Her name was Fran Allen. She was eighteen, and had the face of an angel. Her wavy, dark-brown hair cascaded in a soft sheen about delicate, high cheekbones in an oval face. Brown eyes, sparkling warmly beneath a high forehead, were spaced widely across a small, slightly retrousser nose, shiny at the tip. Full, red lips were as attractive as ripe, red cherries and her jawline and chin were finely sculptured, the latter bearing a small dimple.
It was Fran's body which aroused the greater excitement. Firm buttocks swiveled beneath the revealing orlon dress which she wore as intimately as a second skin. Tanned, pertly-provocative legs moved her high-breasted, tiny-waisted figure across the stained tile of the Hollywood drugstore floor to the lunch counter at the rear. She slid smoothly onto a revolving seat and crossed the remarkable legs; the clinging skirt creeping, audaciously, a few inches up her thighs. Lithe, full calves flowed into trim ankles and tiny, smart lizard pumps.
As she straightened in her seat, the firm, high thrust of her breasts strained against the confinement of the low-cut bodice.
A deft waitress drew a cup of coffee from the urn and set it on the counter at her elbow before moving away. Fran opened her brown lizard purse and carefully selected one of the two remaining cigarettes in the crumpled pack. She placed the filter between her lips, flared a match and drew deeply.
She smiled wanly at her reflection in the mirror behind the counter as she let the smoke out of her nostrils. She looked very much like a Hollywood starlet of a successful magazine cover model. The sad truth was that in three months she had managed to become neither and her bank account was dangerously low.
She sipped slowly on the coffee, savoring it the way one savors the taste of imported champagne. Today she would buy a newspaper and find a job. Any kind of job. It didn't matter. Something to pay the rent on her third floor room; buy her two square meals a day; and keep her in clothes and cosmetics and cigarettes. She would still look for modeling work and acting jobs in her off time but now that she'd gone through the fourteen hundred dollars left over from Aunt Ada's estate, she would be realistic and find a steady job.
Fran turned and stared down the counter. Two other girls had arrived and were dipping doughnuts in their morning cup of coffee. They were beautiful young girls, dressed to kill, showing off their lush young bodies. They, too, were of the ten thousand girls who, yearly, made the trek to Hollywood, attempting to crash the movies and television. Some of them, like her, would wise up after a while and go on to other things-eventually find a nice guy; get married and raise kids. Others would keep on waiting to be discovered until it was too late for them to do anything but go on the way they were; giving or selling their bodies in their struggle for success.
Fran grimaced at her reflection in the mirror. She had given herself three months. The three months were up. Now she would have to find a job. It was a matter of economics. She had to be practical.
A stunning redhead waltzed across the tile floor toward the counter. Fran eyed the voluptuous figure and caught her breath. The redhead was perfectly formed and more than generously endowed in every department. Fran felt her body grow warm. She licked her lips and tried to pull her eyes away from the girl. God! She was beautiful. So much more beautiful than any of the others. This was the kind of girl who would become an actress or a model. This was the one girl in ten thousand who would make the grade.
Fran caught sight of her own reflection again. Suddenly she felt very ordinary and plain. Stacked up alongside the pure, unalterated sex and beauty radiating from the redhead, she was just an average girl.
Fran shuddered and reached into her purse and plucked the remaining cigarette out of the pack. She had intended to save it for later but she needed it now. Maybe she could skimp on dinner and eke out a pack of cigarettes from the loose change in her purse. Her budget was tight and geared to last her one more week and that was all. She had to be careful.
"Hi, doll. Wanta make it with me today?"
Fran looked into the wall mirror. Flashy, black haired, well dressed, handsome Nicky .stood behind her, grinning down at her, his hot eyes dancing. Slowly she lit her cigarette and turned on her seat to face him.
"No thanks, Nicky, once was enough."
Nicky slid onto the empty seat on her left and promptly placed one hand on her leg. Fran reached down and calmly removed it.
Nicky chuckled. "Gee, doll, I was hoping for a repeat performance."
Fran laughed at him. "What are you this time, the son of a talent scout or is your father the head grip at Sexographic Pictures?"
Nicky slapped one expensively clad, freshly pressed pants leg and laughed easily. "Can't blame a guy for giving you a line, can you? You're such a hunk of doll I figured I had to go all the way to make it with you. Heck, I didn't do anything any other red-blooded American male wouldn't have done. Besides, you knew the score. I didn't fool you for a minute."
Fran flashed him a tight smile. "You're right. You didn't. I couldn't afford not to take the chance you might just be what you said you were." She shrugged her bare shoulders casually. "It was a gamble."
Nicky leaned forward, his eyes bold and sparkling. "And you liked me, baby," he said in a low voice. "You liked me plenty."
Fran took a deep pull on her cigarette. She studied him out of narrowed eyes, saying nothing.
Nicky rubbed his hands together eagerly. "How do I stack up on your all time list, baby?"
Fran spun toward the counter angrily, wanting to smash the cigarette out in his face. The nerve of the little bastard! The ego! Well, she'd asked for it. She'd known the score, sex wasn't new to her. Her drunken lout of an uncle had introduced her when she was twelve. And then, in high school, she'd used her body to attract the most desirable, popular boys in school. And in her senior year she earned the help of the school politicians in several sessions in lovers' lane to insure being named homecoming queen. From there, it was just more of the same to move into the finals of the state beauty contest where her skills had brought her in second. Then Aunt Ada had died and after the funeral expenses and the creditors finished with the estate, she'd packed her belongings and, with the four hundred dollars left over, had made the trip west.
For a while she'd haunted the modeling agencies and casting studios and television lots, hunting for jobs along with thousands of others. She'd discovered this rundown, popular hangout for hopefuls, across the street from Mammoth Studios. Many of Mammoth's big producers, directors and stars occasionally came into the drugstore for a pack of cigarettes or a bottle of aspirin and many pairs of cool, calculating eyes had swept over her in passing. But that was all. No offers. No propositions. Until the good looking, well-heeled young wolves started nosing around. Their lines were so corny and so obvious it would take an awfully empty-headed, naive girl to fall for them. Still, she went along with the "Nickys", playing the game as did all the other young hopefuls. There was always a bare chance that one of the young men would actually be what he claimed to be.
"Well ... how was I?" Nicky was becoming impatient.
Fran shot him a tired smile. "Fair, Nicky. Only fair. About twentieth from the top."
Nicky's shoulders slumped in the Brooks Brothers suit. The luster in his eyes faded. He stared at her, unbelieving. "I don't believe you," he said.
Fran shrugged and finished her coffee. "Touche," she said.
Nicky leaned forward on the counter, his head turned to her, his face screwed up in anxiety. "Let me try again, baby," he pleaded. "Let me take you out for a steak dinner and then, later, we can make it real big. This time I guarantee to shoot to the top of your list."
He was so earnest about it that Fran laughed despite herself. She snuffed her cigarette out and picked up her purse and slid to her feet.
Nicky grabbed her bare arm. "Where you going, doll?"
"To get a job. So long, lover boy. You can pay for my coffee. I'll take a rain check on the steak dinner."
Nicky let go of her arm. "See you around, Fran."
Fran moved to the far end of the store and took her time selecting a newspaper. She finally chose the Times because it looked a little thicker than the others. The thicker the paper the more ads it would carry, she reasoned.
She paid for the paper and walked out of the drugstore. She sat down on the bench at the bus stop and folded the paper and began to study the want ads.' Now she was going to get a job and forget the make believe world she'd been living in. She was going to get a job and earn some money. Later on she would think of modeling or acting.
CHAPTER TWO
The gold lettering on the glass double doors read California Coastline Drive-In Theaters, Inc. Below, in smaller print, were the words: Floyd Cannon, General Manager.
Fran Allen read the lettering again and then checked it against the pencil-circled ad in the classified section of the rolled newspaper she held. She nodded to herself, sucked in a deep breath, and stepped forward.
Here goes nothing, she thought wearily. Fran slid into the room gracefully and glided across the inch-thick carpeting to the lone desk at the back of the fluorescent-lighted office. A trim young woman in butterfly -rimmed glasses and a low-cut yellow dress watched her wordlessly.
Fran felt goose pimples break out on her bare arms. She had the funny idea that the blonde receptionist had been giving her a thorough once over. She'd been undressed by many pairs of male eyes before but this was the first time she'd felt denuded by the eyes of another woman. She was conscious of her own flesh-colored skin-tight orlon gown that hugged the outlines of her bursting full breasts, the plunging neckline.. The dress was strapless and backless and she filled it out to perfection.
"I'm here about the ad," Fran said slowly. "I guess I'm a little late...."...." Name?" The blonde picked up a pencil and poised it over a blank 3x5 filing card.
"Fran Allen."
"Age?"
"Eighteen."
"Where are you from?"
"Omaha, Nebraska."
"Where are you living now?"
"In a room in a hotel near here."
"Any family or relatives in Los Angeles?"
Fran shook her head. "Nobody. I'm all alone in the world."
The blonde smiled tightly at her, her eyes appraising her body quite frankly. "What are your measurements?"
Fran stared hard at the blonde. "Forty, twenty-four, thirty-five," she said, thinking it odd that such statistics would be necessary for a job in a drive-in movie.
The blonde looked up at her, still smiling coolly. "We supply your uniforms for you. That was why I wanted the vital statistics," she explained, amused.
Fran smiled feebly. She was imagining things about blondie. In three months on the coast she had yet to meet one person that wasn't on the make. She was beginning to be suspicious of everyone. Even other women.
"Mister Cannon will see you now," the girl said lightly.
Fran turned and walked by the blonde's desk and opened the door to the inner office slowly. She stepped into a deeply carpeted office in almost complete darkness through absence of lights and closed drapes. The door snapped shut behind her and she searched the office quickly, trying to distinguish the features of the man sitting at the corner desk.
"Would you like it better if the lights were on?" A rich, mellow voice spoke to her from the darkness. "Yes. Please...."
The shadow rose and moved around the desk and crossed the room to touch a switch on the wall behind her. The room flooded with light. "Better?"
Fran looked up into the most handsome face she'd ever seen off the movie screen. She sucked in her breath and blinked at him. He was tall and dark and two hundred pounds of exciting man. His features were ruggedly chiseled and free of blemishes or imprefections. She felt her heart beat wildly ... He was a veritable Greek god.
"I'm Floyd Cannon," he said in his deep, rich melodic voice.
The voice shook her. She gulped and wet her red lips and shot another look at him. He was smiling, his even teeth brilliantly white against his dark skin.
"I'm Fran Allen," she said hopefully.
He touched her arm and an electric current charged into her body. Suddenly she was hot in the farthest depths of her body and her bust was heaving tightly with desire. No man had ever made her feel that way before.
He led her over to an easy chair beside his desk and she sat down, aware only of the nearness of him and the magnetic pull of him. He sat across from her and casullly lit a cigarette. Then he smiled warmly, leaned back in his white leather swivel chair and watched her through half-lidded eyes, an amused smile curling his full lips.
"I'm not a movie star," he said in the rich cultivated voice. "The name's Floyd Cannon. Age, twenty-nine. Single and available. During working hours I'm general manager of Cal Coastline, Inc. Now, what may I do for you, Miss Allen?"
She wondered if he would blush if she really answered him with what was on her mind at that moment. Then she decided that he was so virile and handsome that he probably had a dozen girls a day betray the fact they wanted him. It was what he would expect.
"I need a job," she said, regaining her composure. "I'm broke."
"You just arrive in Los Angeles?"
Fran shook her head. "Three months ago. I wanted to break into modeling or acting but nothing happened. Now I have to go to work and earn some money."
He leaned forward over the polished walnut desk. His dark eyes were suddenly wide and alert. His whole manner changed from one of bored disinterest to charged concern.
"Los Angeles is not a good town to be alone or broke in," he said, letting his eyes travel over her bulging breasts. "Especially for such a lovely young woman as yourself."
Fran flashed him a warm smile. "I know," she said dreamily. "I've met some the more predatory species already."
Floyd returned her a grin. "I like you, Fran," he said quickly. "And it so happens I've got a spot for you. Sixty-five a week to start plus tips. Six nights a week, six-thirty to one in the morning. How's it sound to you?"
Fran breathed a sigh of relief. She would have worked for nothing just to be around this handsome hunk of manhood. "It sounds just fine to me, Mister Cannon. I'm so happy you have a place for me." Fie picked up the phone and dialed a number, speaking on the phone for several minutes before putting it back on its cradle. His dark eyes flashed at her again.
"I'm going to start you at the Tropical Nites Drive-In over in East Los Angeles. They're short a girl there. And, being as you're pretty new in town, I took the liberty of setting you up with another girl who works at the same snack bar you'll be working in. Thelma Roberts. She's from somewhere in Iowa. You'll like her."
Fran stood up. "Gee, thanks, Mister Cannon."
"Call me Floyd...."
He stood up to his full six feet five inches. He came easily around the desk and put one arm about her tiny waist. She felt her heart beating wildly as she looked up into his dark eyes.
"I intend to see a lot of you, Fran. Hope you don't mind?"
Mind?? she thought hungrily. With you? Oh, no, darling, I don't mind. Aloud, she said, "I'd like that, Floyd...."
He grinned at her and led her toward the door. "Come on, we'll pick up your things. I'll drive you over to your new pad and give you time to get settled before you go to work tonight."
"You mean, I start working tonight?"
He grinned down at her. "Tonight's Thursday. Want to get you broken in before the mad weekend starts tomorrow. Memorial Day, you know. Exams are over and the college crowd starts flocking to the movies."
They rode down in the elevator together. Fran was conscious of their hips touching, of the warmth of his big body against hers, of her growing desire for him. She felt giddy and wanton and bold. She wanted him and she knew she was going to have him.
After they'd picked up Fran's bags, Floyd drove expertly through the traffic to ease the car to a stop in front of a gray, two story stucco home with two orange trees on the front lawn. He eased his big body out of the car, reached in and picked her suitcase out of the back seat and then walked around the car and opened her door for her. He helped her to the sidewalk, his hand lingering on her arm. "Like it?"
Fran whistled and grinned at him. "Who's going to pay my rent?"
He led her up the walk to the front door. "These old homes have been converted into apartments." He opened the massive oak door and they stepped into a long spacious hallway. There were two doors on each side of the hallway and a marble stairway leading upstairs at the rear of the hall. Floyd closed the big door behind them, turning to the first door on their right and twisted the knob.
"You're lucky. You live on the ground level." Fran followed him into a cheerful, sunny living room. She paused in the center of the room and looked around. A huge brick fireplace occupied one entire wall and made the room seem warm and homey. Not even the faded sofa, the carpet and wrinkled, lackluster drapes could dampen her spirits.
Floyd sank down into the soft sofa and watched her as she wandered about the room. Fran knew he was ogling her body and she felt the tremors race through her body again. She wanted him to want her. She hoped it wouldn't be too long....
"It's wonderful, Floyd. I love it already," Fran said, turning to him, leaning over, the swell of her breasts open to his feasting eyes. "I don't even care how much it will cost me."
Floyd focused his eyes on the thrust of her bosom. He smiled slowly and glanced into her eyes. "Ninety a month. Forty-five a piece. Not bad at all for a couple of working girls. These places used to belong to movie directors and producers and some of the stars thirty years ago. Nowadays they rent out as individual units."
Fran turned and walked into the kitchen. "Where's the girl I'm to room with? I'd like to meet her before I go to work."
Floyd rose and walked softly over to her. "I'm glad she isn't here," he said, putting one hand on her bare shoulder.
She turned toward him, face uplifted, moist lips parted. He pulled her tightly against him and then his lips were on hers, demanding, urgent....
"I want you," he said huskily.
She pushed her body hard against his and felt the firmness of him. Her arms circled his neck and she kissed him wantonly, her tongue darting. He crushed her to him, flattening her bursting breasts against his hard chest. His hand slipped down her back, caressing, pressing....
She felt herself being lowered to the sofa and let herself go freely, her body clinging to his, her fingers digging into his back.
"Floyd," she said in a whispered voice, her breath hot on his cheek.
The door banged open. Fran felt her heart beating wildly.
"Well, well, what have we here?"
Fran looked up to see a tall blonde girl framed in-the doorway. She was dressed in black toreadors and a white halter that contained huge, boucing breasts. Her hair was tied behind her neck in a pony tail and her red lips were split in a wide smile.
"Wrestling with the hired help again, eh, Floyd?"
Floyd helped Fran to her feet. He winked at her and then led her over to where the blonde girl stood. He didn't seem at all embarrassed or flustered.
"Fran, this is your new roommate. Thelma Roberts. Thelma, meet Fran Allen from Omaha."
Thelma held out one well-manicured hand. Fran took it. It was warm and firm in her own.
"Do you always wrestle your boss, Fran?"
Fran grinned at Thelma. "When they're as handsome as Floyd, I do."
"I wrestled with him once, too," Thelma said, making a face at Floyd. "He's so handsome he thinks he can have any girl he wants." She turned to Fran. "He can, too."
Floyd laughed easily, squeezed Fran's hand and walked to the door. "Thelma can show you the ropes. See you soon, Fran."
Thelma walked out into the hallway with him. "She taking Rose's place?"
Floyd nodded. "Selling tickets till nine and then nine to one in snack bar number two. And that's all ... for now."
Thelma nodded and walked back into the apartment, closing the door behind her. She moved toward Fran, her long-limbed legs moving sensuously as she walked.
Fran stood still in the center of the room, .her eyes riveted on the blonde girl. "What did he mean ... and that's all for now?"
Thelma shot a quick look at her. "Forget it'" she snapped. Then, more softly, "Rule number one, honey. Don't ask questions."
CHAPTER THREE
The Tropical Nites Drive-In Movie Theater was one of the new, modern widescreen theaters with acres of parking space and two large snack bars, one near the front and the other situated well back near the rear fence. The theater accommodated fifteen hundred cars when filled to capacity but tonight there seemed to be little activity.
"We're late," Thelma said, wheeling her late model Chevrolet into the open gate and slamming to a stop behind the stone and frame two-story building. "Come on!" she urged, jumping out of the car and half running toward the nearest door, Fran at her heels. "We dive into our outfits and dash out to the main entrance ticket booths. We open in four minutes."
Fran followed Thelma hurriedly and quickly donned the blouse and skirt Thelma threw at her in the small dressing room at the rear of the snack bar. She noticed that Thelma wore no brassiere nor panties and she thought it odd. Then she shrugged. Maybe Thelma was one of those girls who got a thrill from the cool breeze sweeping up her legs.
They walked quickly down the gravel drive to the main gate where a tall, broad-shouldered young man in the traditional white cap and coveralls opened the ticket booth for them and stood aside as they entered:
"Al, meet Fran, the new girl."
Fran nodded to him. Al was swarthy and his eyes pierced her boldly, followed the contours of her body. She shrank away from him. He grinned and pinched her on the buttocks.
"Hi, baby," he said, licking his fat lips.
Fran slipped into the high seat on her side of the booth. Thelma slipped into the seat beside her. The island was located in the middle of the drive, with cars lined up facing them on both sides. Fran's window slanted to the left, Thelma's to the right.
"You know how to operate this gadget, doll?" Al asked, breathing over Fran's bare shoulder.
Fran nodded. "I was cashier in a movie house back home," she said. "I know how to handle it Give me the prices. That's all I need to know."
Al chuckled and slipped an arm about her waist "Only one. price," he said, his hand crawling down her leg. "One-fifty per car. Don't matter how many in a car, it's still a buck-fifty."
Fran pushed his hand away. She noticed that the short pleated skirt she wore came up halfway to her waist, exposing plenty of her trim leg. In this well-lighted booth and with the seat so high, incoming drivers had a real good look for their money. She would have to remember to keep her legs together.
"Al's the manager, Fran," Thelma said icily. "He thinks he has extra privileges with the help."
Fran cast a glance at Thelma. Al had his hand between her legs and Thelma was trying hard to wiggle free.
