. The store was narrow, barely fifteen or twenty feet across. Hal headed for the front where the cash register sat plainly outlined against the window.
Hal was about to open it when he heard the noise behind him. The heavy creak of a floorboard, the asthmatic wheezing of a man just awakened from sleep. He turned, his hand gripping the iron bar at his side instinctively. It was the old Jew.
"Vat you doing in my store?" he demanded.
The light from the street showed his flaccid features, the rimless glasses, the tight skullcap and the bloated, aging physique, draped now in a ridiculous-looking nightshirt like the kind Hal had seen in old comedy movies. It wasn't a sight to be feared. Hal felt like laughing, except that he was also angry. He hadn't figured on this that the Jew lived back there in the store somewhere.
"I want money," Hal said. "You better give it to me or I'll bust you with this!" He raised the iron bar for the man to see.
"Robber! Thief! Why you want bother an old man Eke me? I got nothing, nothing! I call the police you don't get out of here fast!"
This time Hal did laugh. With his free hand he pushed the No Sale key of the register and the cash drawer flew open with a loud ring.
"See? Nothing in there. Now get out, out before I'm calling the police!"
He was right The cash drawer was perfectly empty
Hal could see that even in the dim light. Thwarted, he turned furiously to the old man, grabbing him by the top of his shirt.
"Where is it? Tell me, goddamn you where you got it hid?"
The old man was stronger than Hal thought. He lunged clumsily at Hal, thinking to protect his store and his money. Hal didn't mean to swing, but he had to do something. They were making enough noise to be heard by anyone passing in the street. He swung the bar downward in a vicious arc. It connected with flesh and bone and the old man went down, blood oozing from his head.
He lay still. Hal's first thought was that he had killed him. He leaned over the crumpled form, his hands shaking. But after a moment he heard heavy breathing, labored but regular. Relieved, he straightened up, turned and glanced out the window to see if anyone had heard. No one was there. With luck, he still might make something of this if he could find where the money was hid. He was sure there was loot stashed somewhere. Back where the old man slept, maybe. He stepped over the limp form and walked to the back of the store.
The room opposite the storeroom was the old man's. It was like a pigsty. Hal pulled the shade over the window and turned on the light, noting with distaste the musty cot, the chipped dresser, a litter of sardine cans and crackers on a small table, a broken down kerosene stove. Anyone who lived like that was better off dead. He would have done him a favor if he had killed him.
But right now he needed money, and he began to search furiously, pulling out the drawers of the dresser and dumping them on the floor. All he found was soiled underwear, scraps of string and paper, the horde of a packrat valueless stuff stashed neatly away in drawers.
The guy must have been a nut, Hal figured. But even a nut would have to have some money if he operated a candy store for twenty years. It had to be somewhere. Where?
He didn't have a lot of time to spend on it Someone might come, or the old man might wake up; maybe the noise they had made had been heard upstairs and the police would be on their way already. He didn't want to stay in this stinking place another second if he could help it
But he was determined to make this job pay. And at least he found it. In the most simple, the stupidest and most obvious place imaginable, he found it Ripping apart the cot, he saw the cigar box under the mattress. Opening the cigar box, he found the old Jews fife savings.
All sixty-three dollars and fifty-nine cents.
Hal laughed giddily. The old man must have played the races or something. Or maybe this was just a decoy; maybe he had twenty grand stashed somewhere else, in the toilet box or something. Or maybe he had an account at the bank. Whatever the case, he didn't have time to investigate further. He shoved the money in his pocket, snapped off the light and made his way out the back entrance again, feeling slightly dizzy, nauseated from the experience, and a good deal let down.
Sixty-three dollars and fifty-nine cents.
A small fortune, he thought wryly, gaining the courtyard. Well, it was something. It was close to nothing, but it was something. It would buy him a cheap room somewhere.
He climbed the fence, ducked down another gangway. He found his suitcase and scampered up the stairs.
In the street again, he felt suddenly tired and dizzy. What time was it? He'd left the cheap watch he'd gotten tow Christmases ago home in his dresser. To hell with that. What he needed was a place to sleep for the night. He was dead tired; he felt drugged. The urge, to lay down was overpowering; he had to find something right away.
Anything.
A place to sleep...
He thought of home, the apartment, his soft well made bed with its clean inviting sheets ...
He shook his head, ridding himself of the thought. There wasn't a chance of that now. He was running away from more than just home. There was a chance that he might have killed the Jew, or if not, that the Jew had recognized him. It was unlikely because the light had been behind him, but there was no way to be sure, for sure. A reform school gig up the river, and no paddle.
At last he came to Nut's place. He hesitated, wondering whether he should chance waking up Nut's family. But he had to talk to someone or he'd go batty. He entered the dark alleyway.
He wasn't sure it was Nut's bedroom window he was tapping on, but he had to chance that, too. He was simply too tired to go on. If Nut's old man appeared, he'd slip off before he was seen. But he made a silent prayer it wouldn't be Nut's old man, It wasn't.
It was Angie.
Her face appeared, sleepy-eyed, at the window. "Who is it."
"Hal," he whispered.
"Hal? Wh what are you doing here this time oi night?"
"Shh! look, I'm in trouble, Angie I need a place too stay the night."
Trouble? What kind of trouble?"
"Bad trouble! I can't waste time are you going to help me or not?"
"Wait there. I'll be out in a minute."
Hal slumped against the building, seated on the concrete of the alleyway. There was nothing to do but wait. Maybe Angie could help him, maybe she couldn't. Whether he wanted to trust her or not was beside the point now. He had to.
There was nothing else to do.
They climbed the fire escape silently, Angie ahead of him, dressed in a sweater and skirt she had hastily put on. His arm ached from lugging the suitcase around, but he climbed steadily. And at last they were going over the stone battlement of the apartment building and onto the roof.
"We're here," Angie gasped. "We can sleep between the pigeon coops it's dark there and there's a roof in case it does rain."
"We? What do you mean?"
"You and me, Harold. You didn't think Fd let you get away this time, did you?"
"You're crazy, Angie what if your parents missed you?"
"They both sleep like logs, lucky for you. Besides, I go up here a lot of nights when it's hot."
"Look Angie I'm tired-"
"I won't bother you. I just want to stay by you, mat's all."
"Swell."
"Don't sound so disgusted. I'm helping you, aren't I?"
"Yeah."
Angie had carried a wool army blanket up with her. She spread it out in the space between the pigeon sheds, made dark by an improvised roof which spanned them. Hal lay down immediately, his aching muscles glad to have a place to lie down in. Angie took off her sweater, balled it up and made a pillow for him. Then she lay down next to him, nestling up to his side, her warm thigh against his.
Hal closed his eyes, but the expected release of steep didn't come. Though he was physically near-exhausted, his mind was still revved up from all the experiences he had gone through during the evening. He listened to the sounds of the caged birds, clucking and cooing, disturbed by their presence. They seemed to mimic his restlessness, the fevered agitation of his brain. He remembered watching them from afar, from his own roof that day, and thinking about how good it must feel to be as free as they were. But even that was a lie. They were cooped up too; caged, too stupid to bust out when they had the chance every day.
"Hal," Angie whispered.
"What?"
"You're not sleeping."
"Very good, Angie. One hundred per cent right."
"I can't sleep either."
"That's rough."
"Don't be mean. I didn't do anything to you. I've got cigarettes if you want one."
"Sure. Give me a cigarette."
She handed him a cigarette, leaning up on her elbow, and lit it for him.
"Are the cops after you?" she said.
"I don't know. I guess not. Not right now, anyway."
"What did you do?"
"Look, do you have to know everything?"
"I'm sorry. You're not mad at me, are you?"
"What the hell for?"
"For running away that night in the park and leaving you there."
Hal laughed. "That was the smartest thing you ever did,"
"I was so scared. I thought they were going to kill you. I ran all the way home and I was going to call a cop or something but I was scared even to do that, and then I was ashamed because I hadn't I just left you there."
"Forget it. I knocked the louse's head in."
"I know. I heard about it afterward, but I was so ashamed because I ran that I couldn't go see you and tell you how glad I was you didn't get hurt"
"Well, that's all done now."
"Am I?"
"Are you what?"
"Am I all done now with you, I mean. We newer gat to do that together, did we?"
"Look, Angie; you're just a kid-"
"I'm fifteen!"
"Fourteen."
"Well, almost fifteen. But that doesn't make any difference in the way I feel about you. Even if I was seventeen or twenty I'd still feel the same way. And now you're running away and I won't see you any more-"
"-So you want me to boff you,"
"Uh-huh."
"You're still cherry."
"I don't want to be, Hal. I know plenty of girls my age who aren't. Why should I stay virgin."
"Yeah-why?"
Tired as he was, Angie was managing to get her point across. Her conversation was accompanied with little nudgings and stroking subtly calculated to arouse him. Her hand crept under his torn shirt and massaged his chest. Her breast rubbed against his arm and he could feel its warm hard tip through the thin blouse she wore.
See wanted to get boffed. That was the very definite idea she was trying to put across, and she was doing it much better than he would have given her credit for. Much better.
Of course, it was silly to think about it. He was tired, he was exhausted, he was on the lam, he had been running all over hell's backyard, he had laid the sweetest piece of his life about four of five hours earlier. How could anyone possibly think about sex under those conditions?
It was silly to think about, so he didn't think about k.
He simply felt it. It stirred within him and became part of his whole new mental outlook, the recent cast his life had taken. He was a renegade, in danger a criminal, in plain fact. Sixty-three dollars and fifty-nine cents an old man lying on the floor in a pool of blood said so.
Even Angie said so, in her own way. Something about her rapid, hungry motions communicated it to him she wanted to be part of his danger, share it with him, and the fires of his lust fed on this very quality which she communicated so very well. Life had taken on a whole new aspect now; one in which you thought in terms of minutes and hours instead of weeks and months The whole idea of a future shrank until it became meaningless, so the thing was to live this minute.
And he felt very definitely alive. Tired, maybe, but not able to sleep because of the simple reason that he had never felt so much alive and in control of his own destiny.
And Angie was very warm next to him. And she was very willing...
It was like something he had read once in a paperback book, about soldiers during or right after combat how all of a sudden they wanted loving more than anything in the world, how after facing death they get an overpowering lech for a woman.
That was how he felt now. Something Tike that. Angie wasn't a woman. Beside Wanda, Angie would look like someone dying of malnutrition.
But Angie was next to him and Wanda wasn't
So ...
She opened her blouse for him as if she had been reading his mind all along. Or reading something else, with her hand.
His hand contacted the soft small breast, felt a tremor of excitement go through her.
He started to move for her but she stopped him.
"Lie still, baby let me do it for you."
Fine, he thought. Let her do it. Only she'd just told him she was cherry, which meant she probably didn't know the first thing, let alone the last thing, to do.
But he lay back and waited. If she wanted to call the shots, let her until they became misfires. Then, he'd take over.
She began by unbuttoning his torn shirt, which was as good a way as any to begin. She trailed her fingertips over his bare chest, which was even better, and then she leaned down and kissed him there, which was better yet Either little Angie had a natural talent or she had been kidding him along all this time. Her mouth was like a hot little animal over his chest, nipping and biting and leaving marks in its toothsome wake. And while she did this, her hands were busy below.
Very busy.
They opened his clothes greedily like a kid looking for the prize in the bottom of a cracker jack box. Surprise! They found it.
Hal had found his prizes too but they were in the top of the package instead of the bottom. Two of them; well, not much more than hand full but much more fun than little tin whistles or plastic statues of baseball players. They were soft and rubbery and firm and warm, and their hard little tips glowed in his hands like hot steel rivets. He had no trouble warming up to Angie now. Angie was doing fine, acting like a pro, and the rest of the world with parents and cops and school could go to hell.
"Ooh!-you're so-great!" Angie gushed, pleased as punch.
"I'm a champ," Hal said, putting his mouth to a nipple. She squealed with delight and he had to warn her to be quiet, and then she moaned quietly with delight.
"Ohh!"
His hands slid down from her breasts over her body as she leaned over him. They found the hook and then the zipper in her skirt. They undid the hook and unzipped the zipper. They searched lower and found other things, things that were all Angie; lean, firm-fleshed, hot little Angie.
And Angie was having a ball of her own. She planted kisses over his stomach, and then lower. Much lower.
He sat up and gripped her breasts, eager now, while she leaned over him and said funny little things to him. Crazy little sounds that didn't make any sense unless you were listening to them in a very special way.
Which he was. In that very special way, he was all ears, to mix an anatomical metaphor. He wondered where Angie had learned that, and then he didn't bother to wonder any more; he simply sat back and enjoyed.
It was good.
Better.
And finally he had to stop her. "Hey stop Angie!" She raised her head.
"I couldn't help it," she said. "You looked so good, I just had to."
"You want to get boffed, don't you?-"Yes, yes, yes, yes-"
"Well, no more of that, then, or I wont have anything to boff you with. Come here now."
She came to him. He pulled her down to him and kissed her on the mouth for good measure, since he had never loved her before and he might as well get the full show. He kissed her and squeezed her breasts some more and grabbed her tight little buttocks in his hands and squeezed them too, until she was trembling like a leaf in a rainstorm.
It was raining.
The rain beat down on the corrugated tin roof of the pigeon shed like a crazy bop drummer gone wild, hard heavy staccato droplets, shutting them into their cozy little passion-nest like two birds under a tree.
Angie was ready.
Angie was as ready as a Christmas turkey and wild as a Gone Goose in his arm.
"Do it, Hal! Do it to me, do it now!"
He wrestled her down underneath him, which did not take much doing. She was as light as a feather. Her ready legs moved eagerly for him and her hungry mouth bit into his neck. The rain beat down over their heads insanely.
This time there was nothing to stop him. Nothing in the world. He was as ready as he would ever be. He thrust
There was nothing poetic about it. It was not like Cyrano gracefully thrusting home with a rhyme on his lips. It was a spasmodic, animal movement, old as time, argent as life.
Angie screamed.
But the sound was lost in the stoma, He thrust again.
And this time it was successful. This time it worked, and this time there was no further difficulty, no interruption. Her second scream turned into a low moan, trailed off into a gurgling sound of pleasure after pain.
He moved again.
Again and again.
She began to respond. Her trim small hips began to move with him, answering motion with motion, game as a partridge in mating season. Then the world and the storm and the rooftop and the building and the city and the world blended into one vast heaving rhythm and they were lost in it, seeking, seeking, coming near and nearer to their final destination.
And then they were there, teetering on the brink.
Then over.
The rain beat down, smothering the sound of their panting breath. The edges of the wool blanket became soaked where the water ran over the roof. But they were oblivious of everything except each other, and that way, twined together in each other's arms, they fell asleep; deeply, peacefully.
