Richard and Laura are in love, and discovering all the delights of exploration that could lead them along the shame path to ecstasy. Only Bull Chapman happens along, disrupting the solitude of the remote lover's lane with his brutal appetites. Extorting his own wanton needs from Laura in exchange for his silence. With Lily Wylie also to share frequent passionate hours with him ... every time her husband, Tad is away. Then Lily decides she needs a new lover, someone like Richard ... until Laura cannot bear the enforced degradation and conspires with Richard to get Bull out of the picture ... permanently ... in some lust grave. Luring Bull back to the lover's lane, Laura starts performing the most provocative dance in the world for Bull, exciting his desires beyond all sensibility ... waiting for Richard to appear, murder gun in hand ... only the careful plot backfired like a shudder from hell....
CHAPTER ONE
Bull Chapman was hot and sweaty and bored, and because he was bored, he was looking for something without knowing what it was. Even when he wasn't bored, Bull kept his eyes open for it, and he usually thought of it as "fair game." Whether it was or not was open to debate, though not with Bull Chapman. Where other men might have their bit of "fun," Bull had his "game" and he seldom even thought of it as "fun,"
"Prey" might have been a better word for it.
He was a big man in his middle thirties. He was well over six feet tall and had the kind of build that earned the name Bull. He was somewhat moon-faced, had thinning, slicked-down brown hair, and had the eyes of an angry steer: vacant and innocent, yet with a touch of madness in them. If he carried a pad of fat around him, he was not all fat by any means, and he hadn't lost out in a fight, single combat or brawl, in a dozen years. Perhaps he was cautious in his choice of opponents, but the fact remained that he hadn't lost.
On that Friday evening, Adamsville was burning up under the heat of mid-July. It hadn't rained in over two weeks, the braising air had sucked the top earth free of moisture, and the broad lawns of the little town were turning crisp and brown. Bull, like all the others of the town, had cursed the sun, eyed the vacant sky, and longed for the respite of evening; but when evening at last arrived, the heat remained. And Bull Chapman, rivulets of sweat running down his glistening jowls, cruised the town in his second-hand Chevy, looking for fair game.
He cursed Adamsville as a dull, dead little town and wondered why he had ever come back to it. There were reasons, of course. First of all, he had been born and brought up there, and even though his parents were dead and he had no relatives in Adamsville, he had naturally gravitated back to it after his years in the army. And, too, he had been fairly certain that he could get a job on the police force back in his home town: if he couldn't have been a cop, he wouldn't have known what to do with himself.
And then there was the fact that in a small town you can keep tabs on a lot more people, a lot more easily, than you can in a city. You don't know everybody, of course-that was the small town myth. But you can know a lot of people. More people than know you. Bull Chapman liked it that way.
Another nice thing about Adamsville was that it was close enough to St. Louis to have a lot of big money in it, a lot of big money and a lot of big reputations. Bull didn't much care for the rich and the reputable, and therefore he liked to be near them. There was always the chance that they'd open up some opportunity for him, and he wouldn't be too scrupulous to take advantage of it. Bull was the kind of man to keep his eyes open for opportunities which most men wouldn't even want to see.
He'd find something tonight if he looked hard enough and long enough. Bored to the point of anger, he crept his car through the gathering dusk, swinging his narrowed eyes from side to side. He wasn't on duty tonight-it was his own car and he was wearing a violently flowered sport shirt and shabby brown trousers-but he did have his badge pinned to his wallet just like in the movies, and he did have a pair of bracelets in his pocket: he'd never be without them.
He also had his police revolver in the glove compartment. He much preferred to carry it in a shoulder holster under a jacket when he was off duty, but there were reasons not to. For one thing, the damned thing did get awfully heavy. And in this weather a revolver and a jacket-even he wouldn't have dared to wear a shoulder holster without a jacket-would make him hotter and sweatier than ever.
There was yet another reason for not carrying the weapon on his person. One time, a crazy dame who'd never had things so good had actually yanked the thing away from him and had damned near blown his brains out. Never before in his life had Bull Chapman been quite so surprised and quite so scared at one and the same time. He didn't want that to happen again.
Still, it was good to know that he had the revolver near by. It gave him a comfortable feeling, knowing it was there; and thinking about what he could do with it gave him a kind of warm, powerful feeling. He responded in much the same way to the battered night stick he always kept in his car. As long as Bull Chapman had his badge, his gun, and his club, there was no doubt as to who was in charge.