"Cut it out, Al," Thelma wailed. "Cars are beginning to line up!"
Al laughed and pulled his hand away. " The punks get more of a cheap thrill watching us than they do inside the show."
"Come on, Al. Leave us be. Okay?"
Al opened the door to leave. "See you later, babes." He patted Fran softly. "I'm gonna look forward to really getting acquainted with you, baby," he said, his lips smacking. "Maybe we can start tonight, huh?"
Fran ignored him. She concentrated on selling tickets and in a few minutes Al went away. Fran heaved a sigh of relief. He looked like trouble but she'd handled trouble before. It didn't scare her.
For over an hour the long line of cars streamed into the theater. The two pictures that were playing were oldies and nothing special but it was the beginning of the summer and the young men were really out in force. Every car held four and five and sometimes six crewcut youngsters of all ages from eighteen to twenty-five jammed inside. They were fresh and someone in almost every car propositioned her. At first she blushed but after the fifth or sixth time she became accustomed to it. After all, they were wearing short skirts and low cut blouses. In their high seats with their skirts creeping up around their waists, and with the necessity for reaching down at an angle to take money and give tickets, breasts were exposed. The theater patrons were aware of this, of course. Most of them held their money outside the car windows as low as possible. With such cheap thrills available it was no mystery why there were so many propositons. Fran just smiled and said nothing.
Finally the incoming traffic stopped and Thelma said it was time to count the take and close the booth. Al was walking down the long drive toward them, swinging his flashlight, playing the beam off the stone walls of the drive as he approached.
"The fellows out here are sure different from back home," Fran said, counting her money and balancing it against the number of tickets sold.
Thelma shot a quick look at her. "Yeah? How come?"
Fran shot her a quick smile. "Guys never go to drive-in movies alone back home ... or without girls along. Tonight I bet I didn't see over a few couples. Just car after car loaded with guys or just guys by themselves."
"Six-to-one ratio, boys over girls, in this particular area, honey," Thelma said, a twisted grin on her pale face. "Don't let it get you. Lots of things out here are different from the midwest. You'll get used to it."
Fran stuffed her money in the cloth bag and swung down to her feet in the small booth. Al was busy pulling the heavy wooden gate shut across the entrance. Thelma bagged her money and stood up. She flicked the light switch on the wall in front of her and darkened the booth. They walked outside and stood in the drive.
"We always wait for Al," Thelma said. "He always escorts us to the office in back of the snack bar where we checked in. It's a rule."
"Any other rules I should know about?"
Thelma chuckled softly. "Just one more. Unofficially. Self preservation. Never let Al get you alone. He's rough with women." Her voice grew hard. "He loves to manhandle you and sometimes he grabs you by your hair and...."
Thelma broke off quickly. Fran felt a cold chill sweep over her. She gripped Thelma's free hand and squeezed it gently. She felt the tenseness in Thelma and instantly she felt sorry for the tall blonde girl. She wanted to say something but then Al was walking with them and it was better to say nothing at alL
* * *
Thelma showed her the ropes behind the counter of the snackbar. There were four other girls there and, during the lulls between the rush periods, she managed to meet them.
Susy Porter was a plump girl with gigantic breasts that looked like they were going to pop out of her blouse at any second. She was heavily made up, with too-red lips and heavily mascaraed eyebrows but she was friendly and seemed nice. Betty and Donna were both short and dark with sexy little bodies. Alma Sherry was a redhead and beautiful, with a striking figure and flashing blue eyes that hypnotized Fran when she talked to her.
"You'll like it here," Alma told her. "Real opportunity if you want to take advantage of it."
Fran grinned. "Here? Selling candy bars and popcorn and soft drinks?"
Alma laughed easily. "Stick around a while. You'll find out. Just stay away from Al, if you can, and you'll make out okay."
Fran nodded. "I've heard about him. Why hasn't somebody had him put away in a nice safe cell?"
Alma shrugged her shoulders. "Most of the girls are scared to death of him. Like Thelma. He growls and they jump out of their skins. They're afraid of what he might do to them if they say anything. Me, I'm not scared of him but then Al's never tried to make out with me. Not yet, anyway."
"How long have you been here?"
"Four months, give or take a couple days. I'm an old hand now. Susy is the oldest. She's been here almost a year. Betty and Donna about seven months, Thelma six and I've been here four. Rose, the girl who flipped her lid, was here three weeks." She grinned quickly at Fran. "They had to haul her out in a straight jacket I hear she's working over in Arizona someplace."
Fran felt shivers go up and down her spine. "Al?"
Alma blinked her pretty blue eyes in surprise. "You catch on fast, honey. You'll do all right here."
Susy walked over to them. "Al wants you, Alma."
"See you later, Fran," Alma said, hurrying out from behind the counter and over to where Al stood in the middle doorway with two young crew-cut soldiers.
"Old friends of Alma's," Betty said.
Fran nodded and immediately forgot about Alma. Then the between-picture rush was on and the snack bar was jammed. Fran found herself scooting back and forth and after twenty minutes she was pooped. It seemed to her that she was almost alone behind the bar; they'd been so busy she hadn't really had time to notice. Then the lull came as quickly as it had ended Fran leaned weakly back against the candy counter. The throb of noise and jingling of the cash register were still pounding in her head.
A hand touched her on the bare arm and she spun around quickly. A crewcut youth, a leer on his face, stared hungrily at her.
"How much for you, baby?"
Fran frowned sharply. "What do you want?"
The uncouth youth looked her over boldly.
"I want you, sweetheart." He pulled his other hand out of his pocket and flipped a crumpled bill on the counter. His eyes were hot. "Five enough?"
Fran stared at the bill and then at the youth. There was fire in her eyes. "You get yourself out of here, fast!" she said through clenched teeth.
The young man shot her a surprised look. Then his mouth dropped open. He turned and fled headlong out of the snack bar. Fran leaned weakly on the counter. Something was wrong here. Why had that man propositioned her so boldly? It was though he had expected her to go out to his car with him.
Fran caught her breath. Alma had left with two soldiers. She turned around and looked around her.
She spun around and searched the kitchen. It was empty. None of the girls were in the snack bar. Thelma, Alma, Betty, Donna and Susy. All gone! Where?
Shock swept over her. She felt her heart pounding wildly inside her heaving breast. Could it be true that the other girls were with these young men in their parked cars? It would explain their absences and Thelma's closetful of expensive clothes and Al's treatment of the girls and their fear of him, and why they never did anything about his attacks on them....
Oh, God! Does Floyd expect me to take up the racket, too? she thought, wildly.
Fran felt her stomach knot and then she was whirling and heading for the restroom. She knew she was going to be sick. One part of her screamed to quit this job-get out before she was trapped-but the other part of her urged her to stay and make Floyd fall in love with her. The other girls could have the rackets. She didn't mind giving her body to-lovers of her own choosing but getting money for it made her a whore. She hadn't sunk that low yet.
And then she was vomiting-feeling weak and dizzy.
CHAPTER FOUR
She could hear a distant rumbling of sound and the quiet whirring of machinery. Fran slowly opened her eyes. The lights blinded her. She blinked and groped slowly to a sitting position.
"Feeling better?"
Fran smiled. She turned toward the sound of that deep, rich, melodic voice. Floyd sat behind a desk, a magazine open before him.
"Better, thanks."
Floyd got up and walked across the small richly textured carpet to the white couch she was sitting on. He stood and looked down at her. The nearness of him made her feel faint again.
"When was the last time you had something to eat?"
Fran shrugged. "This morning. I had a cup of coffee."
Floyd chucked her beneath, her chin with his thumb and forefinger. "No wonder you passed out." He sat down beside her suddenly and put one arm about her shoulders. She leaned weakly against him. "I can't have my girl fainting on the job."
Fran felt her heart skip a beat. She cast a quick look at him. "Am I your girl?"
Floyd grinned at her. "Why do you think I hired you? Why am I here tonight? I'll tell you. I wanted to see you again and take up where we left off this afternoon."
Fran turned her head away. So he just wanted to wrestle with her. He probably thought he could have her and then forget her. Well, she had news for him. It wasn't going to be that easy.
She felt Floyd's fingers hard upon her shoulders through the thin material of the white blouse, turning her to face him. Their lips were only inches apart. She stared, transfixed, at his moist parted lips. She knew if she let him kiss her that she would be lost, unable to control the surging hunger for him that seethed through her body.
"I should freshen up a bit," she said in a low whisper. "I was sick, you know...."
Floyd released his hold on her and stood up. "Sure, honey. Take plenty of time." He walked over to the far wall between his desk and the filing cabinet. He pressed a button on the edge of his desk and a wall panel slid back, revealing a spiral steel staircase. He motioned for her to follow him.
At the top of the narrow stairwell Floyd pushed another button and a panel slid noiselessly back into the wall. Floyd reached inside and pressed a switch and flooded the upstairs with light. Fran caught her breath. Inside the carpeted room was the largest bed she'd ever seen.
"My hideaway," Floyd said, walking onto the deep nap of the rug. "Had it built specially three years ago when we constructed the Tropical Nites. I spend quite a few nights here."
Fran stood in the center of the room and looked around. The overhead lighting cast its radiance into every corner of the magnificent room. Richly colored drapes hung from ceiling to floor along two walls. Another wall was filled with a maze of closets and drawers. Two doors opened off the fourth wall. Floyd was opening one of them.
"The bathroom, baby," he aid. "Everything there for you. Just help yourself. I'll have a drink waiting for you when you come out."
Fran smiled gratefully at him and entered the bathroom. She closed and locked the door behind her, and then busied herself running a bath and getting out of her clothes ... Feeling clean and refreshed, she flicked off the light, opened the door wide and walked into the bedroom. Her bare feet sank into the plush carpet. It was like walking in new grass.
Floyd moved up to her and she took the frosted glass from his hand. She was aware of his nearness and of the bulk of him. He had removed his clothes. She could reach out and) touch every part of him, she was that close. The thought left her feeling giddy.
"Drink up, sweetheart," Floyd said, tipping his glass to his lips and draining it.
She drank hers slowly, savoring it, watching him all the time. He set his glass down on a night table by the bed and then he stretched out on his back on the huge bed, flexing his muscles slowly, tantalizingly.
"Come over here, baby," he said, his voice husky.
She stood transfixed, staring at him, her breath coming in jerky gasps. He was beautiful. Long, sinewy body, with rippling muscles in his arms and legs, bulging chest, flat stomach, trim waist....
"Come on, baby...."
Her body trembled, heat flamed in her loins and she knew she couldn't wait. Dropping the glass, she moved toward him; his arms engulfed her.
She felt the hard pulse of Floyd's body tight against her as his hands whispered, thrillingly, down her back. The heat flamed more intensely within her; her skin felt hot and hypersensitive as his hands went to her swelling breasts, caressing. She pushed her body against him, lifting her lips, hungrily; a moan trembling deep in her throat at the sheer delight of his love-making.
It seemed his hands were touching her everywhere ... her quivering stomach; rounded, writhing hips; over her trembling thighs. Then his lips were following, his soft kisses sending her into spasms of delight. Her jerking, twitching responses urged him on until the nerve centers in her body were shivering under the unbearable sensations he caused.
"I love it! ... love it!" she cried, her body tossing.
After a long time she felt his giant figure over hers as he took her, slowly and tantalizingly. Her fingers dug into his back muscles as he began to play upon her sensitivity like an artist on a fine violin. Sensation upon sensation surged through her until she shouted in release, never knowing what she was trying to say, just shouting for sheer joy....
* * *
Much later, Floyd sent downstairs for food. Fran, sitting against the headboard, munched a hamburger contentedly.
"I could love you, Floyd," she said, between mouthfuls. "It would be so very easy to love you." She looked at his understanding smile and, nettled, added: "However, I'd want you for mine ... want you all to myself."
Floyd grinned at her. "All my girls love me, sweetheart. There isn't a girl who works for me that I can't have when I want her." He rose easily to his feet and stretched. "Save your pretty speeches for some knucklehead, Fran. I'm a multi-woman man."
Fran put down her sandwich and watched him dress slowly. He didn't love her. She knew he never would. She could feel it. He was too beautiful, too handsome, too well-endowed. No man had a right to the physical attributes of Floyd Cannon. It wasn't fair.
"I'm sorry, Fran," he said, looking down on her nakedness as he buttoned his shirt. "I could never be true to any one woman. I'm not built that way."
Fran nodded slowly. "At least you're honest about it."
Floyd chuckled and sat down beside her on the bed and caressed her breasts. "I'm glad you're not going to be one of those cry babies. They get on my nerves."
She cuddled up close against him and lay her head on his warm chest. "Just promise me we'll be lovers often, Floyd."
"Sure, baby." His voice was soft. "That's one promise it'll be easy to keep."
She turned her head toward him. He kissed her gently, almost a brotherly caress. She pushed her tongue between his teeth. He drew away from her and stood up.
"You better put in an appearance downstairs," he said. "Ten minutes till closing. The girls will be sore at you if you duck out on the clean up job."
Fran felt furious. Her skin was burning up. She wanted him again but he had had his fill of her, for the time being. She got to her feet, picked up her blouse and skirt off the rug and dressed quickly. Well, she'd make him really want her the next time and he'd satisfy her or else....
CHAPTER FIVE
Fran returned to the snack bar. Alma shot her a look of pure jealousy. Donna grinned knowingly at her. The girls were all busy mopping up the bar and cleaning the fountains.
Thelma came sliding over to her. "You look like you've been living a dream."
Fran nodded, smiling slowly. "Something like that. Floyd's real great, isn't he?"
Thelma regarded her quizzically. "Just like your first day in high school, Fran. Every girl falls in love with the math instructor or history teacher. Around here every girl falls for Floyd. It's an occupational hazard."
Alma sidled over to them, hands on her hips, her red hair caressing her rouged cheeks, blue eyes bright and bold. "Too tired to go out with the girls tonight, Fran?"
Fran shrugged. "Depends. What have you in mind?"
Alma flashed even white teeth at her in a grin. "Every once in a while we take in one of these lesbian parties. After what we have to put up with here, the girls get a kick out of it."
Fran wrinkled her nose. She couldn't figure what the girls did here that would make lesbianism enticing to them. "I don't think so, Alma."
Alma laughed harshly. "Don't be so damn prudish! Lesbian's are accepted out here for what they are. Everybody associates with them. They're just another sex." She turned to Thelma, her blue eyes bright. "Some of the girls really dig 'em. Bi-sexual types."
Donna joined them at the rear of the counter. She had changed to a pullover sweater and slacks. "You girls going to the les pad with Alma and me tonight?"
Thelma looked at Fran. Fran saw that the decision was up to her. She shrugged her shoulders. It didn't make any difference. "I'm with the majority," she said.
Donna shot Thelma a look and then looked quickly back to Fran. "Have Thelma brief you, Fran. It can be pretty rough at times."
"Maybe you better fill me in," Fran suggested as she and Thelma walked toward the little dressing room at the rear. The four of them went in Donna's car. The split level home was built into the side of a hill on Mulholland Drive. At two in the morning, lights blazed inside the house. Donna parked her Ford behind an MG in front of the house and they walked quickly up the sidewalk. Inside they could hear the beat of wild music and the shrill laughter of a woman.
Mike opened the door. She was a big, shapeless hulk of a woman, dressed in loose men's clothing, her short, black hair brushed straight back and chopped off just above her shirt collar. She squinted at them through thick glasses. She wore no makeup. Her cold, hard eyes flicked over the group quickly.
"Come in, girls," she said in a deep, gravelly voice. "Ted and I been hoping you'd drop by."
Mike led them down a short flight of stairs to a lower portion of the house. A sliding panel opened to-her hand at the bottom of the stairs and Fran caught her breath. The huge playroom was at least thirty by forty feet in size. Lush, wine-colored drapes covered the walls and the concrete floor was scarlet. Overhead lights with revolving gels played on the floor in alternating pink and blue changes.
At the opposite end of the room, a hi-fi was producing a savage, jungle beat. Next to it, there was a portable bar, loaded with bottles and, alongside the bar, a buffet table was crowded with food.
A tall, masculine woman was doing The Fish with a slim brunette. The moving lights bathed them in a continuing, eerie change of colors. Fran stared at the lascivious movements of the dancers and wondered at the totally nude brunette, clad only in spike heels. The lights flowed over her body, gleaming with highlights on the firm, curving buttocks and uplifted, full breasts.
Mike, rocking on the bottom steps with hands on her wide hips, watched the pair for a moment. Then she said: "We got company, Ted."
Ted didn't miss a beat of the music and the brunette shot a quick glance their way, apprehensively, as though just remembering she was nude. Her eyes dropped.
"Tell 'em to come in and make themselves at home," Ted returned, taking the naked girl in her arms and dancing her away into a shadowed corner. "Right now, I'm busy...."
Mike gestured toward the bar and the long table stacked with food. "Help yourselves, kids." She turned suddenly, her hand slipping around Fran's waist. "I go for you, kiddo," she said, her hard eyes blazing.
Fran slipped out of her reach. "I'm sorry," she said. "I don't think I'd care to do anything with you."
Mike sucked in her breath, staring hard at Fran. Then, slowly, her leathery face broke into a grin, displaying yellow teeth. "Okay, for now. Stick around and enjoy yourself and watch the show. Maybe you'll change your mind."
Thelma led Fran over to the long table. They made themselves a sandwich and Thelma mixed them both a bourbon and soda. She followed Thelma over to one side of the room where mats were spread along the wall. They dropped to sitting positions on the canvas mats and Fran bit into her sandwich and watched Mike dancing with Donna.
"I wish we hadn't come here," Fran said in a low voice. "I don't like it."
Thelma grinned at her. "I thought you'd blown the party right off the bat when you told Mike you didn't want her. Boy, she looked like she was gonna blow a fuse."
Fran chewed on her sandwich. The meat was richly spiced but tasty. She washed it down with the bourbon. "When do they get down to business?"
Thelma shrugged. "Not too long, now."
Fran watched the two on the dance floor, swaying together. Then, slowly, almost methodically, Ted danced the brunette over into the shadowy corner opposite them and began to fondle her. For a minute the naked girl squirmed and struggled but Ted crushed her body to hers and gently lowered her to one of the mats. Fran watched in wild eyed amazement as Ted moved over the girl's body with her lips and hands, the girl squirming and writhing beneath her touch. Fran closed her eyes tightly to shut out the sight.
She felt dizzy and hot and flushed and she shook her head to clear it. It must be the liquor, she thought. Grimly, she opened her eyes and allowed herself to gaze on Ted and the brunette again, this time coolly, without a trace of emotion. Still she felt her own body shudder and she wet her lips with her tongue.
"So you like only men, eh?" Mike's voice grated at her.
Startled, Fran looked up into the small, cold eyes of the lesbian. Then she flushed and looked quickly away. Mike laughed deep in her throat and danced away with Donna.
Fran had three more drinks, each one sending her higher. Thelma was missing for a few minutes but soon returned with two fresh drinks. Fran accepted one of the glasses and sat wavering unsteadily. The music pounded at her ears but the dance floor was empty. Off in a far corner she could make out Donna, lying naked and unmoving. She let her eyes focus around the floor and then she saw Mike and Alma together on a mat, the redhead's long flowing hair spread out around her bare shoulders. She was moaning and writhing sensuously beneath the butch's caresses and Fran fought to still the stir in her own loins.
This is crazy, she thought. How can I feel anything watching a woman with another woman? How can I? This is stupid. She turned and nudged Thelma and jerked her head toward the door leading out of the playroom.
Thelma nodded. They helped each other up, giggling as they stumbled and almost toppled over. Then, catching their balance, they lurched arm-in-arm toward the stairway, weaving and giggling as their erratic course threatened to end any moment.