CHAPTER SIX
Hal looked up at the hotel with disgust. Maybe it was the rain, the grayness of the day. It wasn't the kind of rain that washed things clean, made them look clean and shiny and free of city grit It was the kind of rain that stops and starts and then stops and starts again and then does neither, but just kind of hangs in the air, soiling everything.
It was a lousy day. It was gray and lousy and the hotel looked gray and lousy and Hal decided he wasn't going to take a room there. The idea of taking a room in a hotel had at first appealed to him but now that he was faced with the necessity of actually walking into the crummy place and handing over his money for a week's rent the idea lost most of its appeal. A good hotel might have been different. A hotel with clean walls and clean towels and clean sheets and clean people would have been another story.
But he couldn't afford that kind of a hotel. Not yet. Not until he had a roll to back him up. And there was no telling when that would be.
He decided to look around for a room instead. He bad time. He had sixty bucks worth of time, which could be a lot of time in a section like this, where everything looked cheap. And there was something more private about having a room. You didn't have to band your key in and get it back every time at a desk and have the guy behind it look at you questioningly whenever you went out or in. A room could have other advantages, too if you were lucky enough to find a broad to take up to It.
He moved off down the street in search of a room.
It wasn't hard to find one. There were a lot of rooming houses in the area cheap pads where unemployed actors holed up, other people searching for success or on the rebound from it, living off their unemployment checks, their savings, a part time job, or nothing. There were plenty of rooming houses, and since he had sixty bucks he didn't stop till he came to the cleanest looking one on the block. There was a sign in the window which said ROOM. He walked up the stone steps and rang the bell with the little sign next to it in archaic lettering which said: Jack Rose, superintendent Ha stepped into the foyer and waited.
The man who answered after an interval was short, squat, nondescript and nearsighted. He peered at Hal owlishly from behind thick glasses, looking rather like a fish seen through the bottom of a glass boat
"Yes?"
"The room. I came to see about taking ft."
"Ten dollars. Ten dollars a week. You want to look at it?"
"Yeah, I want to look at it," Hal said impatiently. The guy was stupid as well as blind.
Which might be a good thing, Hal figured.
"Okay, I'll show you. You wait here, I'll get the key."
Hal stepped inside. The door closed after him. The hallway had cheap linoleum on the floor and the walls were garishly painted red, but at least it looked reasonably clean. The strong smell of disinfectant rose to his nostrils, proclaiming this, mixing with another odor of spaghetti sauce being cooked somewhere in the rear of the building. The latter odor reminded Hal of his hunger, the fact that he hadn't greased since the night before. Hit stomach rumbled disconsolately.
After what seemed like ages the old guy came shuffling back, his slippered feet scuffing against the linoleum like two fat snails encased in cloth. He began wheezing his way upstairs. Hal followed, thinking the world was full of old men who owned candy stores or apartment houses the world, maybe. They owned it and kept the young guys down and the young guys had to fight for a place in it or they ended up with nothing, no candy store, no apartment house.
No nothing.
On the first landing, the guy showed him the bathroom. It looked clean, but Hal wasn't happy about the idea of going up and down stairs every time he wanted to brush his teeth. His room was up another flight, at the far end of a long hall with other doors. His was the last door, at right angles to the others. The man named Rose laboriously searched for the right key among the many on his ring, tried several, found the right one at last and opened the door. Hal went in.
It was not much. It was narrow as hell, a closet crammed between two small apartments. The wallpaper had flowers on it that might once have been red but were now faded. There was a window in the opposite end looking down over the street and across at a big office building. Plastic curtains of the type that cost ninety-eight cents at Wool worth's hung from a bent rod, a hideous purple with a white fern all-over design. A narrow cot huddled against one wall, a surprisingly new-looking dresser against the other. Near the window was a cardboard imitation-wood wardrobe. In the corner to the right of the door was a tiny stained sink. The linoleum which covered the floor was about the same color as that in the halls, for which there was not yet been invented a name. But if you want to use your imagination a little go right ahead and use it.
It wasn't much, but it was fairly dean, and Hal said he'd take it. Mr. Rose asked him for ten dollars and Hal gave it to him and then Mr. Rose gave him a key and a receipt. The whole transaction took about five minutes, Rose peering down at the bill to make sure it was a tenner and then scrawling painfully on the piece of paper he gave to Hal in return.
Then he was gone and Hal was alone in his room. He put the suitcase on the dresser, then sat down on the bed. He looked at the soiled flowered wallpaper.
Freedom. This is what it was like to be free, on your own, he thought. Four walls. A cot, some dumpy furniture, a sink in the corner. At least he wouldn't have to go downstairs to brush his teeth. That was something, when you thought about it.
He thought about it. His mouth tasted crummy after smoking and trading spits with Angie most of the night. A taste of the world, his first. He got up to brush his teeth. He opened his suitcase on the bureau and found his toothbrush and the tortured tube of decay-fighting dental cream he had copped from the bathroom before leaving. One thing he couldn't stand, it was a crummy taste in his mouth. He took the brush and tube to the sink and began to run water. It came out rusty at first, matching the color of the paraboloid stain, then clear, and Hal began brushing his teeth, this little act of domesticity confirming him in his new status as a private person, a free agent in the society of Man.
Which is not at all what Hal was thinking. He was thinking about how good something to eat would taste and how he ought to do something right away about the matter of money. Fifty-some dollars would last a while, but wouldn't take him very far. Nowhere near where he wanted to go.
Which was where? He hadn't had time to think much about it yet. He guessed that was the way it was when you were on the lam from something you jast had time to think of each need as it arose, one by one. Sooner or later, he'd have to start making longer range plans, but right now his stomach ached like a wound, and that had to be taken care of first. He gargled and spat the residue of toothpaste into the sink. Then he quickly splashed cold water over his face, dried it with the postage-stamp towel someone had left hanging on a peg, and he was just about ready. He remember the ripped shirt, decided it wouldn't show much beneath the camel jacket he still had on, and after running a comb through his hair a few times, left the room, walked down the two flights of stairs to the street, and began to walk East in search of a restaurant.
Two blocks put him in front of one.
The diner was a greasy spoon where the prices were cheap. Hal ordered a plate of pancakes and sausages and a cup of black battery juice to wash them down with. It was mid-morning and there weren't many customers. The short-order cook, a guy not much older than Hal was. lowered a News opened to the racing page and turned to begin filling Hal's order without looking at him.
But Hal recognized the chef. "Ike! Ike Mozitski is it you?"
The older kid turned, saw it was Hal, and grinned, "Hal, baby! What you doing down here slumming?"
Hal remembered Ike, an older kid in the old neighborhood gang. Vicious. They had never been good friends, but now, after more than a year, a bond was established and they forgot that Hal was the one Ike used to ride the most, calling him lily-liver and chicken. Ike had been tough, on probation twice and wore scars of more than one gang fight. It was strange now to see him dressed in the grease-stained costume of a short order cook. It wasn't so strange he should run into him here, though he wasn't that far from the old neighborhood.
I'm riving here," Hal explained. "Got a pad over on Fifteenth."
"Why for? Thought your old man was with the fat cats uptown, now he's a union fink."
"I'm by myself."
Ike leaned his bony face closer, checking to make sure no customers were listening. "Oh? like you're running from The Man, maybe?"
Hal didn't answer. There was no use volunteering information if he hadn't been connected with knocking over the candy store.
"I got tired of the home scene," he said instead. "How come you're not in jail now, you old reprobate?"
Ike winked. "Just got out didn't you hear? Six months on the farm upstate. Have to cool it, report twice a month, or they'll toss me right back in. Me, I'm a good boy now. But there's angles to this, too. Here's your wheat cakes, sweetheart."
Hal began to devour them hungrily almost before they were on the counter. Ike stood watching, whistling through his teeth and drumming with his grimy fingertips on the formica countertop. After Hal had knocked off the cakes and sausage and downed half a cup of steaming inky coffee, he felt better. He lit a cigarette and said, "I'm looking for some kind of a gig too. It's a drag, but I rumbled with the old man and I'm not going back there or school, either."
"The action's lousy here, tighter than a drum now ifs election time. You got to watch who you're talking to; it may be fuzz. I pick up a little pushing gauge for a pal, but it's strictly Q.T. and you never heard a word."
"I dig."
"You serious about a regular gig."
"If I have to. It's tough, not being eighteen yet."
"You've filled out a lot. Grown some. Hey, maybe you're going to be big as your old man some day, huh?"
Hal made a face.
Ike laughed, pouring more coffee into Hal's cup. "Ever work around a hotel."
"No."
"Lousy pay, but sometimes the tips ain't bad. H you're interested, I got a friend on the desk at the Arlingham. That's a fair joint to work and you can never tell what might turn up your way there."
"Thanks. But how come you're not doing it, then?"
Ike grinned, showing a lot of yellow crooked teeth. "I got bigger ideas. Another two months and I'm off the hook with my parole officer. I'm staying out of temptation till then, and then I'm going to Miami. Lots of sun, plenty of chicks, and nice tracks."
"Lots of people smoking pot now, huh?"
"It's like the new national smoke, baby. Only the stuff they're getting is so cut down they ought to switch to Coke and aspirins. That's where the profits come in thinning it out. I'd cut you in but like I say, it's the wrong time of year."
"I guess I wouldn't mind hotel work for a while," Hal said.
"You ain't hot, are ya?"
Hal shook his head.
"I'll write down this guy's name for you." Ike went to find a pencil.
Luck it had been, running into Ike. But that was the way it should be. When a person has big Bad Luck, he ought to have a minor streak of little Good Luck. like the papers saying "an unidentified person," in connection with the candy store holdup. like finding Angie that night, balling her on the rooftop in a place out of the rain. like finding a suitable room right off the bat and then running into Ike Mozitski at the hash joint and getting tipped off to a possible gig.
The big Bad Luck had been the smashup with the old man just when things had been running swell, when he was on top of the world and had found a steady girl who was the best piece a guy could ask for, who had the hots for him in a big way.
He wondered if he should call Wanda, let her know what had happened and where he was. But it was an idea which didn't carry with it much compulsion to act. It was like he had stepped into another world, and she was somewhere back there. Not yet, he wouldn't call her. He'd wait and see if the idea stayed with him. He'd have to call his mother, of course, tell her not to send her brother or his sister or the cops looking for him, because once she got over her fear of what the old man might do she'd be sure to get ideas like that. He'd tell her he had a job and everything was okay, and he'd let her believe he was coming back at the end of summer, when school started. She'd cry and go on, but it would keep them all off his rear long enough for him to prove he could make it on his own. He'd show them he wasn't a kid any more.
Hell, he didn't have to show them.
He wasn't, and that was all there was to ft.
Hal decided to go immediately and see about the job at the Hotel Arlingham. It didn't sound glamorous or like a way to make a lot of money in a hurry, but ft could be interesting working around a big and fairly good hotel. And he had nothing else to do except mark time. If anyone decided to question him about the candy store job it would look well if he was working at a regular gig. Though no one probably knew yet about his leaving home except his family, when this little fact came to light around the neighborhood the cops might try to put two and two together. In that case, bell-hopping would be a good front. And it sounded like the kind of a job where they wouldn't get nosy about his age and start asking him for working papers.
The Arlingham was not the Ritz, but it was a big haul up the scale from the hotel Hal had thought about staying in earlier that day. And it was only a short bus ride uptown. It was one of those hotels which wear an outward air of respectability, one that appealed to Hal as he stood outside surveying its sedate Greek-columned front and ornate maroon canopy. What appealed to him more was the fact that it was in the busy section of town, near enough to the center of things to see plenty of action. More than a Utile impressed, he went in.
In the lobby, he took out the scrap of paper Ike had given him and read the names again: Dominic Ruffalo. Hal approached the desk, waited until the woman ahead of him finished, talking to the clerk. When she left, he said, "I'm looking for Mr. Ruffalo." The clerk, a dark-haired Italian with a big nose and fleshy eyelids, gave him the once-over.
"Speaking. What can I do for you?"
"Ike Mozitski sent me up. He said you might be taking on bellhops now."
Ruffalo made a sour face. "Yeah Ike. I owe him a favor. He sure don't wait long to collect." He looked at Hal keenly. "What's your name?"
"Hal Anderson."
"Okay. I won't ask you a lot of questions if you know Ike, but I've got to ask you this one. You got a record?"
"No, sir."
"Where do you know Ike from."
"I lived in that neighborhood, before we moved uptown."
"So did I," Ruffalo said, rubbing his long rhin "Stinking place. You out of school."
"Yes, sir."
"Good. Ever been a bellhop before?"
"No, sir."
"It's forty a week plus what you make in tips. That can run anywhere from ten to fifty bucks, depending. You've got to be courteous and neat in appearance. You've got to move fast and act like you'd give your right arm to kiss every guest's rear. Anyone see you swiping so much as a pack of matches and you're out on your can. Hustle, haul, bow and scrape that's what the job is. We get a lot of kids but few of 'em last. That can be good for you if you want to stay with us. You can go places." He laughed. "Like me. I started two years ago and now I'm night manager. They even sent me to hotel school for six months. Got a nice diploma and everything. Anyway, that's the score. Think you can do it?"
"Yes, sir, I'd sure like to give it a whirl."
"Okay, Hal when can you start?" Today."
Ruffalo shook his head. "Go home and get cleaned up. Come back tomorrow at four in a clean white shirt. We supply the uniform and tie. Leave your jacket and pants size with me, I'll give them to the Captain."
Embarrassed, Hal picked up the pen and wrote down his sizes.
Thanks a lot, Mr. Ruffalo."
Ruffalo winked. "Okay, kid. Look sharp and well see how you do. Always like to see a kid from the old neighborhood make good. And call me Dom, as long at none of the guests are around."
Hal thanked him again, shook hands on it, and left the hotel. Outside, he stopped to light a cigarette, watching the people going up and down the sidewalk. Now, he thought, I'm a working class stiff, like the rest of them. Forty per, and all he could knock down. At least it was a clean job; he wouldn't have to get his hands dirty like his old man had all his life Maybe there were quicker ways to get a buck, but it would take time to search them out. In the meantime, his luck was running good, nailing down a job first try like that. Luck was part of it there was also the fact he was good-looking. He remembered Ruffalo's remark about getting cleaned up and realized his pants needed pressing and his jacket was soiled from last night's escapade. It embarrassed him to be called down on something like that, the way he prided himself in his appearance. But maybe it had helped, too, in getting the job he probably looked like he needed one.
Something had to be done about the clothes situation right away. He had a few shirts and some underwear in the suitcase in his room, but that wasn't going to be enough.
Then he hit on an idea. He could kill two birds with one stone. He could call Lenny. Lenny was a good pal; he'd do anything for him. He'd call Lenny and ask him to pick up his clothes and stuff at the apartment and tell his mother what the score was. Lenny would do that for him.