He didn't think about his badge, his gun, and his club now, however. He didn't want to think about them: he wanted to do something with them. Something which his fellow officers, on whom he looked with quiet contempt, wouldn't have the nerve to do.
As he drove, he stared at store fronts, at apartment buildings, at private homes as if trying to pry into them with his gaze. He viewed wide rich lawns and small grubby ones, reduced by the heat to a common brown. His eyes lingered on young couples walking arm in arm along the sidewalks and gave appraising glances to older couples sitting on porches behind wilted ivy. But he saw nothing-nothing he could use, nothing he could take advantage of, nothing that was fair game. There wasn't even a stray dog in sight.
Even the destruction of a stray dog might give him same satisfaction. Lately Bull's kicks had been running thin, but last week he had picked up a dog. It had been just about dusk when he had seen this brown and white mutt waddling across Hill Street. It had looked familiar, and he had stopped his car, got out and squatted down, and whistled softly to it. The dog had lowered its head and tail and, almost wagging itself in half, had come over to Bull.
He had patted it and scratched its ears and noted with satisfaction that it had no collar, no identification, no license. That was fine. Bull did recognize the dog, as a great many other people in town would have: its name was Jupiter, Jupe for short, and it belonged to old Oscar Mills, the high school janitor, who regarded it as friend and family.
Well, old Oscar was just shot out of luck.
For one thing, there was a town ordinance that strays with identification were to be taken to the little pound behind the fire house, to be destroyed if they weren't called for. In practice, they were generally returned to the owner.
For another thing, there was a town ordinance that strays without identification were to be destroyed immediately if the owner weren't known or wouldn't pay a fee. This had been ignored since the rabies scare a couple of years ago had worn off.
And for yet another, Bull Chapman had picked the dog up and looked around very carefully to see that no one was watching, and had slipped the mutt into his car.
This would teach old Oscar a lesson. Bull had talked soothingly to the dog and scratched its ears all the way to the town dump. There he had taken his revolver from the glove compartment, inspected it, and sat quietly, savoring the moment. The dog, he had noted with satisfaction, had begun to whine and act nervous.
He had gotten out of his car, the gun in his right hand, the dog under his left arm, its legs half-heartedly waggling in the air for freedom. He had walked slowly toward the miniature mountains of ashes and smoldering garbage, the stink rich in his nostrils, and again he had looked around carefully to see that he was unobserved.
Then he had tossed the brown and white dog down, hissing, "Skat!" For half a minute Jupe had merely looked up at him resentfully. Then the mutt had tried to walk around Bull, but Bull had blocked it and given it a kick which had sent it trotting toward the ashes and garbage.
The dog had started to run, not too fast, fading into the evening haze.
Bull had squared off, raised the revolver high, lowered it until the dog was in his sights, and fired.
The dog's scream had frightened him even more than the gun's surprisingly loud report, thundering through the silent evening. With a cry of stark pain and terror, Jupe had flipped through the air and landed on the belly; and, with delicious horror, Bull had watched it rise onto its front legs to drag its mutilated hind quarters up over a mound of ashes and out of sight, howling all the way.
At last the howling had faded and stopped. Bull had thought about going after the dog and putting it out of its misery, but decided against it. He wasn't going to wade through all that garbage for a damned dog. Anyway, if it wasn't already dead, it soon would be.
He had gone back to his car and had sat there, gun in hand, trembling, for a long time ... wondering if the dog was dead, wondering if anyone would find out, thinking about what a great going over he was going to give Lily later that night.
He could use Lily right now, he thought, as the streets at last settled into ripe summer darkness circling street lamps and broken by lighted windows. He could use Lily right now, but her slob husband would either be in bed or around the comer at Brownie's tavern, getting a load on before reporting to the night shift at the foundry. In either case, Lily would be scared to put out. Bull would have to wait for a while yet tonight to get that kick, but he didn't feel like waiting. A man could go crazy waiting when he was as bored as Bull Chapman was.
Thoughts of Lily did give him an idea, however. It had been a couple of weeks since he had been down any of the local lovers' lanes. It had been that long for several reasons. First of all, the local cops tended to leave them alone to a great extent. Unmarried people, including some young cops, had to have a place to do their courting, and there were young-marrieds living with their folks who liked to get away from the house. A squad car now and then to see that things didn't run wild was sufficient.
But this reason didn't hold much weight with Bull.