They made it up the stairs and out of the house without incident although they trod their way dangerously through the house, narrowly missing knocking over some furniture. Once outside Fran breathed the cold air deep into her lungs and held onto the door for support. After a few whiffs she felt steadier. Thelma lit cigarettes and handed her one. Fran leaned against the car door and inhaled deeply as Thelma watched her quietly.
"I had to get out of there," Fran said impulsively. "I watched them and suddenly I felt my body on fire." She turned toward Thelma suddenly. "I never felt like that before. It made me feel real funny. Kind of excited in a way."
Thelma puffed on her cigarette. "It gets every girl that way the first time." She studied Fran carefully over the glow of her cigarette. "I know from experience. Until tonight Susy and I were the only ones to give in to our crazy impulses, and when I thought about it the next day I suddenly felt dirty and immoral." She looked hard at Fran. "If I ever let myself go again ... Her words hung between them, pointedly.
Fran shivered from the sudden chill of the night air. She turned toward the house. She could hear drunken laughter and an occasional squeal of delight. Then the front door burst open and Alma and Donna stumbled down the front stairs. Ted and Mike stood in the doorway, waving at them.
CHAPTER SIX
Fran woke late the next morning. The sunlight was bright in the room she shared with Thelma, flowing across her naked body. She stretched and sat up in bed.
Smiling to herself, she thought of the action-packed day, yesterday. It had been hectic: she'd met Floyd, been hired and seduced by him within a few short hours.
I think I'm in love with him, she told herself. I know he doesn't love me but, knowing that, I can't help feeling this way.
She turned her head as she heard Thelma move, watching the blonde stretch and wake. "Hi," her roommate said sleepily. "It'll take a shower to wake me up." She sat up, throwing back the covers.
"Me, too," Fran grinned. "Shall we share the shower to save time? I'm starved." Thelma grinned, naughtily.
"Come on, let's!" she said, in a throaty voice, heading for the bath....
Driving in the Chevy to the restaurant, Thelma asked Fran: "Has Floyd approached you yet on the other business?"
Fran frowned. "What other business?"
Thelma shot her a quick look. You're no dummy. You had the deal sized up last night That's why you passed out"
"Oh. That!"
Thelma grinned. "That my girl, is just about the sweetest little racket that was ever worked. If you're real smart you'll let Floyd know you're hep. It can mean a couple hundred bucks a week extra to you."
Fran thought of the girls last night who had disappeared and left her to run the snack bar alone. "I'm the only outsider, I take it."
Thelma chuckled. "The new girls always are. Floyd likes to take plenty of time to size them up and make sure they don't holler cop. Within a week a new girl usually tumbles to what's going on. She either joins the legion or quits. How about you, Fran? You gonna join us?"
Fran shrugged her shoulders. She looked at Thelma, at the rise and fall of her partially exposed full breasts. She looked fresh and clean and lovely. Yet Thelma had had several men last night at the drive-in. Fran shook her head slowly.-How could she do it?
Thelma seemed to be reading her mind. "I like nice things, honey. Clothes and money to spend. I'm banking a lot of illicit loot, too. I figure on working this racket another year or so and then blowing town. By then I'll have enough dough saved to go somewhere and open up a beauty parlor or something."
"How about marriage?"
Thelma jammed on the brakes hard at a red light. She turned to Fran, her face screwed up in distaste.
"Are you kidding? I been married. Twice! No good bums, both of 'em!"
Fran looked hard at her. "You don't seem old enough."
Thelma grinned. "I'm twenty-one. Married the first time at seventeen, the second at nineteen. Neither marriage lasted more than four months."
She shook her head grimly. "No more marriage for me." She eyed Fran speculatively. "How about you? Wanta get caught in the great American trap and slave for a man all your life?"
Fran shrugged. "I don't really know. So far I've never met a man I wanted to marry, except maybe Floyd."
Thelma chuckled. She wheeled the car expertly into the parking lot behind the drive-in restaurant and killed the motor. "Just remember one thing, hon."
"What?"
Thelma leaned over and squeezed her hand. "You and I can blow this dump together when we've got enough dough. We can go into business together."
Fran looked at her levely. "I think I'd like that," she said quietly.
They ate a leisurely breakfast and then Thelma undertook to show her a bit of the city. It was almost six before they reached home and they were due at the theater in half an hour.
"I'm not supposed to pitch you the racket, Fran," Thelma said, slipping into a pair of skin tight capris. "Don't let on, huh?"
"I won't," Fran said, slipping into a pair of Thelma's black capris and a light blue sweater. "I don't think I'd be interested in doing it anyway."
Thelma laughed easily. "I didn't think I'd like it at first but then I thought of the nice easy money and the pleasure I was giving to many young men. And, besides, doing it for money isn't a bit different than doing it for free. There's a price on everything you do when you come right down to it."
"But ... for money! That's prostitution!"
"Sure. So what? With Floyd it's love. With others it's money. What's the diff?"
"At least I had a choice with Floyd. I don't want just anybody with a few dollars to have me."
Thelma grinned at her. "Don't make up your mind yet .Floyd and Al will get around to springing it on you soon enough."
"How do they make the approach?"
Thelma shrugged. "You passed step number one last night. Floyd makes out with you first Then Al tries." She made an ugly face. "I told you about him. He's ugly and dirty and he smells. And he's vicious! But he tries with you anyway. If he wants you bad enough he'll get you."
Fran fought a shudder and tried to quiet the sudden pounding of her heart "I hope he stays away from me."
"So do I, honey," Thelma's voice was gentle. "I don't want you hurt by that filthy monster."
"What if a girl resists Al and still has Floyd? What then?"
Thema smiled "Floyd's no dummy. He knows most girls can't stomach Al but if it works, it gives him an indication. Otherwise he just keeps working on the girl himself and sooner or later the light dawns and the girl either gets with it or gets out"
Fran fumbled with her cigarette and lit it with shaking fingers. "The more I hear about it the less I like it" She blew smoke out of her nostrils and looked up at Thelma, who was pacing the living room floor. "Why don't you get out?"
"I can't right now, baby. Like I told you, I want that beauty parlor. I've got some stashed away already. When I have enough, I'm on my way." She spun toward Fran. "I'd hate to see you get tangled up in this racket, baby, but on the other hand with you working the racket too, we could pull out of here that much sooner." She smiled wanly. "Forget it" she said suddenly. "You're too nice for the dirt you'll get rubbed off on you if you join the legion. Let's keep you that way."
Fran stood up. She took a drag on the cigarette and pounded it out in the ashtray. "I'm going to tell Floyd tonight I'm quitting."
They moved toward the door. "Floyd won't be in tonight He's gone until Monday."
Fran shrugged. "Then I'll wait until Monday to quit I can stand it till then."
"Just don't give Al any ideas and you'll be okay, Fran. Remember that"
CHAPTER SEVEN
The theater was jammed that night Two old horror movies were playing but it wasn't the movies that had packed the house. The snack bar was overflowing with college age boys giving all the girls the once over with their eyes. Fran tried to keep busy filling orders for cokes, hot dogs, and other snacks and not think about what was on the minds of all the young, men leering at her from the milling crowd packed in tight around the counter. She knew they were sizing her up. She was the new girl. The unknown equation. They would be asking Al about her in the men's washroom that night.
After a while the rush slackened off and the first movie filled the screen. The girls relaxed behind the counter, waiting for Al to put in his appearance. It looked to Fran like the girls would make a killing.
Alma Sherry motioned for Fran to join her at the main cash register in the center of the snack bar. Fran shrugged and walked slowly over to the redhead.
"See those cups?" Alma asked, pointing out five king size paper cups beneath the register on a small shelf by themselves. Fran looked at the cups. A different girl's name was painted on each cup with lipstick. A sixth cup was filled with red, white and blue straws.
"What are the straws for?"
Alma smiled craftily. "That's how we work the racket, honey," Alma said in her low husky voice. "We use three different colored straws. Red is for the five dollar date; white for the ten buck straight and blue for the twenty dollar special. Al spots the customers, finds out who they want and how they want it. Then he collects the money and crooks his finger at the girl he wants. The girl goes with the customer to his car, makes out, then comes back for another data That's where the straws come in. If you worked a ten dollar straight job you take a white straw and put it in your cup. And so on. Then you're ready for another customer. At the end of the night Al figures up the take and pays you half what you earned in cash. You use your straws to tally up. A sweet little racket, honey. You should get your feet wet"
Fran felt her body quiver suddenly. Alma talked about it like it was cut and dried. Just another business. She shivered again and told herself it was the cool air conditioning in the snack bar.
"How about it, honey? Interested?"
Fran shook her head slowly. She stared at Alma, still awed by the frank way the girl had spoken about the racket. "You mean you just go out to their cars with them and ... just like that?"
Alma flashed her a big grin. "Sure, honey. A fast girl, can work ten, twelve tricks a night easy," Alma said, a gleam in her eyes. "Or you can do like Susy."
Fran arched an eyebrow.
Alma chuckled. She held up a blue straw and stared hard at Fran. "It's real sport, honey."
Fran turned away from Alma. Her hands were shaking. She gripped the counter hard, her fingers white.
"Al told me to wise you up," Alma said, her voice low. "He wants you to start hustling tricks tonight, seeing as how crowded the joint is."
Fran turned slowly to face the redhead. Tears swelled in her eyes. Alma was leering at her. It was easy to see the redhead was enjoying her discomfort
"I ... I can't," Fran said, her voice breaking. "I ... I just can't...."
"What's the matter? Too good for us?" Alma spread her hands on her hips. Her lips twisted into a sneer. "Get wise, kid. You got a nice body. Use it Make it pay. It's the only way you'll ever get ahead in this rotten world."
Fran clenched her fists together.-She tried to meet the bright, almost fanatical gaze of the redhead. "I couldn't ... not for money," she finished lamely.
Alma rocked back on her heels, her face hard, her eyes narrowed to slits. "Don't hand me that crap," she said, her voice cutting. "We all know about Floyd. We can always tell. You got that sick calf look in your eyes. You fell for him, didn't you, sweetie?" She threw back her head and laughed harshly. "You think you're something special. You love Floyd and you think he loves you!" She came forward hard on the toes of her feet and jammed a stiff index finger into Fran's stomach. "I got news for you, sister! Floyd doesn't love you! He hired you because you're from out of town, all alone in the big city, and you're built He expects you to work the cars. He has ways of seeing that you do just what he wants you to do!"
Fran felt helpless. She spun away from Alma, looking wildly around for escape. The snack bar was empty, save for the two of them and the cook in the kitchen. The other girls were already working tricks. Alma had been left behind to recruit her and was probably sore that she was missing out on some of the action.
"Well, how about it, Fran?" Alma's voice was harsh and demanding. "Do I tell Al you won't play ball? He has ways of making you wish you'd toed the line."
Fran shook her head slowly. She had to get out of here. Fast She looked around again. Thelma popped in the side door and winked at her. She must have looked terrified because Thelma's smile disappeared and then Thelma was walking quickly over to them.
"What's the matter, Fran?" Thelma asked, concern heavy in her vice.
"You talk some sense into her," Alma said, growling. "I give up."
Thelma put one arm around Fran's waist to steady her. "Take it easy, Fran." She shot a quick look at Alma. "You picked one hell of a time to pitch her, Alma," she said sharply. "It's that time of month!"
Alma looked surprised. Then she shrugged. "Sorry," she said lamely. "I never thought...."...." You never think!" Thelma snapped harshly.
Alma flushed. She shot Thelma a dark look and then spun and walked quickly to the far end of the counter.
Thelma winked at Fran. "I'll tell Al. He'll leave you alone for a few days. Okay?"
Fran nodded. Just having Thelma there helped. She smiled wanly at her and wiped the tears out of her eyes with a tissue. "I'll be fine," she said. "Thanks, Thelma."
Thelma squeezed her arm tenderly. "I see Al over by the middle exit I think he's got one lined up for you, but I'll tell him you're kaput." She moved away from the counter. "See you later."
Fran worked in a daze the rest of the night Most of the time she was alone at the counter. The girls came back in time to work the intermission shift and, a few minutes later, as soon as the theater darkened, they were gone again. Still, it wasn't too bad. The counter was never crowded while the movies were being shown. There were always a few customers to wait on but she handled them with ease.
Alma shot her several piercing looks the rest of the night and once Fran caught the redhead opening her purse. She shouted at Alma and the redhead looked up, guilt written across her face.
""Just wanted a cigarette, "she retorted angrily. "Do you mind?"
Fran saw that Alma already had her pack in hand and was in the act of removing one. "Okay. Help yourself." She made a mental note to keep her smokes by the cash register from now on. She didn't want any of the girls getting into her personal things.
Al came over and leaned on the counter during one of the slack periods. He looked at her hard, openly appraising her. "Think you'll be in shape by Monday?"
Fran busied herself wiping off the counter down from him. She didn't trust herself to look at him. "No," she said quickly. "Better wait until Tuesday." That was a lie but it wouldn't matter. She'd be long gone by Tuesday.
Al cursed and then he was gone. She breathed a sigh of relief. She leaned against the back bar to rest Her glance fell on the five paper cups beneath the register. Alma's cup was on the end It was filled with all red straws. Well, at least she knew what she was, anyway.
She looked curiously at the others. Susy's were mostly blue straws. Thelma, Betty and Donna's cups were all white straws. At least they weren't oddballs.
Fran was closing up the snack bar after the theater had darkened when Donna told her Al wanted to see her. Fran nodded, grabbed the receipts bag arid walked around the building to the, office in the rear. She opened the door and walked in. Al sat in the swivel chair behind the desk, a sneer on his fat lips.
"Come in, baby," he said harshly, his small piggish eyes bright with lust "I wanta talk to you!"
Fran felt shivers go up and down her spine. Her hand shook on the door knob'. Something about his manner warned her to be careful. She didn't move.
Al stood up, his meaty hands spread wide on the desk before him. "You lied to me, sister!"
Fran felt her stomach flip. She knew what to expect She'd been warned about Al. "Here's the nights receipts, Al," she said, trying to control her voice. "I'm sorry about the other thing. I just can't that's all."
Al moved around the desk, his eyes mentally undressing her. "You can't get away," he said, grinning evily. "All the other girls have gone. You and I are all alone."
Fran tossed the money bag at him. It struck him solidly on the shoulder. He bellowed an oath and then he lurched toward her. Fran turned and broke into a run outside the office.
Fran heard him pounding behind her. She turned the corner of the office sharply, heading back for the snack bar. She hadn't locked it and with luck she could get back inside the one open door and lock it from, the inside. It was her only chance.
A car roared down the deserted drive towards her. Fran flung, herself against the wall of the building. The car screeched to a stop beside her and the door popped open just as Al rounded the corner of the building.
Thelma jumped out of the car. "Get in quick, Fran!" she yelled.
Fran leaped into the car behind the wheel. Thelma started to get in but Al grabbed her by one arm and pulled her back against him.
"Get out of here, Fran!" Thelma yelled.
Fran hesitated. She didn't want to leave Thelma in Al's clutches but she didn't want to fall prey to him either.
Al twisted Thelma's arms behind her back. She kicked at him and struggled to free herself.
"Get out of the car, Fran, or your girlfriend gets it," Al threatened, his voice mean.
Thelma kicked the door shut "He can't hurt me, Fran. Go on, beat it!"
Fran gunned the car and lurched into high gear. The Chevy leaped forward and then she was gripping the wheel hard, trying to forget that Thelma was back there, alone, with the enraged Al....
CHAPTER EIGHT
Fran spent a troubled night, tossing and turning; starting up at every creak, minking it might be Thelma. She feared for the girl, not knowing what Al might do to her. Once she determined to call the police but knew it would bring the whole prostitution ring down on her neck, so she gritted her teeth and waited. She comforted herself with the knowledge Thelma had been manhandled by Al before; finally she dropped into fitful slumber.
She awoke late next morning, and was relieved to find Thelma asleep in her bed. Fran got up quickly, closely examining the naked form of her sleeping friend. There were dark finger and hand prints visible, together with some large, dark bruises. Thighs, arms and sides all had their marks. Just then, Thelma opened her eyes, noting Fran's concern, and sat up, sleepily, grinning.
"I'm all right, baby," she assured her worried friend, "but that no-good louse sure was sore...."
"W-what did he do?" Fran stammered, really afraid to ask, but more fearful Thelma might be hurt
"His usual. He feels a girl doesn't properly appreciate his favors unless he beats her into the mood. He knocked me around with his fists pretty freely before he got down to the business of making his kind of love to me." She indicated the impressions his grip on her had left. "Besides beating me, he insists on just the position he likes and really clamps on to you...."
"I was going to wait until Tuesday to quit,, but I'm ready to pull out now, if you are, Thelma."
Thelma smiled slowly, her eyes resting on the other girl a moment "I can't get out, honey." She shook her blonde head slowly. "You'll have to leave without me."
Fran felt a hard lump in the pit of her stomach. "Why?" she asked, her voice shaking.
Thelma put one of her hands over Fran's. There were tears in the corners of her green eyes. "I'm hooked, that's why. I'm hooked real good"
"What about the beauty parlor? I thought you were saving for it?"
Thelma laughed harshly. Her face grew hard and her fingers tightened around the glass. She stared at the ceiling. "I keep telling myself I can break free anytime I want to but I know it's a lie." She shot a quick nervous look at Fran. Her face screwed up in anguish. "I have to make myself believe it or I'd go nuts. I can't face going on the way I am now! I can't ever get out! So I pretend. I pretend so hard I even believe it myself!" Then she was crying, sobbing, and both hands were covering her face. "I'm sorry I'm acting like such a baby...." She wiped her eyes dry slowly.
Fran looked levelly at her. "What have they got on you?"
Thelma shrugged her shoulders. A faint smile played at the corners of her red lips. "The usual junk. Pictures of me and Floyd in bed together, on infra-red film. All nice shots of me-so I could easily be identified-but none of Floyd that showed his features clearly."
Fran refilled their cups. "These pics of yours. You've seen them?"
Thelma nodded. "They're beauties. All of me. They even blew some of them up king size. Floyd gave me a choice. Either work the cars or he'd send my folks back in Cedar Rapids copies of the prints." Tears came to her eyes again. She choked back a sob. "I couldn't do that to them My father's a minister. I hurt him enough with two quick marriages and divorces. I know I'd kill them if they ever saw those pictures." She shook her head slowly. "I'll be a prostitute till hell freezes over if necessary, just so they don't ever find out."
Fran stared at her. "My folks are dead. I haven't any living relatives. Nobody back in Omaha who matters. So let 'em mail my pictures back there, if they've got any. I couldn't care less. They can't hold me."
Thelma studied her soberly, her lips tightly compressed. "Get out now, baby. Don't go back there tonight."
Fran grinned reassuringly at her. "Just until I land another job. She walked to the bedroom door. She looked back and smiled at the blonde. "They can't touch me, Thelma."
Thelma shook her head sadly. "They'll find a way, Fran, if you stay," she said, cold knowledge heavy in her voice. "Believe me, they will!"
CHAPTER NINE
Fran went to work alone that night, Thelma deciding Al could alibi her absence if anyone cared. He gave Fran a funny look when she walked into the snack bar but didn't say anything. The theater was jammed to capacity again. It looked like another banner evening.
"You'll be by yourself most of the night, dearie," Alma cracked, her blue eyes flashing anger. "With Thelma out sick the rest of us will have to work overtime to satisfy the demand." She examined her long red nails casually, then shrugged. "The extra tricks are fine with me. I'll make more dough this way." She shot Fran a guarded look. "Think about that while you're slaving away behind the counter tonight."
Alma turned and walked away from Fran, her buttocks swinging. Fran wrinkled her nose in disgust and faced the crowd that was beginning to pour into the snack bar. She would gladly work hard behind the counter. At least it was honest work....