He saw in the distance the green of a street corner phone booth and headed for it.
"Hey, you're not jazzing me, are you?" Lenny said over the phone, incredulous at Hal's story. Hal assured him his break with his parents was for real and Lenny promised to bring his stuff down in the car that evening.
Satisfied, Hal hung up and left the booth, walking toward the bus stop. He felt elated as he stood waiting, digging the chicks walking in and out of the downtown stores. Everything was fine. Everything was running smooth again. He'd go back to the pad, take a long hot bath, and then go out and find himself the biggest steak northeast of Texas to sink his teeth in.
The bus rumbled to a stop like a fat man wheezing.
Kids were playing stickball in the street when he reached it. A couple of them were Puerto Rican, one looked Chinese, and one was so dirty you couldn't tell what it was. Hal caught a wildly hit ball easily in one hand and tossed it back at the Chinese kid with speed and accuracy. It reminded him of the countless times he had done the same thing. He was in a good mood.
He went up to his room and began to undress, and then he remembered he didn't have a bathrobe.
That made a problem. He had to go down to the second floor to take a bath and if he went stark naked his neighbors, whoever they were, might not be too happy about it.
Annoyed, be slipped back into his pants and put the sports jacket over his shoulder. He stuck a pair of clean socks in the pocket to wear back. He guessed he'd look pretty silly walking through the hall barefoot with a jacket draped over his shoulders but who was there to see? He'd heard voices but he hadn't seen a live human being yet in the place. It was almost spooky. He left the room, hoping there'd be soap downstairs in the bathroom.
Maybe there was.
For sure there was someone in there.
This exasperated him completely. What had started out as the simple idea of taking a bath was becoming a project. He'd have to go through the whole thing again or else wait out here in the hall like a dumb jerk
He waited a few minutes, getting angrier, and then he knocked.
"Yes? Who ees eet?"
The voice had a definite accent and a definite quality. The accent was Spanish and the quality was female Hal pictured some old Spic witch taking her time washing her kinky hair.
"I've got to get in there!" Hal said.
"What's the horry, hey?"
"Got a date. C'mon, don't die in there!"
He was answered with a long silence. Infuriated, be was about to kick the door when it suddenly opened.
She was Spic but she wasn't old. Her figure was full as a fruit stand and she wasn't being very careful about keeping her white bathrobe closed around her nut-brown body. Her face was round, her nose a little large, but she was built that way big-boned and it looked good when she flashed him a dark-eyed smile.
"Why you stare at me, hon you never see a woman before?"
It was a simple question which at the moment didn't seem so simple. Her enormous boobs seemed to spill out at him and she must have drenched them in some kind of perfume. They smelled like roses. And the nipples, outlined with shocking clarity under the thin robe, were as large as fully opened roses.
"I'm sorry," Hal said dumbly, "I was in kind of a hurry.
Her laugh was musical. Hal was suddenly very conscious of his odd appearance standing there in the hall.
"I can wait," he gulped, angry at himself because he felt his face go warm.
"Not out there. You come in here and wait while I fix my hair. I like company."
Hal looked around nervously, then went in the door and closed it after him.
She seemed to fill the room with her warm presence. It was still steamy from the shower she had taken and the animal smell of her body seemed to cover everything, hanging in the air. She stood over the sink, combing out her long black hair in front of a small cracked mirror. Hal stood there awkwardly, his eyes riveted to her huge but shapely buttocks.
"My name is Anna," she said into the mirror.
"You're new here, huh."
"Yes. Mine's Hal."
"You very young, huh? Just a baby. But good-looking. How old are you, hon."
"Nineteen," Hal lied.
She laughed at that, too. She seemed to laugh very easily, and Hal watched the heavy globes of her breasts jiggle in the mirror to her laughter.
"I bet you got plenty girl, huh baby?"
"Yeah. Sure." Hal was becoming annoyed at this, feeling a little robbed of his masculine pride at her offhand treatment of him.
"Sure," she repeated. "But I bet they not as good as Anna."
Hal stepped closer, his already aroused body interpreting her correctly. "What makes you think that?"
"Girls are nice. But I am a woman." She turned, smiling, letting her robe slide open over her damp body.
"You like?"
Again, Hal was over-awed by the bigness of her. She was more woman than he had ever seen up this close. She was about thirty and stacked. Her huge breasts drooped from sheer weight. Her waist was narrow and muscular. Her thighs flared out voluptuously and her thighs were like pillars that tapered into strong muscular calves. Her ankles and feet were surprisingly small.
She cupped her left breast, holding it up. "You like to touch, maybe?"
It was a simple question again. It was plain as day, as the nose in front of his face. She was standing there with her big boob in her hand and she was asking him if he wanted to touch it.
Obviously.
Now, Hal wasn't afraid of breasts. He had seen breasts before and he had touched breasts before. Young girls' breasts and older girls' breasts and once on a gang fuck the flabby breasts of an old hooker they had cornered in an alley.
But this was different. Anna's proffered breast wasn't at all flabby.
It was just plain big.
Gigantic.
So it wasn't that Hal was inexperienced or afraid of it or anything like that. It was just that it was something like a guy who liked to hike up hills as a weekend hobby suddenly being confronted with the Matterhorn.
He was too awed to do anything but stand there and stare.
Anna did a characteristic thing then. She laughed. "You cherry boy, maybe?"
That broke the magic spell, as the fairy books say. Hal stepped forward and touched her breast. He didn't grab or clutch. His hand was respectful, as if she were honoring him by showing him some prized possession, a statue that had cost a lot of money or something like that. His hand ran over its smooth rounded surface, warm and moist, and suddenly he was sweating and the room felt very hot and close.
Which it was.
And just as he was about to pinch the great distended nipple, she withdrew it. And laughed.
"No, baby that's enough for you."
"The hell," Hal said hoarsely. It was time to quit playing games.
"If I had more time," she said. "But I have to go to work. You know where I work, hon?"
Hal shook his head.
"I work anywhere I like. I work on the street. You got ten dollar, maybe I don't have to go to work so fast, huh?"
Hal reached automatically into his pocket and brought oat a ten dollar bill.
"Where?" he said hoarsely, his eyes glued like flypaper to her big brown breasts.
"You got room here?"
Hal nodded.
"Swell, hon we go there:" She closed the robe and turned to the door. "Sure you know how?" she added teasing.
Hal answered her by grabbing a handful of buttock and squeezing it before she had a chance to slip out the door.
He was excited going up the stairs behind her. Ordinarily the idea of making it with a common hooker would have turned him off, but this was different. You didn't get it shoved in your face this way in the street; you didn't get a chance to see all the merchandise before you bought it in short, you didn't get ready as a ten-penny pistol on the Fourth of July. Her buttocks swayed with promising agility as she went up the stairs, and then they were in his room.
"Shh!" she warned him, opening her robe again as she stood at the foot of his bed. She pointed at the walls. "These people, they don't know I am whore or they complain, maybe. You be nice, huh, baby? Maybe I show you a few things you never learn before."
That sounded fine to Hal. That sounded like ten dollars well spent. He got out of his pants in no time, tossing the jacket at a chair, and her robe fell in a white pool on the off-brown color linoleum.
He came to her with the instinct of a homing pigeon at feeding time. Her breasts filled his hands and more. He played with them, she smiling and let him and the huge nipples grew to hard rocks for him. They resembled big old-fashioned doorbells, the kind they used to have on old expensive mansions.
He rang again and again.
And then he was knocking at the door.
"Too fast!" she hissed in his ear as they stood there wrestling. "I told you I give you your money's worth, baby you let Anna take care of things, huh?"
It was an effort, but he stopped what he had been trying to do. For ten bucks he hadn't expected to get the Grand Tour, but Anna was getting damn passionate for a hooker. She fondled him until he was rigid with excitement, seating herself on the bed while he remained standing.
"You nice boy," she said, "I like nice young boy all the time old men they want to play with Anna."
She showed him how much she like nice young boy. She stroked him and stroked him and stroked him some more. She did little things with her fingernails, like a figure skater tracing delicate patterns over thin ice. Figure eights, sixes and nines. She was expert; she was like an engraver engraving the Gettysburg Address on the head of a pin, only it wasn't the famous address and it wasn't a pin.
Hal was in agony. He groaned and writhed, his muscles corded and his breath damn near failed him.
And then suddenly she grabbed him full and hard and pulled him that way down on the bed with her.
Crash!
With no noise, of course except that of inadequate springs. It was like landing on mountains of living down. It was like being dragged down to the bottom of the sea by a warm-blooded octopus, smothered by a smoldering reptilian seductress of a ten dollar hooker who liked nice young boys.
Exactly like that.
Hal groaned and strove against her like Samson struggling with the pillars of the temple that bound him; he huffed and he puffed but he couldn't pull the house down, and didn't want to.
"Go, babee!" she cried, heaving him to and fro on buttocks pneumatic, using an art as old as Haroun Raschid to maintain his maleness with her, sparking his drive to the lower lumbar regions of the limberlost, sating her age old decaying lust on his young striving limbs while he labored at her pithy pit of a vineyard to distill the sudden quick jet of vintage.
Faster. Faster still.
Faster and with utmost urgency until, quivering and rocking, the flesh threatened to shatter itself to pieces on the naked shoals of her shore bound hulk.
Faster yet.
And then, inevitably and with that sudden minute quickening of the vas dijjerens, the final telltale twitch of the gut, he felt his seed spurt forth and emplant itself emphatically in the warm fertile clay of Mesopotamia, the cradle of civilization, the founder of Man, the site of sin as old as Babylon. One quick release was agony-ecstasy; a Michelangelic fulfillment dwarfed by time and compressed into an instant that stirred not even a ripple in the vast sea of time.
Hal fell heaving on her breasts, spent from the exertion of hot lovemaking. Anna seemed in no hurry to punch in at the lust null. She lay under him articulating sated sighs, her thighs still gripping him.
"You very good baby," she said at last. "Sometime Anna give you more lesson, show you how to make every girl in the world crazy for you."
He half heard her get up, slip on her robe and leave. A new level in the education of the senses had been reached, and he lay back, absorbing it.
Then his buzzer rang and he knew Lenny was downstairs and he had completely forgotten about taking a bath.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The hard bop sounds of an old but reconditioned "Bird" Parker record intermingled stereophonically with the considerably more discordant sounds of people partying it up in a plush hotel suite.
The hotel, of course, was the Arlingham.
The suite was on the eighth floor and the party, also on the eighth floor, though sometimes spilling into corridors and downstairs or upstairs like the Horsehead Nebula throwing off streamers of incandescent gas due to some unexplainable and quite eccentric sudden internal buildup of pressure, was going at full swing when Hal entered with his third cartful of champagne. He was careful not to bump into and thus possibly overturn any of the guests, many of whom were kept in the vertical position via their determined grip on the slim stem of a cocktail glass. He maneuvered deftly around them, wheeling the cart up to place beside the walnut-paneled bar at the far end of the room, It was quite a blast
It was a victory celebration, a political one. The Oats had defeated the Ins, and now that they themselves had become the Ins, they knew what to do about it And they were doing it in a big way: with Scotch, rye, bourbon and bubbly. Enough to keep two bellhops busy working in shifts toting rack loads of bottles to the suite on the third floor. They were all getting bombed, male and female alike and ever the twain should meet
Hal looked with covert eyes at some of the swanky-dressed broads decorating various places about the room, including politicians' laps. The female population of the room ranged from teens to tottering-but-still-ready-for-a fling dowagers, wives of the successful political bosses who had brought about the coup in the recent local election. The men wore tuxes and cummerbunds and smoked cigars a mile long. They too ranged from the young and randy to the old, balding and also randy. Not everyone was directly engaged in politics, of course. There were also those fringe people to be found at any such political party's cause, and some mere freeloaders who had angled their way in on the slight pretext of knowing someone there. You could tell the latter group by the way they hung around the dishes of cakes, kors d'oeuvres, caviar and sundry party snacks and goodies ranged on low walnut coffee table, brought in earlier by the best caterer in town.
Class, Hal thought to himself, stacking fresh bottles behind the bar and gathering up dead horses for the return trip. He had been working in the Arlingham a week and a half and he had seen it before. But this was his first party assignment, won by impressing them with his ability to hustle and kowtow to guests, and it was the first time he had ever seen so much of that Other World assembled in one room.
It was something to see. It was something like looking at Anna's big boob that time on that s--ale, but in a different way. Or, it was like a slum kid pressing his nose up against the plate glass front of an expensive haberdashery, everything so near and yet so far miles and miles away.
Since his first day, Hal had kept his eyes and ears open and he had learned a lot. There was a lot to learn in a hotel like the Arlingham, which catered to every-thing from middle class families visiting the Big Town for the first time to Oriental potentates slopping over on their way to Washington to sell oil leases.
There was a lot to learn and Hal was an eager student. Some of the women debs who walked in at five a.m. after a night on the town with their escorts; high class fashion models who were actually high class hookers; well-kept wives of visiting clothing manufacturers wrapped in mink and sable; women, women, women-were the most beautiful he had ever laid eyes on. He forgot about Wanda, about all his tawdry amours in the old neighborhood. He was at first dazzled.
And then he became hungry.
There were other kinds of guests, too, he was finding out like the guy who drove up in a pearl-gray chauffeured Caddy one day, Hal helping him in with his fine-grained pigskin leather-ware, receiving a five dollar tip. And five days later, the guy had run out without paying the big tab and bar bill he had run up, leaving in his room all that expensive pigskin baggage loaded with stones and old newspapers. And the shabby looking guy in 5-A who dressed in rumpled out-of-style suits with wide lapels and yellowed shirts, who never tipped him less than a buck for bringing up the racing form and a bottle of old Jack Daniels every evening. Strange, shadowy people you could never quite figure out
Hal was learning, getting hip. He made friends with the bellhops, busboys, porters, lift men, maids and kitchen help who were in the know, the wised-up hotel hipsters who could size up a guest before he got through the lobby to the register desk In ten days he had learned in what room an all night game would be going on, who most of the permanent guests were, how not to get stiffed twice by the same penny-pinching customer. What some hops took a month or six to learn, he damn near covered in ten days. One thing Hal found out about himself was that he could turn on the personality when it was needed, The other things he had learned were so far just knowledge about people who were something and did things. It was a far different world from the street gangs he was used to. He had little time to think of Wanda or talk to his mother over the phone when she called to ask what he was doing and when he was coming home. He had other things on his mind.
He stacked the fresh bottles slowly on the shelves under the back of the bar, taking in everything that was going on. He knew that he was here in this glittering and high-powered world only on the strength of the purple and white uniform he wore, the short, neat tunic, the pants with the black stripe down the sides, the black bow tie and white shirt. As far as they, the guests, were concerned, he might as well be invisible, he thought.