The rest of the evening was uneventful; Fran checked out the cash register, stuffed the receipts in the bag, turned out the lights and walked out of the snack bar and around the side of the building to Al's office. She opened the door and walked in. Al sat behind his desk, hands clasped behind his head. He grinned evily at her. His heavy-lidded eyes opened wide and leered owlish at her. He ran his coarse tongue over his fat lips. "Come in, baby," he said softly, getting to his feet.
Fran shrunk back against the closed door. She held out the receipts bag. "This is all you get tonight," she said sharply.
Al leered at her. He moved toward her slowly, his arms hanging down almost to his knees, his massive shoulders slumped. "Sure, baby. All I want is the money."
He took the bag from her with one swipe of his powerful right hand. He hefted it in his left, his eyes glued to Fran. His lips split in an ugly grin. "Nice business tonight. Too bad you can't bring yourself to join the other girls. They really made out big."
"Sure," she said bitterly.
Al threw back his shaggy head and laughed loudly. He turned and tossed the money sack to his desk with a heavy plunk. Then he spun, his hands outstretched and reaching for Fran.
Fran spun away from him. "Don't get any ideas," she snapped.
Al stopped. A slow grin spread across his face.-He took a step toward her. Fran backed away cautiously. "You could be nice to me," he said. "I wouldn't hurt you." His eyes flashed anger. "I only hurt those who fight me!"
Fran reached behind her and turned the door knob. She began to pull the door open, sliding to the right of it as she did. "Not tonight, big boy," she said. "Some other time...."
"Now!"
Al lunged toward her, arms outstretched, a snarl on his lips. Fran flung the door open with all her strength. The solid, oak door caught Al's charging head and he dropped, inert. Fran spun and raced off into the night
* * *
When Thelma was up and around the next day, Fran told her what had happened the night before with Al.
"He'll really be out for your body now," Thelma said. "Better send one of the other girls back with the receipts tonight, Fran. Don't take any more chances.
Fran felt apprehensive all day but her feelings were wrong. Al was not there that night. Somebody said he walked into a door and had a beautiful shiner. One of the boys who handled traffic in the theater was taking Al's place. Fran smiled in relief and went to work.
Floyd returned to the theater on Monday night and Fran asked Donna to take over her ticket booth for her. Then she went into the office where Floyd and Al were huddled over the desk.
Just looking at his handsome ruggedness again made Fran's heart pound like a sledge hammer. She caught her breath and wet her lips. Floyd smiled at her and rose to his feet. He walked toward her. Fran swayed, back a-gainst the door.
"Hi, lover," Floyd greeted, flashing his white even teeth in a big smile. He took her into his arms and kissed her parted lips. "I've missed you."
Fran went giddy and she felt her desire for him envelop her and blot out all the sordidness and unpleasantness she'd seen the past three nights.
She returned his kiss. "I've missed you, too...."
Floyd put one arm around her waist and hugged her to him. His eyes traveled over her stunning figure with frank appraisal. "Wanta see me about something special?"
Fran shot a quick look at Al. His right eye was swollen shut But she could read the naked hate and vivid warning reflected in his good eye. He caught her glance and slowly shook his head Fran shivered and tore her gaze from him.
"Can we go upstairs and talk about it?" she asked Floyd demurely.
Floyd laughed. "Sure," he said easily. "Why not?"
They went upstairs to the massive bedroom. "Mix me a drink, baby," Floyd said, stepping into the bathroom. "I'll be right out."
She went to the liquor cabinet and mixed two martinis. She brought them back to the night-stand by the bed and put them down. Just then the bathroom door opened and Floyd stepped out. He was nude.
She looked at him, unable to tear her gaze away from his beautiful body. She let her eyes feast on the protruding chest and rippling muscles of thigh and flank. He was the most beautiful man she'd ever seen. She sat down on the bed.
Floyd walked over and stood braced in front of her, his hands on his hips, flaunting his body at her. "Well?"
Fran nodded slowly and began unbuttoning her blouse. And then Floyd's hands were helping her and she was lying back on the bed while he stepped her of her clothing. Then he joined her and took her in his arms and pulled her against him.
She felt her body warm and the fever burn fiercely in her loins. She gave a little cry of surrender and then her lips were crushing his and their tongues were dancing together and there was ecstasy in the farthest depths of her body. He caressed her full, hard breasts, the moments flying as her desire rose and swelled.
"I love you," she cried out, delirious with joy.
He arched his back suddenly and his fingers bit into-her flesh. Then she cried out and his lips came down hard on hers. She felt her own body explode and she flung into a cascade of shattering delight....
Floyd sat up in bed. He leaned toward the table and handed her a drink. Fran sipped hers slowly, never taking her eyes off him.
He grinned at her. "Now, what did you wanta see me about?"
She smiled at him over the rim of her glass. She felt safe and secure with Floyd. Al couldn't hurt her as long as Floyd was around.
"Well ... come on...."
"It's Al," she said quietly, "I'm quitting tonight. Him I can't take...."
Floyd shot her a surprised look. "You don't mean that?"
"Yes, Floyd, I do."
He followed her down the winding stairway and into the office. She headed for the door but he called her back. "I've got something to show you," he said quietly.
She walked back to his desk. Floyd picked up a large manila envelope, turned it upside down and watched her quietly as a dozen glossy 8 x 10 prints fluttered softly to the desk blotter. Fran didn't have to touch them to know who was in the photos. She recognized her naked body tangled up with Floyd's in every picture. Floyd spread them out so she could see every detail. They didn't miss a thing.
"You still want to leave, Fran?"
Fran felt her cheeks flush as she stared at the photographs. "Meaning what?"
"Meaning either you work the cars like the other girls or your parents back in Omaha will receive copies of these prints in the mail."
Fran suppressed a giggle. She grinned at him. "Fine. Mail away."
Floyd stared at her in shocked surprise. Then his eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened. "You're not that hard."
Fran shrugged her shoulders and walked to the door. "Try me."
Floyd followed her. He blocked the door with his body. "Your folks are dead. That it?"
Fran smiled sweetly. "Maybe. I'll never tell."
"I can call my office. The information is on your card."
"If I gave the correct information...."
Floyd grinned at her, his composure returning. "I have to hand it to you, Fran. You're playing it real cool."
Fran looked up at him coolly. "Are you going to let me go?"
Floyd smiled at her. "Okay, Fran. You win. I tried my little game with you and it didn't work. So I goofed." He moved away from the door and calmly lit a cigarette. "No hard feelings?"
Fran opened the door. "Nope. See you later."
Floyd nodded. "Come back after closing time. I'll give you your pay."
The rest of the evening sped by smoothly without incident After the snack bar had closed Fran walked back to the office with the night's receipts. Floyd was alone in the office. He smiled and waved to her from Al's desk.
"Busy night, Fran?"
Fran nodded. "You do a real good business at the snack bar. I don't see why you work the other racket"
Floyd chuckled. "Economic necessity. The studios are producing fewer and fewer pictures every year. Each theater has to draw fifteen hundred paid admissions a week just to break even. With few pictures and fewer good double features to offer and the competition of old movies on television, we started to lose business a few years ago. We had to do something so we came up with the new wrinkle." Floyd grinned handsomely at her. "It's paid off big, too. Now we can run the same old movies three weeks in a row and the audience doesn't care. They come here for the dools."
Fran dropped the money sack on his desk. "Here's the receipts." She turned to go.
"Hey! How about your wages?"
Fran turned to face him. "I don't have much coming...."
Floyd gestured toward the wall safe. "Put the receipts away." He pulled his wallet out and counted out sixty-five dollars. He handed her the money.
Fran smiled warmly at him. She tucked the bills in her brassiere. "You're not a bad buy, Floyd. Thanks for the full week's pay."
Floyd shrugged. "I figure you gave me a lot of pleasure, baby. That's worth something."
Fran walked over and bent down before the floor model safe. The door was closed tight
"It's locked," she said.
"Just closed," Floyd said cheerfully. "Just turn the handle." Fran turned the handle and swung the heavy steel door open. A blinding flash of light went off in her face. She fell backwards, startled.
Floyd howled with laughter. "How about that?"
Fran picked herself up and blinked uncertainly at Floyd. She was momentarily blinded. She turned toward the open safe and tossed the receipts bag inside. Then she slammed the door closed.
"I'll see you, Floyd," she said, rising to her feet "Hope you had a good laugh over your little gag." She walked to the door, hearing his laughter fill the office behind her.
"I wouldn't touch that door if I were you," he said, his voice suddenly menacing.
Fran turned to face him, her heart pounding wildly. She knew instantly that something was wrong.
"That flash of light, baby," Floyd said, coming toward her, "was a hidden camera inside the safe, set to go off the moment someone opened it I turn that picture over to the cops and they pick you up for robbery."
Fran sagged against the door. She felt a shiver go through her body. Thelma had been right after all. Floyd had found a way to trap her.
"How about it, Fran? Going to work the cars or do I call the cops?"
Fran felt his hand on her arm. She jerked away, looking at him with loathing and hatred. She wasn't going to give up this easy. She flung open the door. "Call the cops, Floyd! I want to see your face when I expose your little racket here!"
She whirled and darted out the door and ran for Thelma's car.
CHAPTER TEN
Fran drove the Chevy home at top speed and slammed the car to a stop in front of the apartment. She jumped out of the car, leaving the motor running and lights On and ran into the house. The apartment door was unlocked and she let herself in. Thelma was sprawled on the couch, reading a fan magazine.
"We've got to get out of here!" Fran shouted.
Thelma looked up. "What happened?"
Fran dashed for the bedroom without answering. Thelma shrugged, threw the magazine down and got off the couch. She walked lazily back to the bedroom. Fran's dresser drawers were open. Her suitcase sat open on the middle of the bed. She was throwing her things into it. Thelma suddenly felt alarm.
"Hey, baby, just what did happen?"
Fran didn't stop to look up. "You were right, Thelma," she said bitterly. "Floyd found a way.
He's trying to pin a robbery rap on me but it isn't going to work."
Thelma came over beside her and began to help her fold her few things in the suitcase. "How'd he do it, honey?"
Fran shot her a quick look. "He asked me to put the night's receipts in the safe. I fell for it and opened the safe. Then, blooie! The hidden camera planted inside the safe snapped my picture. I ran...."
"Floyd means business. He'll have some of his crooked cop friends out looking for you. You'll have to leave town." She moved quickly to the closet and began pulling out some of her dresses and skirts. "You'll need a few things to tide you over in clothes. Take the car, too. I can get along without it."
They filled the suitcase and clamped the lid shut Fran squeezed Thelma's hand in gratitude. "Thanks, Thelma. You're a peach. I'll drop you a card."
Thelma herded her toward the front 'of the apartment. "Let me know where you are. I'll wire you some money."
Fran nodded and reached for the front door knob. "I will."
A heavy rap sounded against the other side of the door. Fran froze in her tracks. She turned to look at Thelma. Thelma's face was drain'i white. She looked like she was going to be sick. The rap sounded again, more distinctly this time. Fran's shoulders slumped in despair. She slid her suitcase behind the couch, out of sight Then she opened the door.
Three men stood in the hallway. Floyd, his hair rumpled, stood between two smiling plain-clothesmen in shiny gabardine suits and worn felt hats. One of the cops flashed a badge and I.D. card at her.
"Police," he said crisply. "Fran Allen?"
Fran studied the identification. She wasn't going to fall for any phony cops spiel. The badge and I.D. card looked genuine. Fran
"I'm Fran "Allen," she said. "What of it?"
The cop chuckled and pushed her back into the living room. Floyd and the second cop followed him in. The second cop closed the door behind him.
"I'm Dunphy," the first cop said. "Partner's Jones." He motioned to the couch. "Sit down."
Fran sat down. Dunphy drew up a chair and leaned toward her. Jones slumped against the door. Floyd sat down beside her. She took her time surveying the scene and then calmly reached between Floyd and the cop named Dunphy to the coffee table for a cigarette and lighter. After she'd lit her filter tip she relaxed calmly on the couch.
"You know why we're here?" Dunphy asked.
Fran pointed the cigarette at Floyd. "It's a lousy frame. He did it."
Dunphy looked at Jones and grinned. Jones shook his head.
"Why would he frame you?" Dunphy asked. "He runs a respectable business. He hasn't any reason I can see to wanta frame a pretty young thing like you."
Fran shot him a dark look. Dunphy was actually leering at her. "Ask him about the ring of prostitution operating in his theaters. He tried to force me to join and I refused. That's why he rigged that camera inside the safe and trapped me into opening it for him. He told me to put away the night's receipts."
"Did you?"
"Yes, I did. Then a flash of light blinded me and he told me I'd had my picture taken. I started to leave, letting him know I was quitting, but he told me I'd better hang around and join his little racket. Otherwise he'd pin a robbery rap on me."
Dunphy looked at Floyd. He was grinning. "You told us she'd try this old dodge, Mister Cannon."
Floyd smiled. "I believed she figured my theater was a soft touch and when she found the office deserted tonight she made her try...."
"You stinking liar!" Fran shouted, leaping at him.
Floyd scooted away from her on the couch. Dunphy reached over and grabbed her by both wrists and pinned her arms in her lap.
"That's enough, young woman," Dunphy rasped. Then, to Floyd, "Go on."
"She walked into the office and opened the safe."
"And that's how you got her picture? Right?"
Floyd nodded. "The moment she opened the door on the safe the camera recorded her image on film."
Fran slumped on the couch.
Dunphy squinted at her. "You wanta prefer charges, Mister Cannon?"
Floyd shrugged his shoulders. "That depends on Miss Allen. She didn't get away with any money. I surprised her before she got out of the office. So the money never left the premises. Anyway, I hate to prosecute a pretty young thing like Fran." He smiled disarmingly at her. "I imagine this is her first attempt at something like this. I'd really like to give her another chance but it's up to her."
Dunphy leaned toward her. His rough complexion mellowed in a look of concern. "Why don't you cop a plea, sister, and take Mister Cannon at his word? He don't wanta prosecute you. I don't wanta have to, either. Robbery in this state is a serious crime. You could get one-to-three easy. Then, when you got out, you'd be an ex-con. Jobs would be hard to find. Life would be pretty rough on a sweet thing like you."
Fran shrugged her shoulders. "All right. I don't dig jail. I'll play dumb."
"Fine." Dunphy smiled, reached inside his suit coat pocket and brought out a folded typewritten sheet of paper. He spread it out on the coffee table before her. "Now if you'll just sign this we can forget all about tonight."
Fran stared at the paper. It was an admission of her guilt. It further stated that she was being released in the custody of Floyd Cannon. He was responsible for her. Fran looked hard at Floyd. "Real neat," she said, her voice cutting.
Floyd grinned at her. " I have to protect myself in case you decide to try it again. This paper and the picture I have will be kept in a safe place against such a possibility occurring." He handed her a pen. "Why don't you sign it, Fran? It's better than the State Pen. Even working for me is better than prison. Nobody-besides you and me and these two officers know about your attempted robbery."
Fran took the pen and scrawled her name to the piece of paper. The officers got to their feet.
"I'll call you if I need you, officers," Floyd said, shaking hands with the two men.
Dunphy nodded and headed for the door to join Jones.
Jones opened the door and the two officers left. Floyd moved out into the hallway after them.
"Goodnight, pimp!" Fran shouted after him.
Floyd's face colored. "Tomorrow, you can start working for your money, Fran. Thelma can give you the details." He grinned at her. "Don't cross me. You can't win."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Fran was sick to her stomach the next night when she and Thelma reported to work. Cigarettes tasted like candy cotton in her mouth. Everything was wrong. Fran gritted her teeth and sold tickets in her booth and tried not to think about what was going to happen to her. Tonight she became a prostitute. She gagged at the thought.
"Cheer up, hon," Thelma said softly. "The first couple times are rough but after that you can do it with your eyes shut. Try not to let it get you down."
Fran nodded and tried to shut it out of her mind but it was there and as time grew nearer her nerves began to tighten until she was ready to scream. Finally Al came in and Fran knew she had only a few more minutes to go before she began selling her body."
Al waited for them outside the ticket booth.
His eye had cleared up and he leered at Fran with both of them.
"I'm really gonna work you tonight, baby," he said, touching his face where the door had scarred him. "I've got a lot of reasons to remember you. None of 'em good."
Fran bit her lip and followed Thelma into the snack bar. She wanted to cry, to bolt and run, but she knew she had to go through with it. Floyd could have her picked up and prosecuted on that robbery charge any time he wanted to. Maybe she should let him send her up. Prison couldn't be any worse than this. At least she would still have her pride and sense of values intact. This way ... She flinched. This way there was only shame and degradation.
"We'll find away out, hon," Thelma whispered to her, "for both of us. Just keep cool and relax. It's better that way."
Fran nodded and went to work behind the counter. She didn't look at the other girls or at the customers. She filled orders woodenly and hoped that somehow she could spend the entire night behind the snack bar.
"Gonna get your feet wet tonight, sweetie?" Alma asked sweetly.
Fran stared at the floor. "At least there won't be any red straws in my cup," she retorted.
Alma chuckled. "Go on, be a work horse. I take the easy way out. I work five times as many tricks as any one else, too. And I make twice the money."
Thelma walked up behind her. "Al wants you, baby. I think this is it"
Fran looked up. Al stood just inside the main entrance. A tall, sallow-faced youth of about nineteen lounged beside him. The lad looked scared and unsure of himself. His glasses kept sliding down his bony nose.
Fran walked over to them. Al touched her shoulder briefly.
"This is a straight ticket. Know what I mean?"
Fran nodded. The youth turned and ambled out of the snack bar. Fran followed him a few paces back. She was thankful for the darkness. At least she could hide her shame easier in the dark.
The boy came up to an old 1946 Ford. He opened the door on the right side and Fran climbed in woodenly. She was aware of the boy going around to the other side and getting in stiffly. Fran closed her eyes and laid her head back on the seat and waited for it to happen.
The boy didn't touch her. Fran opened her eyes after a minute and looked at him. He was sitting as far away from her as he could and he was trembling.
"Don't you want to?" she asked him, surprised at the softness of her voice.
The boy tried to laugh but stuttered instead. "I ... I don't know...." he stammered. "I ... I thought I did...."
Fran felt her body relax. She sat up and pulled a crumpled pack of cigarettes out of her blouse pocket and lit two. She handed one to the lad. He puffed on it gratefully.
".Thanks," he said, after a minute of silence.
Fran sat quietly and studied the young man. He wasn't a day over eighteen, even younger than she had imagined. She felt a twinge of conscience. The racket didn't care how young they got 'em. It was the old story. Start the customers young and you got 'em hooked for life.
"This your first time?" she asked softly.
The boy nodded. He was still' shaking. "All the guys at college have done it," he said. "They kept razzing me and razzing me. I just had to come...."
Fran touched his hand. "We don't have to if you don't really want to. You can tell your friends you did."
"I ... I guess that would be best," the boy stammered. "I'm sorry...."
Fran smiled. "Don't be sorry," she said. "I wish they were all like you." She leaned over and kissed him impulsively on the cheek. "Enjoy the movie."
She climbed out of the car and walked back toward the snack bar. That had been easy, but she couldn't expect them all to be like that. At least the boy had been more scared than she was. She was glad he hadn't really wanted her. She would hate to be the first one with a young guy. Let someone else teach him the facts of life. She wouln't want a young kid's innocence on her conscience.
She stood outside for several minutes and watched the movie on the screen and then, after a decent interval, she wandered back inside. Al caught her eye and grinned at her. She ignored him. He walked quickly over to her.
"Number two coming up," Al said cheerfully. "This guy's been around. Time you started earning your keep."
Fran turned and Al nodded toward a tall, broad shouldered bushy haired young man. Fran shrugged and followed the man out of the snack bar and to his late model sedan. The man was broad and built like a truck driver. She got into the front seat, resigning herself to a tough time.
"Take off your clothes, baby," the man ordered gruffly.
Fran unbuttoned her blouse and slipped out of it. The moment he saw her huge breasts he gave out a low whistle and then he had his calloused hands on her.
"Say, you're all right, baby. Nice, baby. Nice."
Fran slipped out of her skirt and let it fall to the floor with her blouse. She kicked out of her flatties and sat still and waited. The customer slipped one arm around her waist and pulled her close to him. His free hand traveled down over her breasts and over her hips and thighs. Then he was fondling her.
Fran shot a look at him. He seemed to be enjoying it "This is kid stuff," she said sarcastically.
The man grunted. She felt his huge hands grip her body and then she was being lifted and tossed heavily into the back seat.
"Kid stuff, eh? We'll see about that!"
Fran rose to her hands and knees and then the man was on her, pinning her down. She bit her lip to keep from screaming. He thrashed wildly until at last she felt him relax and she knew it was over.
He let her up finally. "You're not bad, baby," he said. "I'll have to come and see you again, sometime."
There were others that night. Fran lost count. She no sooner returned to the snack bar than Al would nod to her and point toward some customer. Again and again it was a matter of climbing into a strange car, letting a strange man paw her and have her and then climbing out again and walking back to the rnack bar.
She became aware of the packed theater that night. It seemed funny to go to a car, strip and make out with a man while maybe four feet away, in another car, was a family enjoying the movie, never knowing what was going on right next to them. It was true, though. Most people came to a drive-in to see the movies. Once the pictures started they were oblivious to everything else. A person could commit a murder in the car right next to them and they'd never know it. That was why the racket was working so smoothly. Nobody tumbled to it who wasn't supposed to.
Fran was worn out by the end of the night.
She realized vaguely as she counted the cash in the cash register that she hadn't spent more than fifteen minutes working behind the snack bar.
"Don't forget to count your straws, dearie," Alma shot at her in parting.
Fran shrugged and picked up her cup and counted the white straws. Then she arched an eyebrow. Twelve straws. Was that all? It had seemed like a hundred.
She took the money back to the office. Al counted out her share of the night's activities which amounted to sixty dollars and gave it to her.
"Not a bad night's work, eh, kid?"
Fran ignored him and walked wearily out of the office and to the car where Thelma waited for her.
"It's a lousy racket," Fran said on the drive home. "Someday, somehow, I'm gonna blow the lid off it."
"Don't ever try it, baby," Thelma warned. "You'll only get hurt."-
"Why? Don't you wanta put Floyd and Al and their kind behind bars for keeps?"
"Sure, honey, but Al and Floyd are only the front men. This racket is big. A lot bigger than you think."
"How many theaters are there? Not over twelve or thirteen. That's the extent of the racket isn't it?"
Thelma shook her head. "The drive-in movie setup is only one part of an organized ring. Floyd takes his orders from someone higher up. He's only the boss of a single operation. And he's a good recruiter, too."
Fran nodded silently. Floyd was good at his job. A girl couldn't help falling for him, even after she found out what he was. But, even Floyd was beginning to wear off. She was beginning to feel the sinister side of him.
"What other types of rackets do they work, Thelma?"
"I've heard about the private indoor movie houses for the rich where stag movies are shown. The movies are made by the same outfit that runs Cal Coastline and the indoor chain. The whole dirty business is controlled by mobsters. That's why I said to forget any ideas about blowing the whistle on Floyd."
Fran settled back in her seat and was quiet the rest of the way home. It didn't matter how many gangsters or mobsters were tied up in the rackets. She was going to find a way to blow the rackets to kingdom come. It was too easy for young girls to be lured or tricked into prostitution. Even the ones who thought they were too smart to get caught in the business were playing a loser's game. She knew only too well how it happened. Now there was no way out until they let you out-or unless she could, somehow, do something about it....
CHAPTER TWELVE
Fran worked the cars the next two weeks in a daze. She had steeled her mind and body to give satisfaction in the quickest manner possible. For none of them did she have feeling.
Each day she became a little harder. Each day her intense desire to do something about the rackets increased. She wanted to expose and smash the ring of prostitution. She thought of the young girls who would be trapped into working the trade in the future, if it were left to fluorish. The stupid young girls with the gorgeous bodies would end up working a oneway street to Hell. She couldn't do much about herself. She was well on her way now. She felt she had no morals; had lost all sense of values. It was hard to tell right from wrong. Prostitution was wrong but she was working at it and probably would continue to do so.
An idea was forming in her mind, however.
Thelma had said there were private movie houses and stag movies. The whole setup was controlled by gangsters. She had to reach the top before she could do anything towards breaking the syndicate. And the only way to get to the top was to become the number one girl on the job-the top in demand. She had heard that girls advanced to the private houses occasionally, where the money was three times as good, for one half the effort. From there it would only be a step to the top man. And, then, somehow, she would find a way to blow the whistle.
It was late on a Thursday evening when she met Gary Adams. He was a tall, blonde crew-cut young man who looked ageless. He had flashing blue eyes, a nice complexion and was clean shaven. The conservative, light brown suit fit him flawlessly. He smiled at her with even white teeth. She smiled, back at him and followed him out to his late model Ford.
"I'm Gary Adams," he said easily. "I've had my eye on you."
"Oh," Fran shrugged and began to unbutton her blouse. She had learned from experience that it was best to get out of her clothes as fast as she could. Some of her customers delighted in ripping the clothes off of her body.
"Your name's Fran?"
Fran nodded. "Fran Allen." She tossed her blouse on the floor and unzipped her skirt and slipped out of it quickly. Then she scooted over next to him and pushed her firm bulging breasts against his arm. She had learned that she had to work fast to keep up with the busy nights.
Gary laughed and put one arm around her bare shoulder. "You're eager, aren't you? I'd think you'd be all tired out."
Fran was beginning to feel irritated She reached down and unzipped his pants and reached inside. "You want it or not?"
Gary removed her hand "No," he said stiffly. "I don't want you. Not this way."
Fran studied him quietly in the darkness. "What do you want?"
"Suppose you put on you clothes and then we'll relax and sit here and talk, that's what I want."
Fran shrugged. She put on her clothes and accepted the lighted cigarette and leaned back against the seat and dragged deeply on the smoke. "This is the first time I've ever been turned down," she said. "I'm not sure I like it."
Gary chuckled. "Don't get me wrong. I like pretty women. Especially you. It's just that the cold-bloodedness of you girls turns me off. Like that!" He snapped his fingers.
Fran stared hard at him. She could see his profile as he took a deep drag on his cigarette. He had a classic profile. Nice lines to his nose and mouth above a fim chin. "You don't like my kind of woman," she said harshly.
Gary put an arm lightly about her shoulders. "I'm old fashioned when it comes to women. I believe a girl should have some sex experience before marriage but certainly not for anyone that wants her."
"Then why do you pay, mister?" Fran's voice was cold. "It's guys like you that keep the racket thriving. You're responsible."
Gary nodded. "Yes, that's true. Maybe we ought to do something about it."
Fran laughed. "We? Where did you ever get that idea?"
Gary turned on the seat toward her suddenly. "I like you, Fran. I've been coming here every night for a week, watching you, trying to work up enough nerve to approach you. Somehow, I get the feeling you're not like the other girls. I bet you didn't enter this racket on your own accord. They've got something on you. They forced you into it, right?"
Fran smoked the cigarette and fought to keep her heart still. She felt shivers go up and down her spine. She didn't know if she could trust him. Maybe this was one of Floyd's tricks to find out whether or not she was well indoctrinated in the racket and resigned to it.
"Did they, Fran?"
Fran laughed easily. "Sure they did," she said jokingly. "And they make me take half the money I earn, too."
Gary fell back against the seat. He seemed crestfallen. "I'm sorry," he said slowly. "I made a mistake...."
He started the engine and she reached for the key and turned it off. "Wait ... don't cut out on me!"
He looked at her. She could see him quite clearly now in the darkness. His face twisted into a grimace. "Go on, get out!" he snapped harshly.
Fran slapped him viciously across the cheek. He grabbed her hand and twisted it behind her. She fell back against the door on her side, pulling him over on top of her. His face was inches above hers. She grabbed the back of his head with her free hand and pulled him down to her. His lips were firm and warm against hers. Then she slipped her tongue between his lips and felt it strike his tongue. She felt passion begin to build slowly in her body and she began to move her hips beneath him. He tried to pull away but she held him. He was the first man to arouse her since she'd become a prostitute.
He returned her kisses and then he was pulling her back to a sitting position. "I'm sorry I got angry," he said, holding her close. "It's just that ... well, you remind me of someone I once knew, that's all. I just couldn't accept you for what you. . ; seem to be...."
Fran swallowed hard. Butterflies danced in her stomach. She decided to level with him. "I was forced into this," she said slowly. "I hated it at first but it doesn't take long to not really feel anything about it."
"You haven't been at it very long, have you?"
Fran shook her head. "Less than a month. It seems like years."
Gary gently kissed her. It was a sweet kiss and it stirred her. All the kisses she had been getting from men lately had been the brutal, harsh demanding kind. Suddenly a sweet, gentle kiss meant more to her and did more to her than they ever had before. She felt her bust heave with emotion and her voice shook when she spoke.
"You said you wanted to help me. Do you really mean it?"
"Yes, Fran, I do. I don't know what to do or quite how to go about it but we'll see what we can figure out between us."
"I've got some ideas."
"Save them for now. I've got to go." He kissed her lightly again. "See you same time tomorrow night. Okay?"
Fran nodded. She climbed out of his car in a daze and watched him drive off. A few minutes later the movie ended and the theater began to empty. Fran counted up her take and collected her earnings from Al and rode silently home with Thelma. She went right to bed and fell asleep quickly. She wanted to dream about Gary. He was going to help her and get her out of prostitution and that was all that mattered.
He came late the next night and paid for her again. This time they sat close together, his arm tightly about her shoulders and just talked. He told her about himself and she snuggled up against him and listened.
The third night was a repeat of the second only Fran did all the talking while Gary listened.
"I'm only a salesman, Fran," he said. "I don't know a heck of a lot about police work, but this looks like a job for the sheriffs department of the state police or maybe the federal authorities. I'm going to do a little research on it and see what I come up with."
Fran said nothing. She laid her head against his shoulder and felt clean. He was the first man she had ever known who hadn't tried to paw her by the second date. This was their third. And the fact that she sold her body and he paid the fee gave him the right to have her if he wanted to. But Gary was too nice a guy and didn't want to cheapen their friendship by making her ply her trade with hm.
".' I'll be real late tomorrow night, baby," Gary said before she went back to the theater. "Sales meeting. By the time I get out here the show will be closed. I'd like to see you, Fran. Maybe at your place after work?"
Fran kissed him gently. Then she gave him the address and directions on how to get there. She kissed him once again before sliding out of the seat.
"I love you, Gary," she whispered.
She slammed the car door, turned, and ran for the snack bar.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Fran floated through the next night's activities. She was barely aware of going from car to car and allowing strange men to paw her. She closed her mind to the realities of the moment and thought only of Gary. His image lived in her brain, vivid and real and alive. Her love for him warmed and contented her. Nothing else mattered.
She rode home with Thelma in silence. Once inside their apartment, Thelma scrutinized her carefully, noting the sheen to her face and the light shining in her eyes.
"You really got it bad for this buy, hon?"
Fran watched Thelma slip into her nightgown. She lounged on her bed, fully clothed, watching her blonde roommate walk sensuously to the closet to hang up her clothes.
"All the way," Fran said, meaning it.
Thelma turned toward her, concern heavy in her voice. "This your first real love, baby'.'"
Fran felt a lump rise in her throat. "'Yes. First and last." She stood up and unfastened the button on her skirt. "He's coming over tonight. I'd better get ready." The skirt fell to a pile at her feet. "For once he'll see me at my best." She skimmed out of her blouse and turned to face Thelma. "I think he's going to ask me to marry him."
Thelma cast her a pitying look. She bit her lower lip and strode swiftly past Fran to her bed. "That's nice," she snapped harshly, crawling in between clean, white sheets.
Fran walked into the bathroom and ran her bath. She soaked in the warm soapy waters for a good half hour, vigorously scrubbing her body, trying to wash away the filth of the many men who had pawed her and used her body that night. Then she pulled the plug and stood up in the tub and turned on the shower spray, letting stinging needles of hot water beat at her soapy form, washing the suds away, recharging her with new energy.
She turned off the shower and stepped out into the steam-filled bathroom and picked up a dry towel. She rubbed herself briskly until her skin glowed pink. Then she padded into the bedroom, the light still on, and slipped into one of Thelma's white silk robes and belted it loosely about her body. The silk clung to her form, rustling as she moved out into the kitchen.
The morning pot of coffee was still plugged in. Fran poured herself a cup and tasted it. She made a face. The coffee was strong and bitter. All the better, she concluded. Now she could stay awake without effort. Grimly, she drank the rest of the cup, then refilled it She wandered Into the living room and curled up on the couch near the door to wait for Gary.
Gary arrived at three o'clock in the morning. He rapped twice and Fran opened the door to admit him. He took her In his arms and kissed her lips. Fran felt her heart skip a beat; She looked deep into his blue eyes and felt her love for him well up inside her. She swallowed hard and led him over to the couch.
"I had quite a time finding this place," he said, smiling. "Then I saw your light, the only one on the block, i figured it had to be you."
Fran patted the couch beside her and Gary sat down. She opened her arms wide for him. Gary pulled her in gently against him. Her robe slipped open at the waist, revealing her firm, bare breasts. Gary wet his lips with his tongue, i ie stared at her breasts, his eyes suddenly filmy. Fran looked down at him. There wasn't any need for words. Her whole body cried out for him. This was the real thing. She lay back on the couch and drew his lips down to one breast.
Gary kissed her gently. Fran began to twist, hungrily, beneath him. Her robe fell open, revealing her nakedness. Gary breathed heavily. His hands descended over her flat stomach and across her curving flanks, his lips touching her everywhere. Fran sighed, twisting her body. Heat waves shimmered across her vision. She gasped with pleasure.
"I love you, I love you, I love you!" she cried out.
Gary rose to his feet and began to undress. She watched him out of heavy-lidded eyes. I le had a beautiful body. Tall and lean and hard-muscled with curly blonde hair covering his broad chest and athlete's legs. She let her gaze rove over every square inch of his body.
"You're beautiful, Gary," she said, meaning it. "The most beautiful man I've ever seen."
Me smiled at her and moved toward her. She half rose to meet him, and he pressed her down on the couch. She writhed beneath him. She opened her mouth to cry out but his lips silenced her with a hard demanding kiss. She arched her body against his and dug her fingers into his back.
She felt like she was adrift in a small boat at sea, tossed by waves that threatened to engulf her with crushing caresses and breathtaking power. Kach wave, stronger and more furious than the last, was a mighty tide of power and passion washing over her, delighting her senses, leaving her gasping and delirious with joy. The storm grew in intensity and fury, catching her up in it, tossing her wildly about, filling her whole being with a new found rapture, carrying her along in its frantically churning undertow. On and on the storm raged but Fran was equal to its demands, as, again and again, the storm seemed to reach its peak and momentarily die away but then would build up again in wild fury and the next peak would be greater and more thrilling than the last. Fran wanted to scream with the joy and wonder of it. Never before had anything been like this. Never, in her wildest dreams, had anything ever compared with it.
At last the storm subsided and calm seas returned to caress and bathe her body in contentment and relaxation. She opened her eyes slowly. Gary lay spent over her, his head cradled between her breasts. Fran smiled gently and ran one hand lightly through his blonde hair. She'd known a lot of men in her life and she'd experienced all the thrills possible to be had with a man but none of her previous experiences could hold a candle to what she and Gary had just shared. She felt this was a genuine love that grew out of their compassion and need for one another.
Fran smiled at him in his deep sleep. Gary was the real article. And she loved him. Somehow, with his help, she would find a way to crush the prostitution racket at the drive-in movies and escape the sordid life she was leading.
They were still together on the couch in the morning when Thelma prodded Fran. She opened her eyes slowly, startled when she saw Gary's head resting on her stomach.
"Coffee's on, Fran," Thelma said, her lips curling in a tight smile. "Wake up Romeo and get some clothes on him before I get ideas."
Fran grinned and snuggled closer to her sleeping lover. "You get out of here first I don't want him embarrassed."
Thelma laughed lightly and stalked out of the room, her robe flying behind her. "Flapjacks in ten minutes. Your boy will probably be starved."
"Me, too," Fran said, watching Thelma disappear through the swinging kitchen door.
She roused Gary gently by massaging his shoulders. He came to slowly, grunting with displeasure. He opened his eyes, then closed them momentarily, his head pillowed between Fran's breasts. Then he suddenly stiffened, his eyes opening wide, a look of wild surprise on his face. Fran laughed and bent over to kiss him.
"Morning, lover of mine."
Gary gulped and sat up quickly, shaking his head to rouse himself from his deep sleep. "Man, oh man, what happened?"
Fran wet her lips, remembering. "You made love to me last night, all night.
Gary turned toward her, a wide grin on his handsome face. "Did I?"
Fran nodded, hardly daring to breathe.
Gary pulled her in close to him and kissed her longingly on her lips.
"Fran," Gary said, lowering her to the couch.
Fran wriggled out from under him. "Now, now, you idiot," she scolded. "My roommate's in the kitchen fixing breakfast"
Gary grinned sheepishly at her and let her go. Fran pulled her robe in tight around her and belted it Gary rose lazily to his feet, searching the room with his eyes, looking for his hastily discarded clothing of the night before. His clothes were strewn about the room. With two quick strides he grabbed his clothes and held them bunched at his waist.
"Where's the bathroom, woman?" he asked.
Fran beckoned to him and he followed her-into the bedroom and to the bath behind the full length mirror. Gary disappeared inside and Fran sat down on the bed to wait She heard the water running and a high tenor voice drifted to her from the shower. Fran smiled and hugged her knees together and waited. After a few minutes Gary reappeared looking fresh and crisp in his Ivy League brown suit He swept Fran up in his arms, holding her around the waist, her feet kicking thin air.
"I love you, Fran," he said seriously. "And I intend to marry you but first I've got to figure a way to get you out of that robbery charge." He put her down. "They've got you framed real good, honey. I hate to tell you this but it looks like you'll have to stay on at the drive-in theater for a while."
Fran felt her heart sink to the pit of her stomach. How could she continue now after she had found the one real love in her life? How could she sell her body? She loved Gary. They had possessed one another. They had found true happiness. Now he was telling her she had to keep on selling her body, dirtying herself and hating it more than ever.
She spun away from him, choking back a sob in her throat.
Fran went to work that night with a heavy heart. Gary had left on a sales trip into Arizona and would be gone for about three weeks. Until he returned she was stuck to her job at the drive-in movie. She would have to put her love for Gary out of her mind and try to steel herself to selling her body. Cold, without feeling.
Don't think about it, Fran, she told herself. Think about something else. Anything. Get it over fast. Pretend you're someone else. Do something. Anything. Watch the movie. That's it! Watch the movie while they're getting their money's worth. As long as you can....
It was a dirty job and she had to do it to earn her keep and stay out of jail. She steeled herself to do the job and forget it. It wasn't easy but she was learning how.
One curly haired young college man told her the word was out "Yeah, baby, you got a real rep," he chortled.
Fran regarded the collegiate, soberly. She hoped he would discard his chewing gum before it got to the later stages. "What about the other girls?" she asked quizzically. "They've been here longer. I low are their reps?"
The gum chewer shrugged. His hands dipped lower, his hands traveled down over her quivering stomach to her hips. I lis breath hissed in one ear. "You're all woman, know what I mean? You really put your heart in it. You make a guy feel like he's getting his ten bucks worth, ""he rest of them, they're hard and cold ' and the, laugh at you if you're not ready to get right down to business." His hands were on her thighs now. "It takes us guys time to warm up, you know? That's why all the guys go for you."
Fran pushed in against him, eager to get it over with.