He was wrong. A woman was watching him, and in a very interested way. She stood a little to the rear of him, leaning against the back of an expensively upholstered evening chair, a martini in her hand, her expensively upholstered body draped in a snug sea-green evening dress. The dress accurately reflected the color of her eyes, which were set in a thin-boned aristocratic face of flawless complexion. Her platinum blonde hair had the fluffy sheen of an expensive show dog's fur.
She had been eyeing Hal for the last five minutes. Up to that time, her boredom with the goings on had been obvious. Couples had taken off their shoes and were twisting out in the middle of the carpet, and one woman had pulled her brassiere off and was waving it around wildly offering it to the guy who could guess the exact size. The platinum blonde viewed it all with contempt.
Despite this, she weaved and spilled some of her drink onto the rug as she walked over toward Hal, showing she wasn't much more sober than anyone else.
She leaned over the bar, her breasts nearly spilling out of the top of her low-cut evening dress watching Hal work, until he noticed her standing above him. It would have been pretty hard for him not to notice. Women seemed to have a habit of pushing their boobs in his face lately.
"Working hard?" she said, just slurring her words slightly.
Hal put on his pleasant, flattered-to-be-talked-to-by-someone-so-important smile.
"Yes, ma'am. They're really keeping me running tonight" He thought she might drop a word to the guy running the show, thus affecting the size of his tip favorably.
But she gave him a mocking smile. " 'Yes ma'am they're really running my rear tonight!' What kind of a simpering answer is that?"
Hal's face reddened. The first rule of befog a successful bellhop was never under any circumstances give a guest any lip, no matter what he or she said. But the truth was he was tired; he had worked hard and it was late and he was a little sick of watching everyone having a ball around him while he wasn't cut in on it
"Look, lady," he blurted, "why don't you go get another martini before the well runs dry?"
"You're fresh. I think I'll report you to the manager, young man!"
Hal dammed the last bottle into place and stood up, the proverbial camel's back broken by the proverbial last straw.
"Go to hell," he muttered through clenched teeth, starting from behind the bar.
She moved into his way, standing at the end of the cart full of empty bottles, be at the other.
"I could do it, you know," she said, threatening. But then she broke into an even-toothed smile. "But I wont-you're too cute."
Cute seemed to be an adjective women liked apply to him, Hal thought. Anna, pro that she was, never charged him any more for a good night's humping because he was 'so cute I could eat you right up.' Hal didn't mind being called cute, because he knew by now that when older women called him that, it usually meant only one thing.
They wanted to be boffed by him.
But this was a little different The potted platinum blonde was not just an older woman, even though she was probably in her middle thirties. She was Somebody. She was one of Those, out there the group prancing and cavorting and getting ready to play musical beds even if she wasn't taking any direct part in this little high class orgy. Her first name was Loreen, which is something as names go, and her last name was McAllister, which is even something more as names go, considering the fact that it was also the last name of a senator.
Which was more mere coincidence. She happened to be his wife.
Hal knew this. Joey, the other hop working the party, had clued him in on who was who, and from him Hal also knew that her husband was far away in Washington, unable to attend the local celebration, busy as be was fighting off such potential national disasters as old age medical plans, unemployment benefits, and other forms of what he liked to term, with his characteristic flair for the original phrase, "creeping socialism." He had sent his beautiful wife as a stand-in.
And his beautiful wife was bored and inebriated enough to tell a hotel flunky he was "cute."
Which was something to think about
Hal thought about it The longer he thought about it, which really wasn't long at all, the more his anger and wounded pride evaporated, like steam from a teakettle.
He put on an easy smile, trying to keep his eyes off where the edge of the cart cot Into her hefty and thighs, revealing their softness. "Why, thank you, Mrs. McAllister. I'm really sorry I snapped at you."
"Don't be. It's the first time anyone's had the nerve to tell me to go to hell in a long, long time. Even my husband he's afraid of me too." She waved her hand deprecatingly at the crowd behind her. "Like them."
Hal raised his eyebrows. "Afraid?"
"Yes. And all because my old man has more money than God isn't that silly?"
Hal didn't think it was silly, hut refrained from comment He couldn't help noticing the way her fingers glittered with expensive ice when she had waved her hand. The rock wasn't as big as the Rita, but ft had probably cost more Ditto for the ones in her necklace and earrings. Loreen McAllister's taste In jewelry was smart, sedate and, it went without saying, expensive.
Some women when they are drunk like to cry; others giggle; still others like to take off their clothes in public, as several were doing now. Loreen McAllister fell into none of these categories. She was a talking drunk. And now that she had collared and cornered her prey behind the bar, using the serving cart as a barricade, the words flowed like wine-gurgling from an expensive bottle
"Yes; that's why I'm here, you know to lend prestige to this piddling little group of grafters and ward heelers leeching on to my husband's tailcoats. Barry that's my husband is considered the bright young man of his party, perhaps even Presidential timber in the next election." She giggled. "Timber that's a good word for dear old Barry. He's as stiff as a cigar store Indian. Good for the public image you know, but boring as hell if you're married to it He was lucky he married money. This is what they're all saying behind his back, even if none of them would dare say it to his face, the parasites. But it's true. Without Dad. Barry would still be a minor clerk in the Civil Service somewhere. I don't know why I'm telling you all this except that I can't talk this way to any of that trash over there and I don't give a damn anyway and ... And you look so cute in that uniform. How did you get into those pants with a shoehorn?"
It was quite a spectacle. She must have been really getting bombed, Hal thought; holding it in and trying too be the aloof and aristocratic senator's wife while downing martini after martini because now, right before his eyes, her composure was dissipating. It was like a cork being pulled from a bottle she was getting drunk as a skunk.
"Know what?" she said. "I'm drunk as a skunk. Isn't that funny? I never get drunkee like this, you know; not at theesh these affairs hubby won't allow it my, I almost fell, then whoops!" With an effort she straightened herself again. "Young man," she said, pronouncing the words carefully in a last effort to maintain dignity, "I want you to walk with me out of her here now. You shee you see, I can't let them know I'm like this. It's not permissible, dear boy. So I want you to escort me out of here and to my room. I shall tip you well for your service."
"Of course, Mrs. McAllister."
"Thash that's a nice boy. Come now; let's get on with it"
Hal came around the cart and she took his arm discreetly. The host, spotting them, came over, a suavely dressed white-haired man who smiled graciously at the senator's wife.
"Is something the matter, Lorry?"
"I have a terrible headache, John," she replied haughtily. "I'm afraid I can't stay."
"What a pity! Can I be of any help?"
"No, thank you. This young man will help me to my worn."
Hal considered it an amazing performance, considering how drunk she was. The host bowed and they walked through the room, few people even taking notice of them now.
But, going down the hall, she seemed to fall apart again. She staggered, lurching against him, and he barely caught her in time to prevent her from sprawling on the floor.
"Whoops!"
"Easy, Mrs. McAllister." In catching her his hand touched a firm breast, but he removed in quickly.
Her room, fortunately, was down the hall on the same floor. She fumbled drunkenly in her handbag for her key. Finally Hal had to take it from her and unlock the door. By then she was clinging to him for support. He had to haul her in the door, closing it after him. Her limbs seemed to be made of rubber.
A lot of things were going through Hal's mind right then. He was both intrigued and anxious over the possibilities that lay before him.
Lay was the word for it. It had seemed to him at first, back there in the party suite, that she had had one thing in mind when she spoke to him. She was bored and she wanted to get boffed.
Which may or may not still might be true. Bat whatever the case, the situation was slightly changed now. She was more stoned than he had thought then. Which didn't mean she still couldn't be boffed, but it was a different matter altogether, boffing a woman who wanted to be boffed and boffing one who was too drunk to know or care whether she was being boffed.
And Loreen McAllister was very boffable, to say the feast
She was standing there, or rather, she was staggering mere in place, unsuccessfully trying to get a cigarette--or rather, the wrong end of a filter tip cigarette, lit from a platinum lighter. Her hair fell down over one eye and she peered at the tip of the weed, circling in on it with the lighter, and she looked very beautiful and very funny and very innocent. Maybe she didn't even know he was in the room with her.
"Mrs. McAllister," he said.
She looked up, peering at him owlishly.
"Is everything O.K. now?"
"You're a dear, Larry darling. I'm a little drunkee."
Hal laughed to himself. She was obviously out of it; she didn't even know who he was and probably wouldn't even remember talking to him in the morning.
But he had to make his decision. He couldn't stand there forever, and Joey would be expecting him downstairs with the cart of empties.
And then she made it for him. She flicked the expensive lighter three times, and then her eyes seemed to spin and she keeled over onto the sofa behind her.
Out
Her hand went to her throat and tugged and she gasped and that was it like a candle sputtering in the winds and then dying out completely, the world blackening.
He stepped close to her. She was there, spread out on the couch, her evening dress hiked up and exposing a shapely bare calf, looking like a partially unwrapped Christmas present
And Hal wondered if he should play Santa Claus.
Why not? She was beautiful. Her platinum hair formed a spun halo around her head; her closed eyes showed long lashes and a half-smile played around her bow-shaped full lips.
And then there was her body.
like her face, it could be called classical, aristocratic. Nothing was there that did not belong and nothing was missing. It was all there, and very tastefully, immaculately arranged. The firm, perfectly proportioned breasts, the trim narrow waist, the provocatively jutting little belly, the smoothly flaring hips, seductive thighs and rounded calves. Her breasts moved rhythmically as she breathed deeply, dead to him and the world.
She represented everything he wanted, everything be would probably never have, possess: wealth, beauty, refinement, education. She was an angel from another world, a world he had never had and would probably never have any part of.
And she was his to do.
When he humped her he would be humping the stuff pf dreams, supping at the table of the gods instead of playing the footman. For those few minutes he would be up there, in more ways than one. And the chances were, bombed as she was, she would never know the difference.
Which, in its own way, would be too bad. If you were going to boff them, it was best to have them know they were being boffed. There is nothing worse than a dead loving unless it's no loving at alL Any damn fool knows that.
Hal knew that, but when he reached for her, ft was not a ripe and tempting half naked breast he reached fox.
It was something else.
Something which caught his eye and put a reflected gleam in it. His hand paused in mid-air as the gleam intensified, riveting his attention.
The necklace. It had broken and spilled in a liquid-looking little pool near her right ear. It sparkled, twinkled, baubled, bangled, and beaded.
A swift vision passed through Hal's hypnotized mind. His arm was upraised; a squat shadowy figure approached him. His arm fell, blood spurted. The figure fell. Then the back room-the filthy mattress, the cigar box with the money in it. Counting it, discovering it was peanuts, thinking he was risking prison or maybe even death for a lousy sixty bucks. Then night; running through alleys...
Hal scooped up the necklace with a quick motion. The stones slid into his jacket pocket like water running downhill. He took a last look at Loreen McAllister, her beautiful features molded into an expression of pleased composure. Then he turned and quickly left the apartment.
Outside, he looked both ways to see if anyone had seen him leaving. No one had.
He went swiftly down the hall to the stairwell, ignoring the elevator and the risk of being seen going down, greater if someone were in the car or saw him getting off.
He made it down to the bellhops' quarters without attracting any attention. He went quickly to his locker, spun the combination dial and opened it. His clothes were hung neatly on hangers inside, shirt, jacket, and pants. Glancing around first, he then slipped the jewels from his uniform pocket to the inner pocket of his sport jacket and closed the locker, spinning the lock again. His hand came away sweaty and he realized he was trembling slightly. It wasn't the first time he had stolen anything in his life, of course. But a glance at those rocks had told him it was grand larceny he was committing.
Hal went to the latrine, where he washed his hands and then stood straightening his tie before the mirror, getting control of himself. Other uniformed hops came in and out, dropping a word or two of greeting, and he automatically grunted in return.
He thought about the situation he had placed himself in. Stealing the necklace had been blind instinct more than anything else, but now it was a real fact and he had to take it into consideration right away.
This was big stuff. He'd have trouble finding a fence tight away to handle something like that, and one who wouldn't gyp him too badly. That shouldn't be too hard. And he'd have more money than he'd ever had in his life.
A roll that would choke a horse.
But what should he do now? Loreen McAllister was out for the night But in the morning she would know the necklace was gone, and she'd do something about it Would she remember he had taken her to the room?, Probably not She might not even remember talking to him. For all she would know, she might have lost the necklace earlier in the evening.
But then there was that other guy, the one who bad seen them both leaving. That was a bad break. He might remember whether or not she was wearing the choker when she left the party. Or, maybe he wouldn't He had seemed plastered himself, and so did just about everyone else in the place, How could they tell one bellhop from another?
Even If they suspected him, he could always deny It-but the thing was, he had to get the jewels in a safe place But he still had two hours to go on his shift, and if he left now it was sure to attract attention.
He decided to stay. It was about the only thing to do, under the circumstances. There was little chance of finding a fence right away, anyway.
He wiped his face with a damp paper towel, combed Ms hair again, and then turned to leave the latrine Just as he was going through the door, he ran into Joey, the other bellhop working with him, "Hey, man where you been?"
"I had to hit the head," Hal said quickly. "What's the matter--something you can't handle?"
"No, but one of the guests has been ringing down for you-some lady in 8-D, I said I was taking care of the floor to cover you but she wanted you."
Hal's breath stuck in his throat. "Me? Okay, FH go take care of it then."
Joey gave him a playful punch in the ribs and said, "Hey, if she's looking for a little loving, I'll cover for you, kid. Some guys get all the luck."
"Yeah," Hal said, and left.
He glanced toward his locker but there were guys standing around it now and he couldn't risk trying to hide the stones somewhere else. A dull kind of panic seized his guts. Only one thing could have happened. Loreen McAllister must have come to, found her necklace missing, and figured out he'd taken it.
Rotten luck. Maybe he should grab the choker and blow the place now. But the thing was, she had asked for him, which meant she might be giving him an out. He could deny he'd taken them, of course but if she pressed it, they'd search his locker for sure, and there wasn't any way he could get to it now with all those guys standing around having themselves a bull session.
There was no way out of it; he had to go up. And if she asked for the necklace and threatened an investigation, he'd have to give it to her. Maybe he could talk his way out of having charges pressed against him.
Going up in the elevator, he cursed to himself. He didn't see how she possibly could have come around that fast, drunk as she was. She must be superhuman to bounce back after the snootful that had knocked her on her shapely butt. Never trust a broad-even to stay drunk.
He got off at the eighth floor and walked down the hall with sounds of the continuing party coming to his ears. He was feeling a little like the condemned man walking the last mile. The sounds of merriment receded as he passed the suite, and then he was in front of the door of Loreen McAllister's room.
He pressed the button, wondering how she could he sober enough to answer it
She was. Not only was she sober enough to have answered the door, but she had changed from her dress into a pale lavender nightgown, a loose, flowing, filmy robe which tied at her neck and reaching to her ankles, nevertheless revealed much of her superb, maturely sounded body.
She smiled. "Oh, it's you. Come in, please."
Hal went in and she closed the door after him. He was amazed at the change that had come over her. She looked dear-eyed and wide awake, and when she spoke her words were perfectly articulated, in her cultured, aristocratic tones.
"Sit down, please over there." She pointed to the couch.
Hal sat down.
She kept him in his agony of suspense while she fitted a cigarette into a long ivory holder and lit it with the same platinum lighter she had had such difficulty with before.
"I suppose you know why I called you here," she said, blowing a hazy cloud of smoke in his direction.
Hal didn't dare say anything. She had him and she knew it
"Oh, come now," she said in an annoyed tone. "Yon know perfectly well you stole the ... what is your name, anyway?"
"Hal."
"Well, darling; needless to say you're in a lot of trouble."
"I I don't know what you're talking about," Hal said.
She laughed throatily. "You don't strike me as the stupid type, Hal, so don't act it You know very well that piece of jewelry was worth a lot of money and I could have you arrested on the spot,"
Hal's shoulders slumped.
"What are you going to do?"
She allowed herself another drag on the cigarette before she answered him.
"That depends," she said finally. That all depends on you."
"On me?"
"Yes. Yon took advantage of me, you know. That wasn't very gentlemanly of you. Or aren't you the gentle-man type, darling? Anyone who would take the risk of stealing an expensive piece of jewelry now he must have something else beside the gentleman in him, mustn't he?"
Hal shrugged. "All right, lady if you want to call the cops, go ahead. Only don't make a big production out of it, huh?"
She burst out laughing at that.
"You're too precious! What on earth makes you dunk I'm going to phone the police, Harold? Wouldn't I have done that already if that had been my intention?"
"Yeah," Hal said, confused, "I guess so,"
She came over to him, standing dose.
"I'd hate to see a good looking young man like yourself end up in jail. You're much too young for that, Hal."
"What do you want?" he said angrily.
She sat down next to him suddenly. "You, silly. It's you I want. Isn't that a fair price for not phoning the police or the hotel manager."
If Hal had been confused before, he was more so now that ever. She put her arm around him and he felt the warmth of her full breast pressing against his shoulder. Her perfume smelled of far-off exotic places, strange and forbidden desires.
"I don't get it," he said, "You know I stole your necklace but you're not going to do anything about it."
Her lips were close to his ear. "No, you adorable creature you; I like having you steal my jewels. You're a thief, a criminal, and I'm going to suffer at your hands. Make me suffer, you young blonde brute!"
Hal began to get it then. She was a nut. He didn't understand her at all, but he began to understand what she was after. And it wasn't just getting boffed, either. She could have had that before easy, and she knew it. The phony broad had been acting all along, Hal realized now: she had probably broken the necklace on purpose and knew everything that had happened while she was on the couch.
It was amazing. A necklace worth maybe ten thou and she had wanted him to steal it!
Her fingers were playing in his hair, the perfume of her breasts smothering him like a velvet fog.
"I have other jewels," she whispered. "I have lots of jewels, baby. You can steal them all from me, one by one if you want to. Where are you from, Harold?"
Harold told her about the neighborhood he was from and she listened with intense interest as he told her of the gangs, the tough guys, the girls who put out before they were twelve and sold it by the time they were fourteen. She drank it all in, her eyes glowing bright while she looked at him adoringly.
"You're a tough kid, aren't you Hal? I've read about kids like you in the paper, but this is the first time I've actually met one. I bet you've stolen lots of things haven't you."
"Sure. Lots of things."
"And had lots of girls."
Thousands, Hal thought wryly, watching her cross one well-shaped leg over the other, the robe parting. The dark spots of her nipples, taut as wooden dowels, showed through the top of the robe. Her eyes half-closed. Her grin became sensual and feline.
"It's amazing," she breathed. "A handsome boy Kke you, coming from the gutter. You know that excites me, darling?"
"It does, huh?" Hal said, groping for her breast.
"Yes," she hissed. "I have a son almost your age. Hell never be like you. Hell grow up to be like his father smooth, prissy, never in need of anything. But you're different You're tough and you're hard. I can feel it In your voice, the way you talk, and the way you feel. There's nothing soft in you, is there?"
Hal thought she was right as hell especially right now. And if her hand moved a little higher on his thigh she'd find out just how right she was.
Her hand moved a little higher on his thigh.
She gave a little groan and her mouth fell slack fa an open invitation.
He kissed her. Her breasts compressed against his chest and her slack wet mouth tried to devour him, rubbing against his, her tongue coming through like the five o'clock express.
She was as soft as feathers, milk and honey in his arms. Her warm tongue lashed and probed and then her mouth broke away in a groan of heavy sensual ecstasy.
Her lips twisted into a mocking smile.
"Gutter boy!".
"What?" Hal said furiously.
"White trash! That's what you are poor dry white trash! I wouldn't wipe my feet on you!"
Hal lashed out viciously at the mouth that had said those words. His knuckles cracked across her lips, splitting them open. Her head jerked back and she fell against the cushions of the couch, blood trickling from her lower lip.
"Aahh!"
Hal was suddenly so furious at her he was blinded by it. He got up, balling his fists, and began to punch her white flawless body. The robe fell open, exposing her breasts and belly and thighs. He hit at them wildly.
The sound of his fists smacking into flesh filled the room. She groaned, bit her Up, then stuffed the pillow into her mouth.
But she didn't try to stop him.
She made no move to defend herself at all.
She turned on her hips and Hal slammed one into the back of her shapely thigh, and then he stopped.
His breathing mingled with her low groan.
Then she turned and looked at him, her green eyes wide and wearing an other-worldly look. She groaned a word which Hal couldn't make out at first.
She repeated it "Belt Use your belt"
It hit him, shocking him out of his blind fury.
She liked it
She liked being punched and slapped and hit like that.
She was hipped on pain and she was demanding more. Those beautiful lips would puff up; dark ugly blue marks would appear in that flawless white flesh but she didn't care. She wanted everything he could give her.
His hand went to his belt buckle. He flipped it open, drew the belt through the eyelets. A thin black strip of feather, curled once around his fist, looking vicious as a snake.
He was still furious. But it was a controlled thing now, deadly and purposeful. If she wanted it, she would get it
The customer is always right, he thought laughingly. Always comply with a guest's demands, no matter how strange and unusual. Do what they tell you and you might get a nice fat tip like a diamond necklace worth about ten thou.
He raised the belt Her green eyes glowed like lire, riveted to the black strip of cowhide. Snap!
Across the breasts.
Whap!
The belly.
Slap!
Thighs.
Each lashing blow jerked her body, the flesh reacting spasmodically. Again and again he swung, laying blow upon blow, raising red ugly welts over the satin smooth surface of her classically molded body.
"Turn over."
She did, burying her face in the pillow. He reached down and caught the twisted lavender robe in his hand. The flimsy material gave easily as he yanked it away from her backside with the sound of ripping cloth.
And then he repeated the whole process, starting with her smooth rounded shoulders, down over her naked back, across the jutting rise of her upturned buttocks.
The back of her thighs, her calves the muscles gathering and twitching as muffled screams came from the pillow.
When his arm began to ache, he stopped, and not before.
But he wasn't done yet
She was paying him well for his services and she deserved the full treatment. The sight of her agitated flesh was driving him out of his mind; his hatred had been sated and now desire took its place with screaming urgency.
Sweating, he slipped off his jacket, quickly removed the tie and unbuttoned the shirt
Then he stepped out of his pants and shorts, tossing them to the floor.
Her whitened face turned toward him to watch. Her glazed eyes wore a dreamy expression.
Her mouth made a little sound of amazed admiration at the sight of his naked body.
And then he was with her on the couch.
It was a big couch, wide and luxurious and able to accommodate the both of them nicely.
Hal didn't bother to turn her. There is more than one approach to any problem, and the particular approach staring him in the face right then was one he felt would be rewarding to work out.
Very rewarding.
Her rounded perfect buttocks glowed pink, striped by the imprint of his belt Even thus marred, they were voluptuously enticing.
Hal decided to try the back door.
There were a few problems, but he quickly overcame them. She seemed to have no idea of what he was trying to do, but when he succeeded she gave a gasp of surprise.
Her buttocks were round springy hammocks under him, providing a cushion for his thrusting body. Making love to her that way was the last final insult he could heap upon her tortured flesh, and one which she hadn't expected, obviously. Obviously because her gasp of surprise turned to a groan of pain.
In that particular way she was tight as a virgin and he had to thrust at her ruthlessly, punishingly.
Deeper and deeper.
Again and again to the singsong crazy little sounds that escaped her throat, making a crude rape of the love act, battering against her buttocks like the winds against a cellar door.
In the morning, he thought, she would be sore in more than one place.
But, then, that was what she wanted, rich whore mat she was.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Hat was still nervous as a kitten about the tea. He had taken the necklace back to his room and hidden it in the trap of his sink, where it could be fished out by using a bent coat hanger.
It all seemed too easy. There was no telling what might pop into the mind of a crazy witch like Loreen McAllister. He went to work at the hotel the next day as usual, wary of the glances of Mr. Ruffalo, the night manager. But nothing happened. Mrs. McAllister had checked out of her room and nothing in the way of stolen jewelry had been reported.
Or so it seemed. But when Ruffalo told him he wanted to see him in his private office, Hal's heart jumped to his throat and all his fears returned in force.
Dominic Ruffalo eyed him seriously from behind the small neat desk. Hal could hear his own blood roaring in his ears. Had Joey spilled something? Had the crazy broad phoned in about the necklace?
The suspense was damn near unbearable. Ruffalo never bothered much with the bellhops unless there was something he had to bitch about. His dark Italian face looked stern and serious. He stuck an unfiltered cigarette in his mouth and lit it before speaking.
"What's the matter, kid you look a little green around the gills," he said.
"Uh, it's my stomach. It doesn't feel so hot today."
"That's too bad. Know why I called you in here?" Hal shook his head. "It's about last night."
Hal's heart stopped again. "Last night?"
"Yeah. You were pretty careless, weren't your."
"I don't know what you mean, Dom. I thought I was doing okay."
"Oh, you did fine all right You made yourself a nice big haul, Anderson."
Hal's throat tightened. He could feel sweat forming in his armpits.
"Haul?"
"Yeah. What are you trying to do, get rich all of a sudden?"
"I I don't know what you mean."
"I mean the party, kid. You made a big haul there only you forgot to pick it up. Mr. Bradford gave me this to give to you."
Ruffalo pushed a white envelope over the desk toward him. Hal picked it up, opened the flap with trembling hands, and saw several crisp green bills inside.
"Your up," Ruffalo said, breaking into a smile. "You must be working too hard, son, being careless like that. But I guess you did a good job. That's the fattest tip I've seen in a long time."
Relief flooded through Hal. He was almost tempted to laugh hysterically, but he gained control of himself.
"Thanks, Dom I I guess I haven't been feeling too well."
Ruffalo looked at Hal with concern. "Maybe you better take the night off. Not much going on tonight; Joey can cover for you. Go home and get some sleep, kid; I don't want to lose one of my best hops." He grinned. "You keep it up and you may have my job one of these days."
Hal didn't know what to say. He was a little dizzy, but not because he was sick. He had practically convinced himself the game was up, and instead he had been handed an envelope full of money.
He managed a smile. "Well, yeah maybe I better go home and hit the sack. Thanks again, Dom. See you tomorrow."
Hal left the manager's office and back to the locker to change back into his street clothes. There he met Joey, who was idling on one of the benches, smoking. He looked up as Hal came in.
"Well look who's here: Lover. How was she, Hal baby? Did she spread 'em nice for ya, huh?"
"Great," Hal said, not wanting to get into an en-tended conversation right then. He opened his locker and began changing hurriedly.
"Hey, where you going?
"Home. Boss gave me the night off."
"What for good behavior?"
"Something like that,"
Joey wrinkled his nose, complaining. "How do you Eke that he gets all the love and a night off as a bonus. Me, all I get is a dose from a Twenty-Third Street whore. How do you like them apples?"
Hal stepped into his slacks and ripped them. "Yon know how it is. Some guys got it and some don't."
"Yeah. Sure. Only next time you line up a dolly in a room you better cut me in on it, or my lip ain't going to be so tight."
"Sure, Joey. Next time for sure."
Hal slipped into his jacket and left the locker room.
Outside, he walked to the corner bus stop and made It just as the bus pulled up. He got on and sat down, relieved to be away from the hotel.
What dumb suckers they were, he thought to himself, enjoying the ride downtown. Dom, who thought it was a big deal being night manager, who thought he was going to follow in his steps. Joey, who couldn't do better than pick up a cheap whore and get himself dosed up.
They were small time and they would always be small time, because they didn't have nerve enough to take chances and brains enough to make them good.
He smiled to himself, thinking that this might very well be his last night at the Arlingham. The rocks weren't doing any good in his drain; he might as well get rid of them. He had an idea where to go, and if things worked out right he'd have a big enough roll to forget about hotel work.
He'd be moving into the big time.
That thought pleased him so much he could hardly wait for the bus to reach his block. Maybe this would be his last bus ride, too. From now on he'd be taking And as far as hotels went, he'd be living in them instead of working in them. And only the best Only the best would suit him now. He could almost feel the roll of crisp green bills in his hands already.
He thought of ways he could spend the money. Clothes. A car, maybe Broads, ones with only not nutty like the McAllister dame, The bus ground to a halt and be got off. It was a short walk to his rooming house He let himself in and climbed the two flights of stairs quickly to his room.
Locking the door after him, he went to the wardrobe and got out an unused wire clothes hanger. He tore off the cardboard that advertised a local cleaning establishment He untwisted the wire at the neck and straightened it out, and at one end be made a little hook. Then he went fishing.
After a few unsuccessful tries, he snagged the necklace and drew it up from the drainpipe. He ran cold water over it, cleaning ft off, and then he jiggled it around in a hand towel to dry it That accomplished, he slipped it into his pocket and left his room again
The diner down the street was open and Ike was behind the counter, flipping hamburgers. Hal went hi and waited till Ike spotted him, then motioned the rangy short order cook over, "Talk a sec?"
"Make it fast I got customers."
"I need to find a man."
Ike gave him a gap-toothed grin. "What kind of a man, man? We got junk dealers down here, we got "
"I'm serious. I got to find me a good fence right away one who's straight."
Ike scratched his jaw. "What kind of merchandise you got?"
Hal slipped his hand in hb pocket and let ms friend see the necklace.
Ike's eyes went wide as saucers.