The night dragged on. Fran was bone-tired. The all night session with Gary had taken something out of her. She was glad when the theater finally closed. Wearily she cleaned out the cash register and counted t the take. Thelma paused beside her before leaving the snack bar.
"Another lesbian party tonight. Wanta go, Fran? Mike made me promise I'd ask you. She says you're getting a special invite."
Fran shook her head and leaned against the counter. "No, thanks," she said dryly. "Tell Mike I won't ever be seeing her again."
Thelma grinned and punched her lightly on one shoulder. " I'm glad you're not going, Fran. I had to ask you, you know, but I'm glad you turned her down."
Fran turned to face Thelma wonderingly. Thelma's eyes sparkled. " I wish I had a fella like Gary," she said, "her hands extending her car keys. "Here, I won't need the Chevy. I'm going with Betty. You take the car."
Fran nodded and accepted the keys. "Thanks, Thelma," she said. "Be careful."
At closing time the light was on in the office but Al wasn't in his chair. Fran frowned and walked over to the desk. She was just as glad he wasn't around. She was tired enough without having to fight him off.
She dropped the nights receipts on the counter and decided against hanging around until he showed up. She could collect her ninety bucks tomorrow. The door slammed shut behind her. She spun around. Al was leaning against the locked door, his thick lips drooling. She saw the blazing lust in his deep set, piggish eyes and the way his fingers curled at his waist. She wanted to scream.
".'I finally outsmarted you, didn't I, baby?"
Fran gripped the back of the desk with both hands. Her fingers nudged the heavy money sack. Hope flared in her chest. It had worked once.
"No, you don't!"
Al darted forward, surprisingly fast for his size. His hands clamped on her wrists with steel like strength, bending them behind her until she was held smothered against his chest. He grinned evily at her, his garlic breath heavy in her face. She winced.
"Tonight, I'm gonna have you, baby. Tonight! You hear?"
Fran's instinct was to fight against him, to make him pay for what he was going to do. Then she shrugged. What was the use? Al was going to have her. It didn't matter. He couldn't be any worse than a lot of the men who'd paid to possess her body. He couldn't touch her. She loved Gary. Her love for him was strong enough to tide her through a bout even with this repulsive animal.
He slapped her, hard. Fran sobbed hysterically as blood ran from her cut lip. Al grunted and backhanded her across the face until she was hanging suspended by her hair, all energy drained from her body. Only then did Al release her. She sank like a rock onto the floor at his feet She was dimly aware of Al standing over her. Then she felt his rough hands examining every part of her. She was almost unconscious. It didn't matter what he did to her now. She was too far gone to care.
"I'm gonna take you, baby," Al hissed, his voice sounding far away, "and take you good...!"
She felt him grasp her. She wanted to cry out, but then his fist struck her hard and she went limp.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Sunlight awoke her. She sat up with a start She was in Thelma's car at the drive-in theater. Naked. She looked wildly around her. Her clothes lay on the floor. She leaned down to pick them up, her breasts scraping against the upholstery. A wave of pain shot through her body. She gritted her teeth and rocked back into a sitting position.
Her whole body ached. Every nerve in her body was alive and on fire. Her stomach turned over, threatening to erupt at any moment. She was suddenly dizzy and faint. She gritted her teeth and shook her head as hard as she could. She clutched the blouse to her and looked at her reflection in the rear view mirror. Bright sunlight reflected into her eyes. She ground them shut and rocked back against the seat. If she was going to make it home it had to be quick.
She drew, on the blouse slowly and buttoned it. Then she worked her bruised legs into her skirt and pulled it up to her waist and fastened it.
She turned on the ignition and backed the car out into the drive. The interior was oppressively hot. She rolled down her window and shook her head to clear it Then she put the car. in gear and crawled forward toward the rear exit The streets were almost deserted but Fran drove slowly, being careful to obey all traffic signs and signals. She didn't want to be picked up by a cop.
She staggered up the walk to her apartment house, thankful that it was still too early in the morning for the residents to be stirring. The apartment was dark. She walked to the windows and opened the blinds and let the sunlight flood into the room. Then she shuffled toward the bedroom, a thousand needles sticking her body with every movement. She winced and bit her lower lip to keep from screaming.
Thelma's bed was empty. Fran felt sudden fear strike her. Thelma had gone to the les party. Fran felt a quick stab of remorse shoot through her. She worried about Thelma.
She ran a hot bath and stepped gingerly out of her clothes and lowered her tortured body into the hot water. She gasped with pain as the heat knifed through her beaten body. She hurt every place! She felt like she'd been stretched in every joint Muscles knotted in agony. She gritted her teeth and fought to relax and let the hot water caress her body. Slowly the heat warmed her, dulling the sharpness of her pain.
Her body was one dull, throbbing ache when she dried herself and walked stiffly back into the bedroom. She stood in front of the full length mirror and looked herself over critically. Her breasts were swollen and bluish. There were other bruises on her legs, thighs and back and on one shoulder. And a knot the size of an egg on the back of her head. Her lower lip was cut and bruised slightly but outside of that she was unmarked.
Fran spent the rest of the day in bed, nude, letting the cool breezes blow over her tortured body, soaking up as much strength and energy as possible.
Thelma arrived home late that afternoon in time to change her clothes and grab a bite to eat. One look at Fran and she became alarmed.
"What happened to you, baby?"
Fran choked. Tears stung her eyes. "Al!" she hissed through clenched teeth.
Thelma rocked on her heels. "The bastard! Somebody oughta kill him!"
Fran nodded and sat up in bed. She felt Thelma's glance flit over her body and the sympathy and pity that flashed in her eyes as they focused on her bruised breasts and her obvious pain. The blonde came over and sat down beside her to take her in her arms. Fran felt like bursting. Tears rolled down her cheeks. Sobs caught in her throat.
"Let it go, baby," Thelma said gently. "Let it out. It'll be better for you."
Fran choked and then she broke and tortured sobs wracked her pain-filled body. She related the events of the past night as well as she knew them. Thelma patted her back softly and held her the way a mother does her child.
"I know how he is, Fran," she said gently. "I've gone through it a few times myself."
"But-I feel so dirty ... so ugly!" Fran cried her body shaking. "I'm not fit for Gary ... or anycman! I'm a tramp and-and everything. I'm just dirt, Thelma! No good...!"
"Easy, baby," Thelma said, her voice rising. "Don't talk like that What you've done wasn't your fault You were trapped. And what Al did is rape, and that's the whole story. You know he drove one girl out of her mind, don't you?"
Fran blew her nose. "You mean Rose?"
Thelma nodded "She was too innocent. And dumb. We tried to tell her to get out but she wouldn't ... said she needed the job. She was there a week when Al got her. She screamed and fought but he beat her and tore her clothes off and then practiced his own, unique form of sex on her. She was a babbling idiot when he finished with her. She ran away-out the gate and down the street, naked, screaming at the top of her lungs. Al was after her in a car fast enough to get hold of her and bring her back before she got the law on him. But she was really out of her head. We could hear her crying and screaming like a crazy woman upstairs over the office when we checked in at night. Finally, they took her clothes from my apartment. That night Floyd called us in and told us to forget we ever knew her. That was the last we heard of Rose."
Fran sat up, wiping tears from her eyes. "He said once that she was in Arizona now ... in a whorehouse...."
Thelma snapped her fingers, her eyes bright "They took her across a state line!" She put her hands on Fran's shoulders and shook her gently. "That's a federal offense, baby!"
Fran opened her eyes wide. So now she had a way to hurt the drive-in movie prostitution racket! Al had talked and boasted and he'd made the one fatal mistake. Now she knew that the lever she could use to get to the top of the rackets and the club needed to crack the syndicate wide open were one and the same. Rose.
Thelma studied her through narrowed eyes. Her voice hardened. "Don't get any ideas about playing it cute, Fran. They'd kill you if they even thought you'd go near the Feds."
Fran nodded and turned her head away from Thelma. She didn't want to think about it any more. Not right now. She still hurt too much. And she knew that despite everything, she could never marry Gary. Not after last night. No, now she was a confirmed prostitute and could be had by anyone with the price. She had gone the whole route-by force, maybe, but still she knew from the way she hurt and felt that Al had practiced every known sexual act on her. She could never drag Gary down with her. Not after she'd wallowed in the filth....
Al looked her over critically when she reported for work that night. Fran kept her eyes lowered. Shivers coursed through her body. She vowed she would kill him if he even laid a hand on her, ever again. She knew she could never stand a repeat performance.
Al came over to her, chuckling. She shrank away from his looming bulk. He didn't move. "Gotta promotion for you, baby," he said. "You're taking Susie's spot"
Fran spun around to face him, her eyes wide in terror.
Al laughed harshly. "That's right, Fran. Susie's been advanced to a private house. You're elected to fill her ... shoes...."
Horror and revulsion filled her. She clenched her fists. Her voice was high pitched and foreign sounding to her. "No!" she whispered hoarsely. "No!"
Al chuckled and beckoned to someone behind her. Fran turned. Two crew cut blonde young men advanced, one on either side of her. She felt strong hands clamp onto each arm. They began to lead her toward the exit between them.
Fran shot a look of hate over her shoulder at Al. He was bursting with laughter.
"Hope you're as good as the big hunkie you're replacing," one of the young men commented as they strode down the dark lane of the theater to the back row, where a dark closed panel truck was parked. Fran felt ill. The vehicle had no windows except those in front over the side doors, and the windshield. They were almost to the truck when the door nearest them burst open from inside and a pair of eager hands came forward to greet her. Fran tried to spin away but the hands found her breasts and clamped hold. Pain knifed through her body.
Fran gasped and swayed forward. Immediately her two escorts propelled her into the dark interior of the truck. The door slammed shut behind her.
Fran opened her mouth to scream but a hand bruised her lips and jerked her head back.
"Easy, baby," a voice said in her ear. "Just relax and take it easy. You'll like what we're gonna do to you."
Fran felt her blouse being removed. Then her skirt. She could hear the rustling sound of other clothing being removed. She relaxed and strained her eyes to see. The inside of the truck was jet black. She could barely make out the dark shapes of the four men moving around her in the truck.
Suddenly she was pushed forward. She stumbled and fell to her knees on the cold metal floor. Two pairs of hands grasped her and pulled her in towards them. She could feel the naked alive body of one of them against her hip. A hand fondled a breast. A pair of lips ground roughly against hers. A hand roamed over her buttocks. (
"Okay. We're ready," one of her escorts said from behind her. A pair of hands gripped her head between them and her scream was cut off. She felt hands behind her, probing, felling, caressing her. Then a sharp pain wracked her body. One of the men laughed. Another sharp pain jolted her and a heavy weight descended on top of her. She wanted to scream and yell but she was choking and it all she could do to keep from losing her mind....
It was hot ... stifling hot ... in the panel truck. She felt herself suffocating. When she awoke she was lying on the cold metal floor. Slowly she sat up and moved. Her body shrieked with pain. She groaned. One of the young men knelt beside her. She was surprised that she could see him quite clearly. He grinned at her. "You okay, doll?"
Wearily she nodded and struggled to her feet.
"You had us worried, baby," one of the men said. "Like you were real gone ... for good."
Fran lurched toward the door. A hand stopped her. "We'll be seeing you again, baby," the voice said. "We're in town for a month."
Fran choked and shook her head. Tears welled up in her eyes. She wanted to scream. The door opened and she stumbled-out into the cool night. Shivers wracked her body. She ran toward the friendly lights of the snack bar.
Al met her just inside the main entrance. He took one look at her, grabbed her by one arm and pulled her outside into the darkness again.
"Let go of me!" Fran stormed angrily.
"Wipe those tears out of your eyes," Al hissed. "Think I wanta have everybody in the snack bar staring at you?"
Fran kicked him hard in the shin. Al howled in pain. "You filthy beast," she said through clenched teeth.
Al laughed gutturally. "Got a real date lined up for you, kid. An all night date."
Fran tried to turn away but Al's hand tightened like a vise on her arm. "No thanks," she said, biting off the words.
Al chuckled. "A hundred bucks for you in this one, kid. A hundred bucks for an easy night's work."
Fran relaxed. What was the use? "No more gang stuff, Al," she said. "I can't take it."
Al howled with laughter. "You'll get used to it. But this date isn't quite in that category."
Fran stared hard at him, hatred flashing in her eyes. "Do I have a choice?"
Al shook his head. "You don't" He jerked her arm and began to walk into the lot, pulling Fran along with him. "Your date's waiting."
He led her to a big black Cadillac sedan parked in a sparsely-occupied part of the theater. The big Cad was dark inside. Al walked up to the rear door, yanked it open and shoved Fran forward. A sickening sweet scent filled her nostrils. A man's aftershave lotion or cologne. The interior of the car was dark. A rough pair of hands pulled her inside. A hard set of lips crushed against her own. Fran struggled against her date. She heard the car door slam and the driver in front gunned the motor to life. Then the big car was moving swiftly toward the nearest exit.
"Don't fight me, Fran," a high masculine voice said as two greedy hands found her breasts.
Fran shivered. It was Mike, the lesbian. Ted, the other, was at the wheel....
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Fran was sick. Her stomach churned. Bitter sobs wracked her tortured body. She lay sobbing on her bed, wanting to retch until she'd cleaned herself of the terrible things that had been practiced on her. But she knew it was no good. She would remember. Nothing could ever cleanse her mind of that horror-filled night.
She sat up with effort, her hair damp and stringy. Wearily she brushed it out of her eyes. She gripped the bedspread in her fists. It was soaking wet. She choked back a sob and lurched to her feet and-staggered toward the mirror. Then, catching sight of her reflection, she stopped.
You filthy whore, she said to the image in the mirror. You dirty, stinking whore!
She made a face and bared her teeth at the image. You gutter-rat! You're nothing but a bitch! It's bad enough you sold your body.
It couldn't stop there. You had to let them drag you down to the deep black pits of Hell.
And worse! You had to like it! That was the worst crime of all. You actually enjoyed it!
She shoved a hand at the mirror and lurched into the bathroom. Memories of last night haunted her. She had danced wildly to the music, her blood surging hotly, her body crying out for fulfillment And then the dikes had dragged her down. They had satisfied her and thrilled her like she'd never been before. And now she loathed herself for giving into them and enjoying it. She hated herself.
She knew she would not see Gary again. Not after last night. That had been the final straw. She could never face him again. She felt too ashamed, too rotten, to ever lay eyes on him again. He would be better off without her. He needed a nice clean girl.
She didn't talk much at breakfast. Thelma noticed the new hardness on her face and the dull listlessness to her eyes. Fran told her about her hundred dollar date, the scrambled eggs churning in the pit of her stomach.
Thelma shook her head slowly. "I'm sorry you ever got into this mess, Fran. "But you haven't done anything willingly from the start. You were tricked or forced into every act and with every date Al arranged for you. Sure, you liked what Mike and Ted did to you. So did L So do the other girls. It's only natural for you to get aroused when another person is loving you." She leaned across the table and put her hand on Fran's arm. "We're trapped into the life and there's nothing we can do about it Gary realizes it's that way. He's trying to help you escape."
Fran looked hard at her roommate. "Is he, Fran? Ted said last night that any man who really loved a woman would not let her go on selling her body unless he was a pimp."
Thelma shrugged her shoulders. "Gary's not a pimp, Fran. He's a nice guy."
Tears welled in Fran's eyes. "I know it, Thelma. That's why I can't see him again."
"You're nuts. If I had a guy like Gary, I'd...."...." You'd what? Let him marry you? Let him ruin his life?"
Floyd showed up at the theater that night. Fran made a dash for the office the moment she heard he was there. He greeted her coldly from behind Al's desk. It was their first meeting since the night he and two police officers had come to her apartment on the phony robbery charge.
Floyd closed the door behind her and watched her move provocatively toward him, his face bland and composed.
"Hi," Fran said, her hips swaying.
"What is it, Fran?"
Fran draped one leg across the edge of his desk and stared hard at him, her eyes gleaming. She wet the tip of her lips with her tongue. "I want you, for one thing," she said throatily. "And then I have a proposition for you."
Floyd studied her through narrow eyes. "You have changed, Fran. I'm glad to see there's no hard feelings."
Fran shrugged her shoulders. She leaned farther over the desk so that her breasts were exposed to his gaze. "I decided to make the best of things, Floyd. I think I've done quite well."
Floyd tapped a typewritten list on his desk with his pencil. "According to Al's swindle sheet, you're way out in front of the other girls. I'd say you were first class."
His voice was harsh when he spoke, his eyes cold as they swept over her. Fran sensed it was a test. She smiled sweetly and ran her fingers lightly over the back of his hand, her eyes flashing hotly at him.
"I am a first class whore," she said proudly. "That's why I wanted to see you. I want to be more than top banana at a drive-in movie. I want to go where the big money is."
Floyd squinted at her. "Big money? I'm afraid I don't follow you."
Fran grinned. She took time to light a cigarette and blow smoke in his face. "You know what I mean. The stag movie houses. The indoor stuff. A first class girl can double her income in one of those places."
Floyd stood up, stretching slowly. "The girls that work those places have to be well trained in every phase of sex."
Fran jumped to her feet and pushed her body against his. Her hands ran down over his hips. Her eyes locked with his. "I'm well educated," she said, matter-of-factly. "Ask Al. He taught me a few tricks. I took Susie's place last night and picked up a few more. Then I spent the night with two lesbians. They completed my education."
Floyd grinned down at her. "And now you think you wanta go into a first class indoor house? That it?"
Fran nodded. "I hear a good girl can make herself a couple hundred a night if she likes orgies."
Floyd threw back his head and laughed loud and hard. "You amaze me, Fran. You really do. Two weeks ago you were too pure to put out for dough. Now you're the most accomplished sex artist on my payroll."
"Well, do I get the job?"
Floyd shrugged. "I'll have to check into it. See if there are any openings. These things take time."
"How much time?"
"Susie waited three months for her break. It might take that long to place you."
Fran pushed her body against his. Every muscle in her quivered with aversion at what she was doing but she had to go through with it. No matter what she was or had been she was going to do one right thing in her life by exposing the rackets.
"I can't wait three months, Floyd. I want to go to an indoor house tonight"
Floyd pushed her away. "I can't promise you a thing like that, Fran. It's impossible."
Fran turned and walked to the door. Her body shook from the thing she was about to do but she knew it had to be now or never. She spun quickly to face him and took a deep breath. "You'd better make the arrangements, Floyd," she said, her voice hard. "Otherwise the wrong people might be interested in learning aboul Rose being transported across a state line to a whorehouse in Arizona against her will." , Floyd's mouth dropped open. He advanced toward her, fists doubled. Fran turned and left quickly.
Floyd was waiting for her when she checked in that night. He counted her take which a-mounted to ninety-five dollars. Then he asked her upstairs to the bedroom chambers. Fran went with him meekly. She wasn't too scared. She felt safe and sure that Floyd would find a way to advance her to an indoor movie house without telling the higher-ups about her knowing Rose was in Arizona. She had reasoned out that Floyd was shielding Al's mistake from his bosses.
Floyd ran his hands lightly over her body. Then he suggested she bathe and get nice and fresh for him He lounged against the wash basin in the brightly lit bathroom while Fran scrubbed the grime and dirt away and held the towel for her while she got out of the tub. He dried her impersonally and mixed her a drink. Then they walked casually into the bedroom. Fran flopped on the bed on her back. The silken sheets felt smooth and cool against her body.
"I made a few inquiries for you, Fran," Floyd said, unbuttoning his shirt. " I can place you tomorrow if you still want to make the switch."
Fran smiled up at him. She watched his disrobe, finding herself amused that she felt nothing for him anymore. He was just a big hunk of handsome man in the flesh. No different from a hundred others.
"Fine," Fran said as he sank down on the mattress beside her. "Fill me in on the details."