"They real?"
"They're worth plenty."
"Ten per cent."
Hal nodded.
"Okay, here's where you go ... "
The pawn shop was just closing when Hal reached it He ducked in quickly, surprising the little man with the bald head and red goatee. The broker was about to dose the door.
"Closing!" he said.
"Ike sent me up. I got something for you."
"What you got worth seeing enough to keep ma open?"
"Ice." Hal let him see the necklace. The little man looked at it, frowned, and let Hal in, dosing and locking the door after him.
"Come on in back," he said, snapping out lights is the storefront.
Hal followed him around a showcase through another door into the rear of the store. The man dosed that door, too, and they were alone in a little room with a table under a shaded lamp hanging down from the ceiling. Hal took out the necklace again. The broker took it over to the table and, standing in the yellow oval of light cast by the lamp, examined it From a soiled vest pocket he took a jeweler's glass, screwed it into his left eye, and held the diamonds close up, turning them over. Then he tossed them carelessly on the table, removed the glass, and turned to HaL
"Where you get these, kid?"
"That's my business. I just want to know how much they're worth."
"They'll need work. I'll give you five hundred dollars for them"
"What?"
"Five."
Hal stepped forward threateningly.
"Give me them back."
"Now look, kid, that's a good offer."
"You're crazy I That piece must be worth ten easy."
"Sure, sure. Say it's worth eight-I'll give it that much. Eight thousand. But that's on the regular market III take them, a lot of people will have to handle them. They'll sit around a long time and then they'll be cut and reset They're hot, but I don't know how hot I don't even know you, I'm taking a risk. I'll go six hundred, not a penny more."
"No."
"You're nuts. You take them to any fence around, see if they'll give you five. Wise up, kid."
"No dice."
"I hate to see you do this to yourself, kid. What did you want anyway-a million? Think of all the things you can do with six hundred smackers. The girlies? They'll be dropping at your feet It's a good offer."
"You're taking me!"
"Damn you, seven and that's it What you gonna do with 'er, huh, kid? Wear 'em? Where you gonna find another dealer like me, huh? The others they won't even touch anything this big. I'm the man, kid."
Hal knew he was taking a beating on the stones, but he suddenly felt defeated. The wise guy was right. He didn't know a fence that would handle this stuff, and it might take him ages to find one. He'd expected to get at least several thousand for them. Seven hundred sounded ridiculous.
He was being conned.
He knew it, but there wasn't much he could do about it. He had to get rid of the things now, before they were reported.
"Eight," he said through clenched teeth.
The little man groaned. "I'm losing money. Okay? m do you a favor because I like your honest face. Eight it is."
He pulled a wad from his pocket underneath the apron and peeled off a little pile of bills, dropping them on the table
Hal counted it. It was all there, b fifties, twenties and tens. He shoved it in his pocket and turned to leave.
"Say, kid," the man called, stopping him.-Yeah?"
"If you, ah, happen to pick op anything else, look me up."
"Sure," Hal said. "A pig's rear!" With that, he stormed out of the shop.
It had turned gusty outside, reflecting his mood of anger. The wind whipped at him, rifling his hair and flipping his tie over his shoulder. He walked blindly for a while, turning down unfamiliar streets, clutching the wad of bills in his pocket for security.
The rotten louses, he thought. Treating him like a geek, a green kid who didn't know when he was being taken. He should have wasted the guy, Eke he almost did the old Jew uptown in the candy store.
Eight cents. Well, it was something. It was money not nearly as much as he'd hoped he'd have, but a lot more than he'd ever had. He could quit his job, coast for a while, sniff things out until something big turned up again. Or, he could stay at the hotel, cool it that way. Maybe he could cop a few more things and then, when he had enough loot, blow town for good. Eight hundred was not enough for the things he wanted to do. Not nearly.
He thought about his mother and father and about Lenny and the Pigs. And Wanda. What would they all say if they knew he had eight hundred dollars in his pocket? He could blow the guys all to a party. A big party, in a hotel somewhere, like the one last night. Booze and high-class whores and everything. He'd really be the Big Man then.
Nah; that was kid stuff, kid thinking. They weren't worth bothering with, now he had something and was heading somewhere. Only he did feel a little lonely when he thought about them.
Up theirs.
After walking for what seemed like miles, he found be was near the block where he had his room He decided to go home, to he down for a while and think about things and then get a good night's sleep. Tomorrow night he could celebrate if he wanted to. Tomorrow night he could call up Wanda and take her out on the town, show her a ball and give her a balling. That ought to be kicks, getting her in a good hotel room instead of the back seat of a car. Maybe he'd take her to the Arlingham. That would be even better kicks.
He turned the Corner of the block where he lived. He was halfway to his building when he saw the car. it was a shiny little maroon sports coupe, with the top
And behind the wheel was Loreen McAllister.
She was wearing dark glasses but Hal knew right away it was her. Nobody else bad blonde hair like mat. Or a figure like that, for that matter.
Hal cursed softly under his breath. like a bad penny, she had turned up again a blonde albatross hi a red car, perched on his doorstep.
He closed his eyes and opened them again.
She was still there.
A slender gloved arm waved to him. He walked woodenly over to the car. "Get in," she said.
She smiled her white, even-toothed smile at him. He was amazed she didn't look much the worse for wear. She was dressed in red, this time an expensive red high-waisted dress that matched the upholstery of the sports car, as if planned that way. When she removed the sunglasses he saw her reason for wearing them at night
She had a beautiful shiner.
Hal knew well enough where the shiner had come from. What he couldn't figure out was what she was doing here, and what she wanted
He got in.
"Surprised to see me?" she said, putting the shades back on.
"Look," Hal said, "what do you want from me?"
"You don't act very happy about seeing me, darling," she pouted, ignoring his question. "Is this where you live? What a charming old building. Does it have roaches? You must take me up to see your room sometime."
"Sure," he said glumly, still trying to figure her out. "Only I'm busy now."
"Not too busy to spend some time with me, I hope. After all, we have a bond between us now, daring."
"Bond?"
"Yes. I mean, I know that you're a jewel thief and you know that I'm a shall we say an unfaithful wife?"
Hal squirmed in his seat. "Sine. That makes us dose as peas in a pod, doesn't it,"
"Don't be sarcastic, dear you're much too young for that. How much did you get for the jewels? Or didn't you sell them yet? What are those men called who buy such things? fences, I think. That's what it says in mystery stories."
"I don't read them."
"No, you wouldn't, would you? You're too busy living them. This is an exotic section of town. Let's take a ride to the place you lived when you were a boy. I'd like to see it,"
"Why?"
"Don't ask questions, dear. Just do as I say. I've had a detective working on you all day. He knows about the candy store. Funny the police never connected you. But this detective's smarter than most policemen, and furthermore he does whatever I say." She turned the key in the ignition and the engine roared to life with the hollow sound of expensive exhaust tubes. With a screech of tires she pulled away from the curb.
"Which way do I turn?"
He told her the way. They turned down side streets and crossed through the business section over to the East side of town, where decaying tenement buildings rose like forlorn ghosts in the night And then they were on the old block, the one be remembered from his childhood, and finally in front of the building where his family had lived before moving uptown. Hal looked at it with a sickening of his guts, dazed by the incongruity of himself now, sitting in an expensive sports car with a society broad, and the dilapidated buildings and Streets with their battered and spilling-over garbage cans, the litter of old newspapers, beer cans, broken glass, screaming brats and drunks staggering in the gutter. Why had she wanted to come here? What possible kind of a kick could she be getting seeing all this, associating him with it?
But he looked at her face and he realized dully that she was getting one. A great big kick.
She was treating him like a puppy who needed his nose rubbed in it.
A deep hatred for the beautiful woman next to him rose up and soured his stomach. She was worse than anybody he had ever met. Beautiful on the outside, rotten within. Maybe he was no prize himself, but she had no excuse. She had money, power, everything she wanted, anything a woman could want. She was mocking him, taunting him, making him roll in the filth on purpose in order to keep herself amused.
She wanted him as some kind of a toy.
Hal sensed this, but didn't know what he could very well do about it. She held all the cards. She had checked up on him, hired a private investigator, and now she was holding this power over him.
"It's all so wonderfully decayed," she said, lighting a cigarette from the glittering dashboard.
"We better get out of here before they start throwing rocks at the car," Hal said. People on porches and stoops were eyeing them resentfully now.
"Will they really? How quaint! But I suppose you're right-we shouldn't stay here long." She leaned closer to him and again he got a whiff of her exotic perfume. "Kiss me first, darling. Here, in front of the place you used to live in."
Hal didn't want to. But her lips were enticingly dose, and ft was an order rather than a request. Half with disgust and half with desire, he put his arm around her and kissed the lips that were puffed from the beating he had given her. Her tongue slid out to meet him and automatically his hand went around her waist, frenching her.
"Oh!" she cried, breaking away. "Be careful there, I'm sore. God, I was in awful pain this morning! Want to see what you did to me last night?"
Before he could answer, she lifted up the skirt of her dress, showing him her thigh.
It was white and beautiful and shapely.
Except for the series of dark splotchy bruises along
He should have been disgusted, repelled by the display. But something about it, the incongruity of the sordid marks against the beautiful womanly flesh, instead made him intensely excited. He had done that to her, he thought. His fists had made those marks. And there would be others, further up and all over her.
Suddenly he wanted to see them all.
"Well go to my room," he said hoarsely, knowing lie was letting himself be hooked again. His hatred of her was strong as ever, but once he touched her, the struggle was over. She was a lot of woman, no matter how weird her tastes were or how filthy her mind.
They drove back to his room on Fifteenth Street n silence, a strong invisible tension between them, one of mixed erotic desire, hatred and even a strange kind of admiration. Hal felt a little like he was going crazy. The more he thought about how much he hated her, the stranger his desire for her grew. She was something strange and beyond his experience, and he felt like a man slowly sinking into a mire, an inescapable suck hole.
And liking it, Loreen parked the car and together they went sp the stairs. In the foyer, they met Anna.
Anna was dressed in black, obviously ready to go out. Her busty physique dominated the narrow hallway. She looked at Hal with flashing eyes.
"So you've got yourself a nice lady now, huh, baby? Anna no good for you any more. Teach you all the lesson, and then you go get high class whore!"
"Who are you?" Loreen said, looking at the Spanish woman in amazement.
"I am Anna. He is my baby. I teach him everything you see." She made an obscene gesture.
Hal started to move past her, but Loreen stopped him.
"Wait a minute!" She turned to Anna. "How would you like to make fifty dollars, Anna?"
"Fifty dollars? I am ten dollar whore. What you want to pay me fifty dollars for?"
"Come up with us. Here, I'll pay you the money now."
Hal watched, amazed, as Loreen took some bills from her purse and gave them to the big woman. "I come," Anna said.
The three of them went up the stairs.
In Hal's tiny room, they made a crowd. They were like sardines in a can, but it didn't seem to bother Loreen a bit.
She perched primly on the edge of the chair near the window and said, "Well go ahead." They both looked at her.
"Go ahead," she repeated. "Do what you usually do together. I want to watch. I'm really too sore yet anyway, Hal darling but I wouldn't want you to miss your fun. So don't mind me. You can just pretend I'm not here."
"Better do what she say, hon," Anna said. "She's very rich, no?" And she began to remove her clothes. "These rich people are all crazy, just like I thought" Anna unbuttoned the top of her dress, unzipped it at the side, and began to tug it over her grandly proportioned body. Underneath, she wore a white slip, and her enormous breasts seemed to spill right out of it She removed the slip, revealing the lack of a bra underneath.
"Goodness, honey," Loreen said, obviously impressed, "where do you ever find a bra to cover those?"
Anna chuckled. "Bra? I don't need bra, sweetie. It just get in the way."
"Can can I touch them?"
Anna didn't even look surprised. "For fifty dollars, you can do most anything, dearie."
"I just can't believe they're real!"
Anna left Hal sitting on the bed, smoking disgustedly, and walked over to where Loreen was sitting. She leaned over giving the well-groomed woman a close-up view of her mammarial appendages. Loreen reached out and touched one, gingerly at first, and then caressingly.
"Simply amazing!" she breathed. "I've never seen anything quite like them. And they're so firm!" She continued to touch and caress Anna's huge breasts, and then she did a thing that made Hal nearly flip as he watched from the bed. She kissed them
First one and then the other. Her mouth went to her huge nipples and her tongue laved them.
"Hell!" Hal said. "You want to get in bed with her?"
Loreen looked up. "That might not be a bad idea, now that you mention it. I've never tried anything like that before, but there's always the first time. Do you mind, Anna?"
Anna grinned. "I don't mind, honey-if that what you want. But he might mind."
"I'll leave," Hal said disgustedly.
Loreen rose from the chair. "No, you won't, darling. You'll sit right here and watch. We might need you later."
Hal moved sullenly over to the chair as Loreen started undressing herself. Her dress became a blur of red as she shucked it quickly. In bra and panty girdle and nylon stockings, she made a very pretty if somewhat damaged picture. And soon those, too, were removed and decorating the top of the dresser along with the Spanish woman's clothes. It was beginning to look Eke a room in a French hotel of ill repute.
Hal watched, sick with disgust but fascinated by the intimate spectacle taking place in front of his eyes. There seemed to be no limit to Loreen's craving for sordid experience. Unabashed, she moved to the Spanish woman, and the two of them embraced breasts crushing against breasts. Thigh to thigh they stood there, kissing and fondling each other, Anna professionally, Loreen exploratively, taking her cues from her partner.
They made quite a contrast. Loreen fair-skinned, except for the dark spots of bruises and the puffy red welts which still showed faintly in various places. Perfectly proportioned; the well-groomed lady.
And Anna.
The cheap Spic whore with the overabundant body, big boned and fleshy, her olive dark skin contrasting strikingly with Loreen's fair complexion.
A strange duo.
Their fondling and caressing grew more intense, and Hal could see that Loreen was enjoying the idea of putting a new experience under her belt. The sight of their naked flesh stirred him, but what they were doing disgusted him. It damn near made him want to throw up. But he watched everything. It was too good a show to miss. The role of spectator had been thrust on him unwillingly, but as they moved to the bed his curiosity riveted him to the spot
He'd heard of dykes before. Lesbians who bated men and got their pleasures exclusively from going to bed with other women, women like them. He'd heard of them and he'd seen them, but never in the art. He was curious to see how one woman could possibly satisfy another the same way a man did without having a man's equipment
But this was different Neither one of these women was a purebred dyke. One was a prostitute who made her living off men and another was a high-class nymphomaniac who got her thrills in any way she could think of.
And now she was trying Lesbianism. Anna evidently knew something about it and had had some experience, because she took the lead, urging her blonde partner onto the bed and bestowing kisses over her breasts and belly.
"You've been hurt," she said throatily.
"Yes, I'm sore all over be careful, darling."
"I will. I'll show you the tender way to make love. Once I lived with a woman who liked nothing but this. I learn how to satisfy her because I am broke then and she keep me for nothing. But then she fall in love with me and I have to leave. Crazy, this girl. One day she jump in front of a train,"
"Don't talk, Anna do me!"
It was incredible, but Hal could see it was working. Anna's skilled hands played over the white woman's body like it was some kind of a musical instrument She kissed and licked with her tongue and she pressed with her fingers. Lower. Ever lower.
Her black head bobbed a trail of intimate kisses ewer the slope of white belly. Lower yet
Hal could see the expression on Loreen's face change from one of detached curiosity to lively interest, and then of slow, dreamy-eyed sensuosity.
And finally, as Anna continued, one of pure excitement.
"OH! God, that feels funny-but good, so good! You're so tender, Anna, so good to me!"
Anna said nothing. She couldn't, right then.
When Loreen's shapely thighs began to twitch and turn and her mouth go slack with panting excitement, Anna began to change her tactics a little.
Slowly, she shifted around on the small cot. A big woman, she managed to move gracefully, her brown muscles rippling with smooth precision.
Her knees sank into the mattress above Loreen's shoulders.
But the focal point of her oral caresses remained the same.
Loreen was wildly excited now, her legs kicking and little soft animal groans escaping her lips.
Slowly Anna's buttocks lowered.
The cigarette Hal had been smoking burned down to an ash in the tray, forgotten.
This was the way it was between two women, he thought. Or could you call them women, in a case like this? But they were. Both of them had superb bodies in their own way, and both of them were getting a big bang out of each other's body. Tt wasn't rushed and hurried like with a man. It was slow and intense and spasmodic. But evidently damn effective.
They began to move faster and faster, with odd, laughable little motions. They had forgotten him, that he was even there with them In the room, they were both so damn intent on their disgusting little love duet.
For the first time in his life Hal felt completely superfluous in the presence of naked female flesh.
CHAPTER NINE, IT BECAME ROUTINE AFTER THAT. Hal quit his job, hung around, did nothing. He was trapped and he knew it Escape occurred to him more than once he had a bundle now, a fat roll of greenbacks which he didn't even bother spending but a kind of dull apathy and indifference toward everything had set in which made everything seem futile and hopeless. Not able to understand what was happening to him, he roamed the streets by day, or slept, or read paperback books, the content of which he forgot immediately after Beading them, or simply did nothing.
Loreen came to the city once, twice a week. She knew he would be waiting for her. He always did.
Waiting to satisfy her depraved, unnatural demands.
Sometimes it was just the two of them, sometimes there was a third person. Sometimes the third person was male and sometimes female. Loreen was ever-inventive in her little games. She had the flexibility of an octopus when it came to ways of making love.
She was seemingly insatiable.
Most of all, she enjoyed rubbing his nose in the dirt of his past life. She quizzed him incessantly, made him go into explicit detail of his experiences with girls since puberty. She was delighted to find out he had made love to his sister, that such things could happen in the fetid ruins of tenement buildings and then be forgotten. She made him prowl the slums with her, make love to her in doorways and filth-littered alleys. And as she degraded him, step by step, her sexual allure increased correspondingly.
At first Hal had rebelled. He stayed at a friend's, but she found him there or rather, her paid man did. He told her he was leaving town, but she said she'd have him picked up wherever he went and he believed her, because she was crazy.
The last hope was telling all about it to her husband. But even this threat didn't phase her. She laughed at him and said, "Fine. I can't stand him and we're being divorced, but I'd love to see his career ruined even now. Now don't be silly, darling. You're mine and you can't do anything about it. I own you."
And part of her crazy little ritual was having him take her jewelry when she slept after a bout of love-making. Earrings, a bracelet, a watch they piled up and Hal took them to the pawnbroker and his bankroll increased.
She made him get her marijuana and they smoked it together, and pretty soon Hal found he was smoking it most of the time, keeping a steady, listless high-on which fuzzed everything over and made life more bearable. He began to dream a lot; crazy idle daydreams of far off places, strange lands and people. The dreams convinced him that he was going to do something about his present situation, get out from under the spell cast over him by the blonde witch who had become his slave-mistress.
But he did nothing. He smoked pot and waited around for her to show up. It had become a routine.
Once, he drifted back uptown to the old neighborhood. He looked up Lenny and some of the Pigs. They admired his new clothes and made a big fuss over him, but he couldn't get interested.
It just wasn't the same. The gang had busted up. Hardly existed. In name only now. Lenny explained. "Big rumble. Half our guys got their brains beat out and four landed in the hospital. The Mauraders are the big thing now. But the cops are hip and everything's quiet. I'm working in the old man's butcher shop."
He went to see Wanda but she slammed the door in his face.
"Get out of here, you cheap hood! Go boff that imagine broad I hear you've been running with!" Bam! like that
Hal taxied back downtown to his room and the old routine, picking up an ounce of pot at Ike's diner.
And then the routine suddenly changed. Suddenly, abruptly, and in a way Hal couldn't have predicted.
Hal wouldn't have looked twice at the car in front of his house except that it was a Rolls and had a chauffeur behind the wheel, and neither a Rolls no a chauffeur belonged in that neighborhood.
And the chauffeur was beckoning to him, Hal walked over and the chauffeur got out, walking around and opening the door on the street side, motioning for Hal to get into the plush interior.
"Mrs. McAllister wishes to see you," he said.
He didn't have to say anything more.
Hal got in.
It was a change of pace, anyway, riding in the back seat of a Rolls with a little gray man in a uniform up front behind the wheel. It was a big kick, pretending he was at the top. He sat back and lit a reefer and smoked while the chauffeur drove and drove and finally they were going over a bridge, leaving the city altogether.
Hal didn't bother to ask where he was being taken, for the simple reason he didn't particularly care. He could guess. He was being promoted, maybe, to being Loreen McAllister's kept boy allowed to invade the sanctity of her posh home out on the Island. It wasn't hard to figure, considering that was the way they were headed.
That would be a new kick, too. Always she had made him stay in the shabbiest parts of town, shacking for the night in cheap fleabag hotels or his room.
She'd heap insults on him while he made it with her call him her "Little slum boy," a guttersnipe, and other things. And when he hit her she didn't mind.
She went for that, too.
The Rolls hummed smoothly over arterial highways, turned onto a state parkway, and finally cut north toward the Sound on a lonely twisting road overhung with big spreading trees. It was an area where millionaires lived in privacy and seclusion, their big houses well away from the road, hidden by forests of shade trees. Hal noted all this in a detached way. The chauffeur never spoke to him once during the whole trip and Hal had no desire to question him.
What would happen would happen.
At last they turned off the winding road and drove between the two huge masonry pillars of an open iron-barred gate, the heavy car crunching gravel and nearly brushing the branch-tips of pines that grew down close to either side of the driveway.
The driveway was more like a short road, but at last they reached the end of it, pulling up in front of a huge rambling villa done in the once popular Tudor style, with steep pitched roofs and exposed cross beams. Other cars were parked along the driveway and lights blazed from most of the windows.
Silent Sam swung the car around the oval drive to the rear of the house, where he parked it.
"This way," he said. Hal got out and followed him.
The inside of the McAllister shack was even more impressive than the outside, with high ceilings, crystal chandeliers, large open fireplaces, and rags you couM damn near get lost in. A party was going on in the front of the house and it was a noisy one. But Hal passed quickly through the rooms, following Silent Sam, until they came to a small room that was part of the servants' quarters.
Silent Sam pointed to a chair over which some clothes had been draped.
"You will put on those," he said. "And then, you will serve drinks in the salon. Those are your instructions. The kitchen is over there. Good day, sir."
The first thing Hal noticed about the "clothes" he was supposed to put on was that they were purple. At least, the jacket was. The pants were black and tight-fitting.
It was an exact replica of the bellhop uniform he had worn at the Arlingham I
The intended insult was as plain as day. It was the final insult, the last stinging blow to whatever vanity he had left
Hal began to undress.
When he had finished changing, he went through the swinging door the chauffeur had indicated and found himself in a huge kitchen, where maids were preparing party delicacies and men in short white coats were busy with cocktail shakers. One of them looked up at Hal as he came through the door.
"Okay, kid grab that tray full over there. They're going like mad, so hustle got to keep the horses watered."
With numb unthinking fury, Hal picked up the tray of assorted mixed drinks from the mixing table and began to carry them through the kitchen.
He found himself in a short hallway. There was little trouble after that finding out where he was supposed to take the drinks. The din was coming from a room behind dosed doors. Balancing the tray in one hand, he opened them and went in.
There were only about twenty people, but they were making enough noise for forty. They were smartly dressed, or undressed, depending on whether you were looking at the males or the females and they were all holding drinks and talking at the same time.
Hal's entrance did not go unnoticed. Women gave him the eye and men chuckled at Loreen's "Latest touch." And Loreen herself, dressed in a long sweeping hostess gown of aquamarine tulle, came forward to greet him.
"My pet! I want you all to meet Hal Anderson." Her face twisted into a crud grin. "He's something I found while slumming in the city."
A brunette in a backless dress said, "Well, you've been keeping something from us, honey. How's he in bed?"
"He's divine!" a redhead gushed, feeling Hal's muscle. "Can I take him home with me?"
A man in a dinner jacket said: "Great! Is he going to be in the show?"
Loreen said, "Yes, but I haven't told him yet. See how bewildered by all this he is? I'll bet he just got out of someone's bed, the little dear. Welcome to our little group, Hal darling. Say something, don't just stand there this is an honor. You've made the grade."
"Anyone want a drink?" Hal said brightly, and they all broke up with laughter. In no time at all the tray was emptied and Loreen took him by the arm and ushered him to one side.
Hal eyed her coldly as she spoke to him.
"Some gag," he said. "I bet you got your rocks off, doing this."
"I thought it would be funny and it was. But you won't have to serve any more drinks, darling. This is a very special group, as you may have guessed. What I mean is, they Tike to be entertained in a very special way. And that's where you come in."
"Me?"
"Of course. You have a very special ability, don't you?"
"Sure," Hal said wryly. "I suppose you want me to lay every broad in the place."
"No, you won't have to do that. I've got something better in mind for you. We're having a little show this evening, and you're going to be part of it"
"What do I have to do?"
"You ll know when the time comes. Go into that scorn fer now and wait"
It seemed stupid, but he did as she said. The room was small, with little in it besides a few chairs and a table, but on the table there was an object that immediately caught Hal's eye.
In the center, coiled and black, was a whip.
He touched it The handle was smooth, made of calfskin. The end sprouted into little tails, vicious-looking strips of leather.
He realized now what he was going to be required to do: a repetition of that night in the hotel room The rich bastards in the other room were all a bunch of weirdoes and were looking forward to the big thrill he was going to give them
Who would it be? Loreen? Someone else? There was no telling. When the time came, he would be ushered out and commanded to perform, like a trained monkey. It was sick and disgusting, but he would do it, because he was incapable of feeling now anyway. He would do whatever they wanted him to and take their money.
That was his job.
It grew strangely quiet outside the door after awhile. Hal decided to open it a crack and investigate.
What he saw made him blink, They were watching home movies.
But he saw quickly that he was wrong. They were watching movies all right, but not of the amateur home variety. These movies were very professional ones, made by actors and actresses skilled in their trade. And they were the kind you couldn't see in any movie house, not even the cheap ones along The Street.
The room was dark and the screen reflected a glow back into it by which he could see that pillows and cushions had been scattered over the floor, and people scattered over the pillows and cushions.
All very cozy. The shadowy reclining figures on the floor were watching the shadowy figures on the screen with intense interest, and an air of expectation pervaded the room.
The screen showed a woman.
That was all. Just a plain garden variety woman, a female, a broad. Of course, she was built like the proverbial masonry men's room, and naturally she was quite naked.
Naturally.
That wasn't the important thing. The important thing was that she was smiling seductively at the audience and fingering her mammoth breasts. They were really mammoth, reminding Hal of Anna, and they required a lot of fingering. But a close-up of each one showed that the woman had managed to excite herself considerably; the big nipples were distended and quivering with self-imposed excitement.
Then a pan shot showed her in a natural setting by a lake shore. In the distance you could see a figure swimming in the lake. As the figure came closer and closer to the shore where the woman stood enjoying the sun and her breasts, her back turned to the lake, you could see the swimmer was a man.
Hearing him, she turned, surprised, and tried to cover herself, which was impossible since she didn't have three hands to do it with, and since that would have been a very temporary solution to her problem indeed.
The man got out of the water. He was wearing trunks and the trunks were bulging suggestively as he looked at the woman. He was built like a halfback, and when she tried to run he caught her easily and wrestled her down to the ground. A caption said: I live across the lake. I've been watching you through a telescope every day. Don't try to fight it, honey.
The woman seemed to calm down, and then to respond to his caresses. She turned her head this way and that as he kissed her lips and face and throat
And then her breasts. He spent a lot of time kissing her breasts, but then she had a lot of breasts. Two of them to be exact, but they were both large enough to require a lot of time. And they became excited all over again and the nipples grew visibly hard. The man seemed to get a great kick out of this.
Naturally.
And finally, she was getting a great kick out of hint Naturally.
And before you knew it, they were getting a great kick out of each other and the audience was getting a great kick out of both of them. In the dimness of the room, Hal could see white naked thighs, hands disappearing into dresses, and he could hear low sighs and moans and now and then a giggle or an outright laugh.
The camera became more bold. It showed huge unusual angle shots, close-ups of limbs and parts of two bodies straining toward erotic collision.
And then colliding.
More close-ups. The lens zoomed in and out like a gadfly as they zoomed in and out themselves and the woman's expression changed to one of beatific ecstasy. The man was well and powerfully endowed and would have made a hit even on wide screen. The woman was damn near going out of her mind, judging from the contorted expressions her face went through as his body lunged at her faster and faster. Again and again.
Some of the couples on the floor now were doing the same thing, contorting their bodies so that they could watch and do at the same time, a difficult feat, but one which they seemed to be able to manage very nicely.
And just when everything seemed to have reached a fever pitch, the screen and the room went dark. There were groans of disappointment and cries of anger.
Somebody slipped into the room and grabbed Hal by the hand.
"You're on!" a female voice whispered. "Take the whip and go up to the front of the room, behind the curtain. Quickly, or you'll spoil it!"
Hal seized the whip in one hand and slipped out the door. He was barely able to see where he was going, but someone had him by the hand and they made it to the front of the room, and then he was pulled behind a curtain.
"Use the whip!" the voice said, and then it was gone. And with that, a light came on behind the curtain.