"There are ten private stag houses in L.A. County," he said. "Well-to-do citizens pay a hundred "dollars a piece for a night's entertainment. The latest stag movies are run for them in order to put them in the proper frame of mind. Then the house girls come out. Sometimes the movies are run while the girls are mingling with the guests."
"How many times a night does this caper go off?"
"Once. Eight sharp to ten thirty or eleven. About three hours work for one hundred a night. Not bad pay, eh?"
"How many girls to a house?"
"Five or six. It depends. The downtown house I'm sending you to has six. One of the girls is getting a little too old for the work. That's how I got you in. The action is pretty good. Usually twenty to thirty customers a night. Men and women."
Fran wrinkled her nose in disgust. "I'd just as soon stick with the men."
Floyd chuckled. His hands moved down over her hips and thighs, gently probing, teasing. "We have a few wealthy women clients. Generally, they want young men. We manage to supply the demand. We keep a few young studs floating around. When a house needs one, a call is put into our central casting and a young fellow is dispatched by limousine, to the house. A real neat setup."
Fran felt him begin to arouse. She steeled herself for the big question. "I'm sorry I had to use that business about Rose to prod you, Floyd."
Floyd chuckled." That's all right, baby. I know you won't blab about it to anyone else. I'm counting on you to keep your mouth shut."
Fran kissed him softly on his lips. "Good. I was afraid you'd think I'd squeal to the cops someday and get you in real trouble."
Floyd laughed. "I bet you thought I might have you rubbed out?"
Fran shivered. "Something like that."
"I thought about it," Floyd admitted, "but sending you to the downtown house is much better for me."
Fran frowned. "Why?"
"Because once you go in there, baby, you never come out again. It's safer than prison."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Floyd packed her things and drove her personally to her new quarters in the swank apartment hotel in Hollywood where all the girls from the indoor movie houses lived. It was a plush palace. Within an hour Fran had met all the other inmates, male as well as female. Most of the girls were gorgeous, statuesque dolls. Fran felt out of place among them.
She met the male members of the prison, too. There were three of them. To her surprise, dark haired, smiling Nicky was one of them.
"Hi, doll. Wanta make it with me?"
Fran gave him a hard cutting look. "No thanks, lover boy. I'm saving myself for the trade tonight."
Nicky laughed. He put his hands on his hips defiantly. " I never thought you'd end up here, doll. All that gaff you gave me about working for an honest living and saving it for some joker who'd never appreciate you. I thought you were really square! I actually believed you."
Fran sucked in her breath. She couldn't explain to Xicky how she felt. She could never admit to him that she'd been dumb enough to be tricked into working as a prostitute in a drive-in movie, that she'd made a promise to herself to expose the rackets. She could have gotten out in time but she'd tried being cute and ended up outsmarting herself. So had every girl in the racket. They'd all been nice, clean, decent girls once. Now they were selling their bodies and there was no escape for them until they got old and hard and worn out.
"We're working the same setup tonight, doll," Xicky said. " Usually I don't have any assignments until the night's underway but the boys tipped me off that there'll be two spinster school teachers there tonight and they'll want a young man." He grinned at Fran and flexed his muscles. "You know, this is a sweet racket. I make it here during the day with the most beautiful dolls in the world and then at night I get paid by some old dames that never had a man before. I really like my work. Yeah, doll, I really dig it here. My only regret is that I can't go out and run around whenever I want to."
"You mean they never let you out of here by yourself?"
Xicky shrugged. "You see the hoods all over the place? You can come and go as you want to but there's always one or two hoods tailing you. You can't breathe without them knowing about it."
Fran wrinkled her brow. " It sounds like this has something to do with gangsters."
Nicky chuckled. "It has, baby, it has." He leaned over close to her. "Ever hear of Mushy Logan?"
Fran nodded. She recalled vaguely that Logan's name was always being brought up in connection with every type of crime and racket flourishing in Los Angeles. No matter what happened, Logan was always the prime suspect. He was always brought in for questioning and given a lot of publicity in the daily newspapers. He had been picked up so often for questioning in the past that he now made city police headquarters a daily stop on his agenda.
"I've heard of him," Fran said.
Nicky snickered. " He's the boss."
Fran shrugged. " I'd like to meet him."
"You will, doll. You will, lie always makes the scene the first night a new doll's working. Private information has it he makes it with every doll in the chain, sort of a hobby with him."
Fran tried to suppress a smile. It was too good to be true. She had wanted to work the stag houses in hopes of meeting the top man. Now she was assured of it. It was more than she'd hoped for.
"Fine," she said. "I'll try and please him."
Nicky snickered. "You can try, baby. Personally, I think he's queer."
A big black limousine whisked six of them to the downtown house shortly after eight that evening. Fran, Nicky, and four other girls. The girls were all dressed in skin-tight, transparent evening gowns. Nicky was wearing swim trunks, a silk robe around his shoulders.
Fran lolled back against the mohair upholstery and closed her eyes. They had spent the day preparing for the evening to come. First they'd bathed and perfumed and powdered themselves and then they'd had extensive care" devoted to hair and nails. They had also been shaved by the house matron. Fran felt her cheeks flush with the memory. She'd been embarrassed at first but it was a rule of the house and had to be obeyed. Once a week the girls were shaved. Fran shrugged. It didn't matter too much. At least she felt clean and like a queen the way the matron and her staff had treated her. Nothing was too good for the girls in the house. Plump Susie, looking radiant, sat squeezed in next to Fran in the custom built nine passenger limousine.
"You'll like it here, Fran," , she gushed, her bosom bouncing heavily as the big car rolled through the evening traffic on Wilshire. "None of the bumps and grinds you had at the drive-in." Her eyes held respect and admiration for Fran. "You're lucky. It took me nine months to get an invite. You did it in four weeks. Bet all the girls really envy you."
Fran smiled. She thought of red-headed Alma. Alma would envy her most of all. Even Thelma, her roommate, would wonder how it had happened so fast. She wondered if they knew by now. Maybe not. But by morning Thelma would be sure to guess she'd been advanced. No word from her. Her things all missing. Thelma would guess.
The limousine glided to a stop in front of a downtown office building. Two broad-shouldered men, hats pulled down low over their foreheads, got out first. Then Nicky and the girls. One man led them into the ten story building. The second man followed them. The driver moved the big car swiftly away from the curb and back into traffic.
They rode up on the elevator to the top floor. Fran followed the others down the dark hallway to a set of double doors near the end of the tiled corridor. There was light coming from the offices within. She read the lettering on the door.
DAVENPORT SECURITY INVESTMENT CO.
One of the men rapped twice on the glass door. From inside came the sounds of music and dialogue and the whirring sound of machinery running smoothly. The doors opened in and the girls and Nicky were ushered inside.
The room was dark but there was a movie screen at the far end and Fran could see the naked men and women frolicking on the screen. She gulped and turned away. From the darkness near the screen she could hear excited voices urging the actors on, voices cursing and rasping and full of lust. Fran stilled her breathing and fought to compose herself.
Susie gripped her by one arm. "Just watch me, honey, and follow suit That's how I started three nights ago."
Fran nodded and stood waiting, comforted by Susie's hand on her arm. Then the movie ended and the lights came on. Fran looked over the sea of men and women lying naked on mats spread around the floor in front of her. One of the old men spied them and let out a war whoop and dashed toward them. Immediately, the entire flock of nudists charged towards the girls. Susie dropped her hand and moved forward to meet the rush. Fran stood rooted in fear. She watched a lecherous, scrawny old man shout in toothless triumph as his scrawny arms encircled Susie. Susie giggled and then the man was ripping the flimsy garment away from her body and bearing her down on a sea of pillows.
Fran shrank back against the wall into the shadows. She saw two pasty-looking, bespectacled women fighting over Nicky, stretching him apart by his arms in a tug of war. Poor Nicky looked exasperated. His robe had been torn from his body.
"I see you, honey," an old man cackled from nearby.
Fran turned and jumped backwards but the gnarled old man's hands found her and gripped her arms in a tight vise. His touch was cold and clammy. Fran felt goose pimples break out all over her body.
"Let's join the party, dearie," the old man said, his eyes gleaming yellowly.
Fran gritted her teeth. She let the man move her forward. One thought was uppermost in her mind. Why was it always the old and toothless men who could afford the tab?
The party turned out to be one big orgy. Fran gagged every time one of the lecherous old men pawed her. Most of them were too old to do more than paw her and it was horribly frustrating for them and nauseating for her. She was sick to her stomach. She wasn't cut out for the life of the professional call girl. It wasn't for her.
Throughout the sessions Fran failed to notice the small little man with the big cigar and pulled down hat shading his bushy browed eyes. He was attired in a two hundred dollar suit and his beady eyes never left her. The cigar shifted continually from one corner of his mouth to the other without ever a facial twitch or movement. The little man's hands were deeply imbedded in the suit coat pockets, thumbs protruding like devil's horns.
After a long session the guests lay spent and gasping. One of the broad-shouldered hoods snapped his fingers and the girls disengaged themselves from their lovers and staggered to the front of the room where two petite French maids enfolded them in ankle-length evening wraps. Fran followed the other meekly. She was the last one to near the exit.
The little man nodded to her. Immediately a bald-headed, heavyweight goon in a tight-fitting black suit spun her around to face the little man, Fran stared hard at the cigar chewing mobster. She sensed that he was important. She smiled up at him and waited.
Mushy motioned with the cigar. Baldy and another hood, this one with oily skin and hair, each placed a big hand on her arms and marched her toward the door between them. Fran shot a quick look over her shoulder but the little man was busily engaged in conversation with another well-dressed male.
The two hoods walked her to the elevator and they rode downstairs in silence. Fran felt her stomach turn over. Maybe they were going to do away with her. Floyd had told Mushy what she had threatened to do about Rose. She shook her head grimly to clear it. No, that wasn't it. Nicky had told her that Mushy Logan liked to try out the new girls himself. She was just being escorted to Mushy's den. That was all. By tomorrow night she would be back with the flock.
She bit her lower lip. She couldn't let that happen. She had to make Mushy like her well enough to want her often. She had to worm her way into his confidence and find out everything she could about the rackets.
The two hoods walked her outside to the curb. A big black Cadillac sedan glided to a stop in front of them. One of the hoods opened the rear door for her and stood waiting. Fran climbed woodenly into the car. A draft blew across her legs. She looked up. The door was still open. Now Mushy Logan was striding rapidly across the walk and into the car beside her. Baldy climbed in after him and closed the door. The oily hood got into the front seat next to the driver. The car moved quickly away from the curb and into traffic.
Fran closed her eyes and relaxed.
She tried to think of Gary but the memories of her love for him brought an awful ache to her heart and she closed her mind against him. She opened her eyes and looked out the window on her side. The car was speeding north on the twisting Pasadena freeway.
They drove quietly through Pasadena and into the hills surrounding the city in the lush San Marino area. There, on a huge three-acre site, Mushy Logan lived in safety behind steel gates and a twelve-foot high stone fence, in his bleak, sprawling, stone mansion. The gates opened magically to admit them and they drove down the straight drive to the garage at the rear of the house. Again the garage doors opened, automatically, and the car came to a halt in the garage as the doors closed behind them. Mushy gestured with his cigar, 'lhe driver and the oily hood got out and opened the rear doors simultaneously. The driver pulled Fran out. Baldy helped Mushy Logan out and then they were entering the house through the garage.
They walked down a narrow hallway and through a sliding door to a warm, spacious room. An elderly woman dressed in a high-necked dress and a freshly starched white apron stood awaiting them, hands rubbing nervously together.'"
"You know what to do," Mushy rasped to her.
The maid nodded and gestured for Fran to follow her. Fran shrugged her shoulders. They walked through the sunken living room and up a long curving flight of carpeted stairs to the second floor. The maid led her to the back to an exquisite bedroom. Fran gasped. The room was like something out of Napoleon's time. Everything was seventeenth century.
"Come with me," the maid said, loosening the wrap about Fran's shoulders and slipping it off to the deeply textured rug.
They walked through another door to an exquisite sunken bath where warm bubbly suds and green water awaited her. Fran stepped into the tub, the water up to her neck. The maid dropped to her knees and began to bathe her.
Afterwards she was led nude into the bedroom. The bed was turned down. The maid nodded toward the clean, crisp, pastel sheets and Fran sank down on the soft mattress gratefully. Her body had been bathed and oiled and perfumed and she was very sleepy. She closed her eyes, a smile forming on her freshly painted lips. Mushy Logan might be a gangster but he certainly knew how to treat a woman.
A few minutes later she came jarringly awake, the smell of cigar smoke strong in her nostrils. She raised herself to her elbows and opened her eyes. Mushy was standing at the foot of the bed, looking down at her exposed form. He had changed to a bright red robe, tied about his waist by a cord sash. His hands were shoved deep into the pockets of the robe, thumbs protruding.
"You ready for me, baby?"
Fran smiled and gestured for him to join her. "Your pad is super," she said sweetly. "A girl could always be ready for you in these surroundings."
Mushy eyed her coldly. Fran shivered. Had she stepped overboard? Still, she had to be bold to make her plan work. And now that she was with the Number One man she wanted to hook him good if he could be hooked. That was the only way to get into his confidence and find out things.
Mushy turned and walked to the far wall in short, jerky strides. He pressed a switch and the lights went out. Then he padded back to the bed. She heard the rustle of his silk robe sliding from his body and then the bed creaked and she flet his hands gently exploring her body. He didn't speak. She lay still, half turned towards him, not touching him, just letting his hands familiarize himself with every bit of her. Finally he pulled her over to him, his lips seeking hers.
Fran hated wet mushy kisses but this time she made herself pretend she liked them. She gripped him to her, molding her body to his, letting him feel all of her pulsating passion.
He pushed her roughly away from him. She sat back on her haunches, not knowing what to do next.
His stubby hands reached for her, gripping her breasts, pulling her down. Fran felt her body come alive beneath his lips and hands. She began to make little animal noises deep in her throat. Her hips rotated in feverish anticipation.
Suddenly he let his hands slide down her back to her buttocks. His fingers dug into the soft flesh. Fran yelled sharply and raised up. Mushy's hands pulled her down to him. She felt his lips on her. Fire flamed in the farthest depths of her body.
Later, she lay spent beside him on the bed. He was breathing hard, not speaking. All during the love act he hadn't spoken once to her. Now he moved and sat up. She heard him scratch a match to flame and then he was lighting the stub of his cigar. I le swung out of bed and picked up his robe and moved silently across the rug and opened the door. Light in the hallway behind him bathed him it its glow. Fran sat up to look at him, wondering what to do now.
"I like you," Mushy said gruffly. "You're a real flesh and blood woman; not like the rest of these beautiful, cold-blooded sex machines."
Fran smiled even though she knew he couldn't see her. "Thank you," she said demurely.
The cigar made a complete rotation in his mouth. "I'm gonna keep you," he said. "This is your room."
Fran, smilingly replied: "I likeithere, Mushy. I've never had it so good...."
He left, without smiling, closing the door firmly behind him....
* * *
Fran felt, suddenly, as though she were drowning in luxury. She was waited upon, hand and foot. Nothing she wanted was denied her. One morning, a hood delivered a new car to the house and Fran discovered, when she went out to look at it, it had a registration card, in her name at Mushy's address. She was delighted. Exploring it, she opened the glove compartment and found a new wallet with credit cards at all the top stores and a check book showing a thousand dollar deposit in an account for her use. Now she could really live it up during the days when Mushy was gone. He wanted her to have a good time. He expected her to spend his money. She smiled to herself. She wouldn't disappoint him.
She shopped during the morning hours, buying several sports outfits, sweaters and skirts and jackets for afternoon wear, the wardrobe Mushy had picked for her was fine for evening and bedroom wear but not too fashionable for sunlight out of doors. And after she had made a whirlwind tour of the shops and had stored her packages in the trunk of the car, after changing into a trim chic pastel blue cocktail dress with a short jacket, she found herself famished. She drove to a steak house and curled up in an upholstered booth in the dimly lit restaurant and ordered a martini. While she was sipping it she suddenly decided to call Thelma.
She hurried to a pay phone near the exit and excitedly dialed Thelma's number. She had to share the news about her new station in life with someone.
Thelma's sleepy voice answered the phone. When she heard Fran's voice she came jarringly awake.
"Fran! Where are you?"
Fran laughed easily. " I'll answer your questions later. Right now, I'm dying to see you, Thelma. How. about having lunch with me?"
"Sure, honey. Where?"
"I'm in Pasadena," Fran said. She gave Thelma the name of the steak house and directions on how to get there.
Fran was working on her third martini when Thelma walked into the cozy dark interior. They held each other close and kissed warmly. Then, after they were seated and had ordered, Tel-ma leaned forward her eyes big and owlish.
Fran filled her in on what had happened to her while they ate dinner. She was in her glory. "I really like this life so much I may never leave it," she said.
Thelma toyed with her glass. "What about Gary?"
A stab of pain centered between her breasts. Fran looked away from Thelma. "What about him?" she asked woodenly.
Thelma's dry laughter cut her like a knife. "Gary's been going crazy trying to find you." Thelma leaned forward over the table. "He really loves you, Fran." Her voice was soft. "I wish I had a guy loving me like that. I'd drop this racket in a hurry and marry the guy, no matter what he did for a living. Kven if I had to take in washing the rest of my life, it'd be worth it."
Fran fought the tears away from stinging her eyes. She squeezed them shut. Beneath the table her hands clenched tightly together. Damn Thelma! Damn her for bringing Gary's name into this!
"It's over. Finished." Her voice was dry. Quickly she reached for her glass with a trembling hand and downed the martini.
"You're lying!"
Fran fumbled a cigarette out of her pack and lit it with a shaky hand. "It's better this way, Thelma. I'm no good. I like what I'm doing. You hear me? I like being Mushy Logan's kept woman!"
"Mushy Logan!" Thelma said, awe in her voice. "Good lord, Fran. He's the king of vice in this town!"
Fran nodded. "And as long as I'm his woman I can have everything I want. A car, a bank account, charge accounts at all the best stores, furs, jewels, a closetful of original Paris gowns. Everything, Thelma. All my life I've dreamed of falling into a setup like this. Now I've got it. I don't intend to give it up."
"Not even for Gary?"
Fran shook her head. "I'm no good for him, Thelma. He's a nice guy. I'm dirt and I'm rotten. I couldn't go on letting him love me, knowing in my heart that I'm not the girl he thinks I am."
Thelma mashed her cigarette out in the ash tray. "He knows what you've been. He loves you despite it. He wants you to quit the racket.
He says he can smash the rackets now, once and for all. I told him about Rose. Still, he needs your help, Fran. Now that you're in the top echelons, you can help him. You can cleanse yourself by helping him expose the rackets. Don't you see?"
Fran studied her blonde friend through narrowed eyes. "I thought you were against my mixing in any such" action. You said I'd wind up dead. Is that what you want? So you can snag Gary for yourself?"
Thelma cursed beneath her breath and stood up. "I give up," she said hotly. "You're everything you said you were. You've really gone completely over to the other side." She stared down at Fran, a look of pity and despair on her face. Then she spun and strode rapidly toward the exit.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Fran spent a miserable five days. Despite her new freedom and the luxury she enjoyed, Thelma's revelation that Gary loved her and was desperately trying to find her began to erode her enjoyment of it all. She threw herself into a project of trying to convince Mushy of her need for natural love-making. It failed. He told :her he took women the way he wanted them ... and that was all of that, despite Fran's pleas to make love to her the way she liked it.
"It ain't fer me," Mushy told her from the bedroom door one night as he left, "but if you crave it the other way, I'll let a pal of mine try you on tomorrow night. He's always drooling over my dolls. So far, he ain't had any of them. But, for you ... OK." The door closed....
She wore mink the following night as, dressed to the teeth, she drove with Mushy and the two hoods to the residence of Andrew Trafalgar, president of Trafalgar Steel, in Beverly Hills. Expensive American and imported automobiles crowded the parking area at the impressive residence. They walked across the wide lawn to windows blazing with light as music poured out into the night air. Drunken laughter and ribald conversation came to their ears as they strolled toward the revels.
Mushy pushed open the double doors and gestured for Fran to enter. She came into a large well lit hallway. Two young men in tuxedos were talking in one corner, heads close together, glasses spilling liquor on the rug at their feet. Mushy took a quick snap look around and motioned her forward. They walked through another set of double doors. Fran gasped. They were in a mammoth ballroom with chandeliers hanging from the large, domed ceiling. A dance band was playing a soft ballad. Couples swayed together on the dance floor. Fran looked around the huge room. At one end was a bar, complete with back bar mirror and shelves of liquor behind it. Two bartenders in purple jackets and white shirts and black ties were busily mixing drinks. A crowd of tuxedoed men and evening-gowned women clustered in front of the bar.
A handsome, graying man strode toward them, a smile on his full face, his hand outstretched. He came up to them, giving off a manly odor of cologne.
"Mushy, old boy. Good to see you. Glad you could come."
They shook hands firmly. Mushy didn't smile. He looked at his host coolly and nodded. "I always make your parties, Andy. You know that."
Andy laughed and slapped him lightly on his back. Then he was staring at Fran, his eyes flashing with desire as he looked her over. His hand went to her shoulders.
"I'll take the cape, honey," he said, his eyes drinking in the creamy whiteness of her skin, the rise of her breasts against the dark material.
"You want her, you can have her. Later," Mushy rasped.
Trafalgar looked surprised. Then he grinned at, Fran. His hands lightly caressed her bare shoulders. "I'll be delighted," he said, his eyes looking down Fran's exposed cleavage. "Very very delighted."
He put one arm beneath hers. "Come, my dear. Let me introduce you to all our guests and get you a drink. Then, after the social amenities have been observed, you and I will proceed to my private chamber."
"Show him a good time, doll," Mushy rasped. "I'll send for you when it's time to leave."
Fran studied her host as they made small talk with the other guests. She found him attractive. He was tall, broad-shouldered and well-tanned. He was easily in his fifties but he seemed to have the vitality of a much younger man.
Everyone at the party played up to him. He was a man of influence. A man to connect with in case Mushy dumped her. She smiled at the thought and continued to. sip the drinks handed her. They danced after a while and she noted that Trafalgar was beginning to show signs of having a few too many.
"You should slow down, Andy," she cautioned.
Andy laughed drunkenly. "Nonsense. I'm not drunk. I can hold a barrel of the stuff."
To prove it he hauled her off the dance floor and over to the bar where he ordered a double shot. He downed it quickly and slammed his glass on the bar top and demanded another. He repeated the action. When he looked at Fran, a lopsided grin on his face, he was weaving unsteadily on his feet.
Fran tucked one arm in his. "I think it's time we had our little party," she said, "before you pass out."
He laughed uproariously at this and staggered across the room with her and through a doorway to the back part of the mansion. She helped him climb a carpeted stairway and weaved with him down a long hallway to the last room which was his. He slipped out a key chain, fumbled for the one he wanted, inserted it into the lock and swung open the door. Fran followed him inside.
The bedroom chamber was huge. So was the bed. It was the biggest bed she'd ever seen. Easily twelve feet long and twelve feet across.
"I like things big," he boomed, lurching on his feet, tearing open his shirt front to expose a massive, hairy chest. "My beds, my houses ... everything!"
Fran sat down on the edge of the bed and watched him undress. She had to bite her lip to keep from laughing as Trafalgar almost stumbled in getting out of his pants. And when he bent over to untie his shoes he fell flat on his face on the rug.
Fran burst out laughing. She couldn't help it. "You're cute," she said.
Trafalgar swore loudly and sat up and tore his shoes off. Then he was staggering to his feet and moving across the room toward her, his eyes glazed, his hands outstretched.
Fran spun out of his reach and quickly stripped out of her gown. She didn't want this drunken ape ripping it off her. She tossed it aside on a chair, kicked off her heels and rose to meet him, wearing only a slip and mesh hose. He cursed and wadded a fistful of silk in one hand. He ripped it savagely from her and then he was on his knees, pulling her hosiery off in strips. She stood in front of him, swaying provocatively, letting him do what he wanted.
He picked her up around the hips and flung her flat on her back on the bed. She fought for breath but his thick lips were crushing hers, his hot tongue probing her mouth. His heavy whisky breath stifled her. She shut her eyes and tried to pretend he was Gary. It made it easier.
Later, when they rested from their first maelstrom of passion, Fran lay close, idly fingering his curly chest hair. A soft buzzer sound-ed and Trafalgar went to a desk phone, speaking briefly in a low voice. He excused himself, leaving the room by a side door. Fran padded over quickly to ease the phone switch up silently, the receiver to her ear.
"... that's it, Manley," Trafalgar's voice said, coldly. "Logan speaks for me. I gave him full authority. Either you're in by the first ... or you're out of business. I run the whole show ... and that's my last word. I advise you to play smart and come in ... now!"
Fran's heart leaped into her throat. Andy Trafalgar ... famous business tycoon ... was the racket head! It was hard to believe....
"I have no choice, Andy," the second voice, after a pause, replied. "Count me in."
"Now you're making sense, fellow!" Trafalgar replied heartily. "I'll expect you at our annual stockholder's meeting next week-end. Bring all your books and records and be prepared to make a report on last year's operation and plans for the coming year...." Trafalgar continued with further instructions and then prepared to sign off. Fran, goggle-eyed, eased the instrument silently back to its cradle. She was lying in nakedly seductive indolence when Trafalgar returned.
"Now, there's a real welcome," he gloated, stretching beside her.
"Some other girl calling for a date?" she teased. Trafalgar's laugh boomed.
"No ... business, honestly. Inviting a guest to our party at my San Bernardino place next week end. Like to come?" Fran nodded, vigorouly. "Fine ... Mushy'll bring you. Now ... let's do it some more, shall we?" Fran giggled and twisted under his caresses.
"I want a drink," she said. "How about you-had enough?"
"Always thirsty!" he laughed, boastfully and Fran, mischievously, poured him a tumblerful of whiskey, which he drank off, quickly. Once again, during their erotic play, as she teased and aroused him fully, she pleaded thirst and, again, he showed her the measure of his capacity, downing another glassful in one, bottoms-up move. Then, his eager body moved to cover hers and, for a breathtaking time, she had no more thought for anything but his complete possession of her....
As the waves of their passion subsided, he rolled to lie beside her. While Fran's emotions ebbed, she heard a gentle snore. Trafalgar was asleep. She tried to rouse him, but, with a surge of elation, found she could not. He'd passed out!
Quickly, she secured his keys and, scurrying to the bathroom, made impressions of all of them on small, individual cakes of soap she found in the linen closet. She had plenty of time to work, softening the little bars in a basin of warm water. When she was done, she re-wrapped each bar, carefully, and stowed them all in her purse. Then she freshened up and dressed, leaving the room to the contented snore of her erstwhile lover....
The next morning, she made an appointment at a beauty salon in the maid's hearing, then left quickly. She stopped at a payphone booth in Hollywood to call Thelma. The blonde found her, alone, under the dryer and Fran filled her in, quickly,, passing the little bars of soap to her and urging her to lose no time in contacting Gary. Thelma, delighted, promised to comply, stowing the key impressions in her bag.
"Now get lost, honey," Fran hissed as she spotted the white-uniformed operator approaching. Thelma did just that....
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
They left early on Saturday morning, just after dawn. Baldy drove, the chauffer's cap pulled low over his head. The oily hood sat in the front seat, his thick shoulders hunched forward. Fran reclined in the back seat with Mushy Logan.
Fran pulled the mink stole tightly about her bare shoulders and thought that it was a shame she would have to give up the stole before the day was over. Her lips broke into a fleeting smile.
Nobody spoke on the long ride east. At a drive-in restaurant just outside Pasadena, Baldy pulled the car to a stop. A shadowy figure in a felt hat, carrying a briefcase came towards them. It was Floyd. The hood opened the door in back and Floyd climbed in next to Fran.
"Hi, doll," he said casually, a' grin lighting his handsome face. "I didn't know you were going along."
"Any objections?" Mushy rasped.
Floyd shrugged and dropped his briefcase on the floor. "No. Not a bit." He slipped an arm about her shoulders. "I'm glad you're bringing Fran, Mushy. She'll brighten up what otherwise promises to be a dull day."
Mushy grunted and chewed on his cigar. His hands were folded across his lap, a thick briefcase held between his two feet.
They rode on. Dawn lighted the sky as they cleared the city and began climbing into the mountains. Fran lolled back against the rich upholstery and almost wished she had left well enough alone. She was sitting on top of the world with more money and clothes and jewels than she'd ever owned before or ever would again. She was throwing her wealth away for the love of one man. She smiled to herself. Gary was worth it. And it wasn't only her love for him. It was the other girls, the empty-headed, young, beautiful girls from the sticks who flocked to Hollywood every year. They'd avoid the fate that had befallen her.
The air was cooler in the mountains. Fran breathed deeply. Up here the mist hung low and visibility was poor. Baldy was driving slower now, hunched over the wheel, his expert hands guiding the big car smoothly around the curves.
"Another half hour and we'll be there," Floyd said.
"What time is it?" Mushy asked. Fran looked at her watch. It was just eight o'clock. She flashed it at Mushy and he nodded.
"We got plenty of time," he said. "One hour."
They were silent the rest of the drive. The terrain was very mountainous and rocky here. Suddenly the car turned up a steep grade and Fran felt the quiet power of the big Cadillac smooth out the abrupt rise easily. The road was narrow and winding. Fran looked out her window. There was nothing but empty space for hundreds of yards straight down. She shuddered and shrank back in her seat.
Mushy chuckled. "What's a matter, doll? Too high for you?"
Fran nodded, her body trembling. "This place on the peak?"
Mushy flashed her a sardonic grin. "Yeah. A real fortress. An army couldn't take it. That's why we hold our annual meeting up here. Safest place in the country."
"Hey! There's something out there!" Baldy cried, rolling down his window.
The driver rolled down his window and craned his neck. The thrashing sound of a helicopter was barely discernible to the occupants of the car's interior.
"It's only a 'copter," Oily said, pulling his head back inside. "One of them damn Army choppers!"
Mushy scowled. "Damn airmen. Always losing their way."
Floyd chuckled. "There's an airbase thirty miles from here. Probably taking a short cut."
The big car rolled around a cruve. Ahead of them lay the walled fortress. It rose out of rocky ground, overshadowing the terrain, mammoth in its spread. A stone wall ran clear a-round it. A steel gate closed the end of the read. Over the fence Fran could see the roof of the main building. The entire estate looked out over hundreds of square miles around. It was on a plateau by itself. The closest terrain was hundreds of yards straight across a bottomless canyon. The only way to the property was on the road they were traveling.
Fran caught a glimpse of an armed man studying them through binoculars from the roof of the house. She looked along the wall and saw what she thought were two machine guns.
Baldy braked the car to a stop fifteen feet from the solid steel gate. He got out of the car and walked to the gate, which opened slowly. Fran could see him gesturing to someone inside. Then he turned and walked back to the car. The gate swung open.
Baldy drove slowly inside. He moved the big machine up the rock drive to the parking lot near the rambling, one-story house.
Fran shook her head slowly. Even with a week to prepare an attack how could the police and federal officers break into the estate? It was impossible. The key impressions she had given Thelma meant nothing. They couldn't open the steel gate. So what good were they?
A small Filipino servant bowed them into the main quarters. There were a few other men there, mostly dark and scowling but well dressed with diamonds flashing on their fingers. The two other women looked Fran over in dark appraisal. Fran glanced at them. They were both older but very stunning women in form-fitting gowns of silver sequinned material. When they moved they exuded sex.
Floyd and Mushy walked over to the other men, carrying their briefcases and completely ignoring her. The two women saw Fran looking their way and turned their bare backs on her. Fran shrugged and walked out into the garden through the open archway.
A Filipino waiter came up to her, tray in hand. "Drink for you, Missy?"
Fran took the martini with a word of thanks and wandered about the patio, sipping.
After a while, she wandered back into the main house. The main room was filled with people now. Men and women. The Filipino waiter kept a full glass in her hand at all times. Fran began to feel giddy. They hadn't had much to eat before they'd left.
Andy Trafalgar came walking across the floor, drink in hand. Two short, dark little men followed him, carrying armloads of ledgers. He paused at the doorway to the garden and turned toward the crowd.
"It's nine o'clock, folks. Time to get started." He turned and walked toward the garden, the throng following in his wake.
Fran found a seat off to one side and well back in the crowd. Most of the top men were seated at the long table. Trafalgar sat in the middle, flanked by Mushy on one side and a tall, dark man on the other. Floyd was seated in the front row facing them, along with the general managers of the other enterprises. The two dark men were busy at an adjoining table with calculators and another man was justthere to transfer ledgers from one stack to fne other. A fire was glowing in the huge barbecue pit off to their left. Fran sat in her seat and watched with interest.
She listened as Trafalgar called off first one operation and then another. The boss of that section would hand over his records and they would be checked by the calculator boys and then the receipts would be counted. There was no money present but there were bank books and checking accounts and trust accounts and savings accounts and deposit box holdings listed. Fran was staggered by the size of Floyd's operation alone. Floyd stood and read the activity of the Los Angeles chain of drive-in movies. It was just like the controller of a big corporation standing before the board of directors, reading the profit and loss statement. Floyd had it all in his report. The profits had been enormous, over one hundred and seventy two thousand dollars on the twelve drive-ins in Los Angeles County alone.
The meeting droned on. The waiters kept serving drinks. At eleven-thirty trays of sandwiches were passed around. Fran chewed hungrily on a cold beef on rye and washed it down with another martini. She felt lightheaded and dizzy and had a second sandwich but the dizzy feeling wouldn't go away.
Her ears buzzed with the drone of airplanes. She looked up and saw that others were searching the sky with their eyes. Directly overhead and low were four army helicopters. One man raised up, drawing his gun. Trafalgar saw the movement.
"Hold it," he roared. "Nothing to get alarmed about. Just a training mission. It was announced in the newspapers."
The hood sat down in relief and the meeting got underway again. Twice more the helicopters roared over head only a few hundred feet off the ground. By the third pass nobody was looking at them anymore.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The meeting was almost over. Records and ledgers were piled high on the floor of the patio around the long table. Trafalgar was summing up the year's activities and giving the organization a pep talk to go out and increase their profits in the new fiscal year just beginning. It was just like a big sales organization raising quotas on the salesmen and telling them they couldn't stand still, despite the good year they'd just completed.
The drone of the helicopters roared in her ears again but she didn't stir. Then a woman screamed and people were jumping up around her in panic. Fran looked up. The helicopters were coming down right on top of them. She leaped out of her seat and huddled against the closest wall. From her spot she could see Trafalgar and Mushy begin to throw ledgers into the nearby fire.
Gunfire filled the air. Fran saw a hood fall from the top of the roof and drop with a heavy thud on the cement floor of the patio. Another hood drew his gun and was dropped by a man in the helicopter.
"Drop your weapons and freeze!" a voice from a loudspeaker shouted in the lowest chopper, "'this is a raid. We're federal officers!"
Trafalgar leaped toward the barbecue fire, arms filled with books and records. A shot spun him off his feet, the books scattering about him.
Mushy started for the house, trailed by Baldy and Oily. Two shots cracked, dropping the hoods but Mushy made shelter. By now the two men on the roof came alive, one of them swinging his machine gun to open fire. People had scattered as the gun began to chatter. Another pair of shots from above made sure the machine guns would stay silent. One of the gunners rolled down onto the lawn with a sickening thud.
Fran began to choke as bluish-white smoke started drifting over the patio. Her lungs and eyes burned, tears streaming down her cheeks.
"Tear gas!" someone yelled, panic stricken. The racket of the choppers seemed to come right into the patio and Fran managed to catch a glimpse, from streaming, stinging eyes, of the craft landing on the spacious lawn. Sporadic shots Cracked but soon died down as men began to run toward the choking and frightened guests.
The brisk breeze soon dispersed the gas and the shooting ceased completely. From blinking eyes, Fran caught glimpses of people being herded into a group by men with submachine guns. A voice prodded her toward them.
Fran moved numbly into the herd, searching the faces of the raiders through half-seeing eyes. Uniformed men were arriving now, spilling across the patio. These were State Police and County Deputies and they moved quickly to gather up weapons, producing handcuffs which were swiftly snapped onto the wrists of the milling syndicate group, men as well as women. Fran turned. Another group of officers was busily gathering the scattered ledgers and receipts books. As she blinked her still-stinging eyes, a federal officer herded Floyd and Mushy past, handcuffed together. Floyd, cursing, turned to look in her direction and, for a moment, Fran felt cold fear. Could Floyd have known? Relieved, she noted that his eyes were searching everywhere, his cursing an expression of his massive chagrin. The group of officers about the few remaining guests grew larger. Fran could see fairly well now, and she began to search the faces for someone she knew or for some sign of recognition.
The officers were questioning the four women who remained, asking the identity of their escorts. They were handcuffed in pairs and led around the corner of the building and out of sight, as one of the questioning officers turned to Fran.
"Who'd you come here with, miss?" he asked brusquely.
"M ... Mushy Logan," she answered, her voice a croak. The group now shielded her from view of the house and Fran's heart leaped at a familiar voice.
"That's the one, Hal, "Gary's voice behind her said quietly and the questioning officer smiled at her. "We got your message, Fran," he continued, almost whispering. Fran spun to face him, relieved.
"It's all right, Gary. They're all out front in the vans," someone said.
The man who'd directed the raid came up. "This the girl, Adams?"
Gary nodded and squeezed her hand. "Like you to meet Harley Andrews, Fran. He's the head man for this roundup." Andrews grinned at her.
"Our thanks, young lady. We got 'em all, and their records. This will cripple the syndicate throughout the Western states, believe me."
Gary nodded agreement. "Other officers are gathering up the little people and cleaning out the safe deposit boxes. It'll take another Brink's robbery to get these jokers back in business."
"Those keys were very helpful, young lady," Andrews told her. "They let us in Trafalgar's secret safety-deposit boxes. He had over ten million stashed, in cash and securities, evidently ready to cut out."
A sprinkle of rain dappled the patio. Fran smiled at Gary. "I'm glad it's over and you're all right."
Gary nodded, suddenly frowning. "It isn't over yet, honey," he said, unhappily. Fran looked at him questioningly.
"What do you mean?" she asked.
Gary, acutely uncomfortable, shifted from foot to foot. "Well," he said, reluctantly "I ... Chief, will you tell her?"
"Chief!" Fran echoed, not understanding at all. Gary nodded, his unhappiness plain. "Are ... you mean you're an FBI agent?" she demanded. Gary nodded, miserably, not looking at her.
Fran's eyes were perfectly round with amazement. Andrews chuckled as he withdrew a pair of handcuffs and put them on the dumbfounded girl.
"We'll have to take you in with the rest of them, young woman," he said, gently. "If we didn't, the mob would be suspicious and your life wouldn't be worth a plugged nickel."
Fear seized Fran in an icy grip. "You ... you mean ... I'm going to jail?" Gary nodded, his face lined with anxiety.
"It's the only way, Fran," he insisted. "It won't be for long ... six months--a year, maybe ... but this is the only way to protect you."
"Well, what about you?" Fran demanded, suddenly angry. "Some one of them may have spotted you at the theater. Your life's in more danger than mine! I...."
Gary, relieved, leaned over to silence her with a quick kiss. "Honey, you haven't paid attention to your television. Don't you know ... we're untouchable?" Andrews joined his wry chuckle. "Anyhow, the kiss is to remember me
Archive Note: At this point, on page 157 of the original pocketbook, the story ends without the last sentence having been completed. The pocketbook had three more numbered pages in it, but they were all blank.