Hal saw his victim then. She was young, not much more than fourteen. She was blonde and fair-skinned and her limbs were smooth and graceful. She stared at him with wide, horrified eyes, as if she was screaming.
But she wasn't. She couldn't, with the wide piece of adhesive tape over her mouth. Neither could she run away, unwilling actress in this little tableau that she was. Her naked body was tressed up on a wooden rectangular frame not unlike the medieval torture racks of old. Very much like them, in fact. Her hair was long and golden and lovely, flowing down almost to the tips of her small nubile breasts. Her body arched and strained, but there was no way for her to get down from there. She was trapped.
Like him
Then the curtain swept open and they were both isolated under the bright circle of a spotlight, in front of a gasping but unseen audience.
Hal could not see outside the circle of light, but he could hear them calling to him as he stood there with the whip, unable to move.
"Go!"
"Whip her!"
"Give it to her!"
"Beat the hell out of her!"
The voices were goading him to action. Tt was insane, grotesque. Some long-forgotten decent part of him rebelled at it. He didn't want to whip her, to mar that lovely young body. And this was not a play, in which false props were used whips that didn't hurt and actresses that faked pained expressions and writhed picturesquely for their set fees.
This was real.
There was no doubt in his mind that the girl was up there against her will. Real tears streamed from her eyes and they seemed to be pleading with him for mercy.
The audience shouted louder, menacingly. They were like animals, threatening to tear him to pieces.
He gripped the handle of the whip and raised his arm. The whip uncoiled like a live dancing snake.
A great sigh of expectancy went up from the audience.
And suddenly his eyes clouded and the vision of the girl before him blurred. She was no longer an innocent golden-haired virgin, but someone else.
Loreen.
Loreen, who had trained him to like this. Loreen, whom he hated.
His arm flashed out savagely and the whip whistled through the air like a hornet. It cracked against her frail rib cage, immediately drawing blood.
Bright red blood.
The sight of it drove him crazy. He no longer heard the audience as he lashed out again, cutting her across the breasts.
Again and again. With the deep-seated urge to punish and kill he lashed her defenseless body, across her face, over her thighs and belly and breasts, till blood ran down her body in rivulets, and all he could see in front of him was a blur of carmine.
And then the girl was no longer Loreen. The tape popped loose from her mouth and a long blood-curdling scream escaped her lips, piercing his crazed fury.
She was just a girl. like his sister, or his mother, or Wanda or Angie.
He watched, horrified, as her head slumped to one side and her lips fell silent. The whip fell from his hands and he ran from the room, shouts and applause following him.
Outside in the hall, he vomited. He puked his guts up on the expensive rug and then he dry-heaved. And after that, he started laughing.
Then, somehow, he was in another room. A quiet little room with just a bed and a desk. He didn't even remember entering it. Everything was crazy, confused. He held his head in his hands and tried to think, but his mind was a dull blank.
Then he heard a click and the door opened and Loreen came in. She was dressed as before, in the strapless gown, and her shoulders looked incredibly creamy and smooth.
"Are you all right now?" she said softly.
"Sure."
"I'm glad." She came over and sat beside him on the bed, her musky perfume reaching out to him. "You were simply wonderful, darling. You were superb down there."
"Down there?"
"Yes. On the stage, with the whip. You surprised even me."
Hal was confused. He seemed to remember something about that, but it was all fuzzy in his mind. What was she talking about? What she said seemed to make sense, but he didn't know why. She petted him and cooed over him, running her fingers through his hair, and he became fascinated with staring at her creamy shoulders and throat and the lovely place where her breasts began to divide above the top of her gown.
"I love you," he said.
"What?"
"I said I love you."
She smiled. "Why, how quaint! I haven't heard anyone say something like that since I was a little girl. You are imaginative, darling. And so handsome in your little uniform."
Hal looked down and saw he was wearing the hotel uniform. Then he looked into her green cat-like eyes.
"I want to make love to you."
"Of course you do, dear. That's why I'm here. You had me so thrilled down there I was jealous of that little girl. Poor thing she was doped up and hypnotized. She won't remember a thing when she wakes up in the hospital. Such a waste!"
Hal found the zipper of her gown and slowly slid it down. The front of the dress fell away from her, and he tenderly removed the wire half-cups that supported her breasts. Then he began to stroke them, slowly, fascinated by their creamy white texture. The pink nipples formed up like buds swelling in his hands.
"Mmmm. You can be nice, can't you? Undress me, darling."
He had every intention of doing just that. The fascination of her flesh was hypnotic, the sheer whiteness of it. She stood and he tugged the gown from her. He rolled down her stockings and slid her lace panties down her perfectly formed legs.
There was not a mark in her now. Naked, she was as beautiful as a marble goddess.
She lay down on the bed, her blonde head against a satin cushion, waiting for him while he undressed.
He undressed quickly. His eyes never left the white sea of her body, and no thought touched his mind except the desire to possess that flesh once and for all.
Forever.
She smiled as he came to her, gently moved her thigh and crawled onto the bed.
He spent little time in foreplay. The possession was quick, immediate, and effortless. She moved and her body moved under him like undulating waves. He sated at the white valley of her breasts and her marble throat with its tiny blue veins.
Her throat ...
His hands touched her throat tenderly, caressingly. They closed around it, held the warm vibrating life within it. He began moving faster on her thighs.
Her eyes opened as his hands closed tighter.
"Darling what are you doing?"
Tighter.
"No, don't-"
A profound and limitless power seemed to enter Ms hands. They took on a life of their own as, with sudden force, they closed like the jaws of a steel trap.
Her eyes bulged with horror. They damn near popped out of her head as she read his intent. Her lips moved but said nothing. A tortured, rasping sound came from her constricted throat.
And Hal began to move faster, his hips lunging powerfully as he squeezed. Again and again.
And then, just as he neared the peak, her body arched like a drawn bow under him and she gasped once, and at the same instant his insides seemed to explode and with his hands locked to her throat like a vise he plunged over the precipice into Hell.
He was done, fulfilled.
She lay silent, still and yet warm, her breasts no longer moving, her lips twined downward in an agonized grimace and her bulging eyes staring at the ceiling.
He got up and looked at her. She was still beautiful, soon to be as cold as a statue.
He laughed.
And then he went to the desk and picked up a long silver letter opener.
It was quite unnecessary, but he did it anyway. He remembered it all now the girl on the rack, everything. And the memory was horrible and he had to be avenged.
Avenged against her flesh.
The sharp implement flashed in a downward arc.
Still-warm blood spurted from her throat, spraying the white sheets.
Again he stabbed, lost in an insane bloodlust. Not until her white creamy body was crisscrossed with ribbons of red and patterned with gaping wounds did he stop.
After that, he turned out the light and left the room, closing the door quietly after him.
CHAPTER TEN
The cops had the block cordoned off and every entrance to the building was covered by uniformed patrolmen. As if this weren't enough, the fire department had arrived in a roar of engines and scream of sirens. Somebody had turned in an alarm. Besides this, there were reporters from the downtown newspapers, running back and forth to the corner telephone booth to get the story in "as it happened." The TV cameras hadn't yet arrived, but the chief of police expected them any moment, along with the National Guard, the Marines, and a regiment from the nearby Army post. Anything that would add to his woes and make an ugly job even more difficult was expected by him momentarily. The hardest job had been clearing the building and the most aggravating and sickening part of that job had been facing the surprised parents.
Evidently they hadn't even known their kid was up there on the roof.
"Get me a bullhorn," he yelled again to a lieutenant in a prowl car. "And keep those people back, goddamn it, before he unloads both barrels into them I"
After much fuss and commotion, the electric portable speaker was brought to him.
He turned to the sobbing mother. "Now we're going to try to get him down from there, ma'am, without any bloodshed if we can help it. We don't want to kill nobody. But understand I got to protect the lives of these innocent people."
This duty done, he raised the bullhorn to his lips and aimed it at the corner of the roof where the kid had last stuck his head out. His voice boomed out electronically when he spoke, seeming to fill the whole block. "Can you hear me?"
He paused then, aware of how ridiculous his words were. They could hear him in China with this thing. But what did you say in a case like this? Sure, on the TV shows, it was easy. You told the poor louse what he knew already that he was surrounded and didn't have a chance. And then you asked him to be a buddy and make things nice and easy for everyone, the people and the city and the taxpayers, by coming down and giving himself up so he could be tried and fried and forgotten. It was a little ridiculous, a request like that, and he was aware of it.
But it was procedure. And this kid had killed a woman and cut her up bad, and the woman happened to be the wife of a senator and God knows what he had been doing out there on her estate but that wasn't for him to question.
The kid was dangerous and probably off his rock.
He put the clumsy instrument to his lips again.
Procedure.
"I'm going up there!" he heard someone say, and before he could stop her a girl scampered across the sidewalk and into the building.
Somebody will hang for that, the chief thought in a rage. Now the worst possible thing had happened.
The killer had a hostage.
On the platform under the water tower he felt like God. The double-barreled sawed-off shotgun he had stolen from the Pigs' old cave rested between his knees, it's solid weight providing some security in a world gone mad.
He hadn't mean to kill her. That sounded crazy, but it was true. He'd blacked out completely afterward, and then he was in a car, somebody's little sports coupe, speeding along the parkway. And then he'd had to stop to throw up again, only nothing came and his guts ached and afterward he remembered, every little detail of ft, from the beginning to the end. Even then, it had all seemed like a horrible dream, something he had dreamed up when he was high on pot. While he was running, it hadn't seemed real and he hadn't had to think about h much. Riding the buses after ditching the car, making his way uptown. And now, here.
He didn't know why he had come here, to this particular place, this spot. It was a trap as much as anything else, a dead end. But he liked it. He felt almost peaceful up here, sitting and waiting. It was all up to them now. He was up here, where he wanted to be, and they were down there, and it was up to them to change that. Because he wasn't going down, ever. They could shout into that thing all day if they wanted to and ft wouldn't do them any good.
He saw pigeons flying in the distance. He liked that. He wondered how Nut was doing, if he was down there with the rest of the guys. Good old Nut. A lamebrain, but a regular guy, a pal. Lenny, too. He wished momentarily he could be with them again.
Then a motion caught his eye and he saw the roof door below him creep open.
He raised the shotgun, ready to blast.
"Hal?"
The voice was no cop's. And when the figure moved oat into the light, he could see it was Wanda. Wanda! "Stay back!"
But she ignored him, walked across the roof to the ladder leading up to the platform.
"I'm coming up there with you, Hal!"
"Get out of here you want to be killed? Beat ft, Wanda. You're just making it worse!" He cursed softly under his breath.
Her face appeared over the top of the platform, and then she was climbing up next to him.
Her eyes were red and tear-streaked.
"Oh, why did you do it, Hal?"
Hal shifted restlessly, his legs aching from the Indian position he'd been squatting in. It was a dumb question. It was a question he couldn't answer anyway, so he let it ride.
"You look good, Wanda," he said instead.
She started crying, leaning over to touch him. "Hal, if you go down, maybe you'll get off. Maybe you can claim temporary insanity or something like that and they'll put you away for awhile but then you'll be out again and-"
"Forget it, Wanda."
"I can't! It was my fault T shouldn't have chased you away and called you names that day you came back to see me!"
"Nah, nah that's all past, Wanda. A lot of other things happened you don't even know about. I guess I got into this myself all right. But I'm not going down so you might as well go back."
Her jaw trembled as she spoke.
"We we could have made it together, couldn't we, Hal?"
"Sure we could. It just wasn't in the cards, that's all."
She surprised him be leaning over and putting her arm around him and kissing him. Her lips were salty-sweet from her tears, her breasts trembled against him and he could feel her heart pounding like a bass drum.
"Hal. No matter what happens to you, I want you to know something. I loved you. We all thought it was corny then to use that word, so I couldn't, and when you took off like that I figured I was just another girl to you. But all the time I had it bad for you. I didn't go out with anyone; I was waiting for you to come back..."
"Take it easy, Wanda." He put his arm around her shaking shoulders.
"Oh, Hal!" she cried. "Does it have to be like this?"
"It's just the rotten breaks. Don't blame yourself. We could have made it."
"Then take me, Hal take me now, for the last time."
"You're craz-"
"Or I'll jump off this roof!"
There was not much he could do to dissuade her. She was obstinate, pleading, and he had to get her down off the platform before the shooting started.
In the end, she won out.
It was cramped on the tiny platform. There was not much room to move around in, and at first their clumsy petting attempts were almost embarrassing to them.
But he kissed her, at first dutifully, with the idea being to get rid of her quickly.
And then, her frantically warm response changed that. Their tongues met and caressed and he felt the deep vibrating warmth of her passion for him. It crept into him, overwhelmed him, brought up his passion despite the agony of their desperate situation.
Or maybe because of it.
There wasn't much time to do much in the way of undressing. Not much time or much room. It was too quiet down there; something was brewing and maybe they were closing in on him right now. But in her warm embrace he could put such things out of his mind for the moment.
She shifted her dress around and let his hand slide op to her panties.
She helped him remove them.
Somewhere a voice roared: "You've got five minutes to let her come down, kid!"
Five minutes. Hal almost laughed. The guy with the speaker didn't know what he was talking about, or he wouldn't have said that. It was funny. Damn funny.
He could die laughing.
But then she grabbed him, grabbed him desperately and urgently, taking his manliness to her in a tight embrace which sent thrills through him.
Five minutes. The hell with them. He had hours, years, centuries for this. Because he knew now she had meant everything, and that was enough for him.
They'd have their five minutes, he and Wanda, and it would be all theirs and the world could go to hell.
He opened her dress at the top and cupped her breasts in his hands. He kissed them quickly, passionately, compressing everything into a few minutes of giving. Her lovely little breasts were like warm animals in his hands.
And then he eased her back.
Her skirt went up over her white plump thighs and her knees raised for him. He was ready.
He lunged.
It was quick, incisive, a coming together of two bodies that expressed all the meaning there ever was in the world. It was hot and intense, a cleaving and striving to put all of experience into a few seconds. It was good.
They seemed to rise physically, higher and higher toward the burning sun. Higher.
And then they plunged into it and the world did a quick flip and their bodies screamed the joy of fully achieved and perfectly harmonious release.
Afterward, she began kissing him and hugging him and he had to fight to disentangle himself from her.
"You got to go now, Wanda."
"I don't want to. They can't shoot at you while I'm here."
"It was too good. Don't spoil it for me now beat it!"
"You you really want me to."
"Yes. Now."
She didn't cry this time. She leaned over and kissed trim again and then she was gone, down over the side of the platform. He watched her cross the roof and open the door and disappear inside.
Then she was gone.
Hal settled himself into a comfortable position then and began to watch for the pigeons. He spotted them at last, far over toward the horizon. It looked as though they were going to cross the river this time and never come back.