More important to him, if you hit the Lanes too often, you'd scare people away from them, and there went your kicks. A third reason was simply that he hadn't had any luck in the Lanes for quite some time.
But, what the hell, they were worth a try.
He swung his car around and headed for the west side of town. He had hardly arrived there when he saw what he should have realized already. A new development was going up and within the last week or to the 'dozers had practically ruined the Lane. His luck was sure running thin.
He wheeled toward mid-town and then out north. There was a wooded area up there which had been marked out for a town park. Thus far, nobody had done anything about it, and it was still in a pretty natural state. It was within the town limits, which gave Bull authority, but he wouldn't have been overly concerned even if it hadn't been.
The town lights thinned behind him, and Bull slowed the Chevy. He made a right turn off the blacktop onto a rutted country road and slowed further, dimming his lights. On either side of him, the brush thickened and grew up wall-like, and the overhanging trees all but shut out the light of the brilliant moon. The car bumped and stumbled over the ruts, and Bull cursed it and the road and the prize he was looking for until he sighted the first possibility, a parked Falcon convertible.
No go. There was a couple in it, all right-sitting there, smoking cigarettes as if they didn't know what a lovers' lane was for. Bull crept by the Falcon and kept going. Then he sighted another car, a Pontiac.
But this one proved to be no good either. There appeared to be some light necking going on in it, but there were two other cars just ahead and one of them was even pointing this way. Bull was wary of such situations when he was traveling alone, as he always preferred to do. He remembered once when he had stepped up to a car in this very lane and there had been three other cars near by. When he had started to give the kid hell, the latter had stepped out from behind the wheel with a hard, angry look in his eye, and Bull had suddenly become aware that there were two, then three, then five other youths surrounding him with the same look. He had been reduced to stuttering a grumpy warning in spite of the stick in his hand, and he had walked away, fear and humiliation thick in his throat. If he'd had another cop with him, it might have been different. And if one of the kids had laughed, he'd have gone back and killed them if he died doing it. But there had been no laughter, jeer, or snicker behind his back-only cold anger and contempt. Bull sickened every time he thought of the incident, and he wished to God he could meet each of those damned punks alone.
He was having no luck at all. He spotted cars: it would have been surprising if he hadn't on a night like this. Hell, on a night like this, even a lonely preacher might bring his girl out here to talk Bible. But Bull's meat was the lonely car, the pair unmarried or married to other parties, the pants down and the dress up or off, the petting heavy or the lovin' heavier. That, he didn't find.
He emerged onto the blacktop at the other end of the lane, and he wondered where to head for next. Well, there was another place which he had almost forgotten back the way he had come. He might as well run through this lane one more time on the chance that there had been new arrivals. He U-turned and headed back up the furrowed road.
The lane climbed slightly; it crossed a gentle hill to the south of which lay the town. Perhaps because of this rise and because he was driving faster and because the ruts bounced the car a certain number of degrees to the right, Bull saw the turn-off. Even as a boy, he hadn't known that it was there, and he could have driven by it a hundred times in broad daylight without noticing it. But a strange trick of light and shadow and he saw it as clearly as if he had been looking at a map.
And Bull Chapman was jarred by the instant intuition that he had scored.
He eased the Chevy a hundred feet along the lane without meeting another car. He pulled as far to the right as he could, turned off his motor and his lights, and wiped his palms on his pants. It might be nothing, he told himself; it was probably nothing. Yet he did have the scent of game. What should he take with him? His revolver? No, better not. His stick would be enough. His badge, his stick, and the cuffs, just in case, and his flashlight.
He rolled up the windows and locked the glove compartment as well as the doors. He walked back the hundred feet and, for a bad three minutes, he couldn't find the turn-off. It wasn't really a turn-off at all, though once it had been. It was overgrown by weeds, though he could see by his light where some had been pressed down; overhanging brush blocked and tended to hide it; and a broken tree limb, long dead and dry, lay across it. But the limb could be moved and a car driven through, and with the limb and brush back in place, no one would be the wiser. No one but a pair of lovers-and Bull Chapman.
He tested the weight of the limb to be sure that it could be moved, and then stepped over it. With his stick in his right hand and a dead flashlight in his left, he pushed through the brush, making as little noise as possible. Once through the barrier, a grassy passage was discernible in the moonlight. But nowhere along it could Bull see a car.
Well lovers might come here without a car, but it seemed un-likely, didn't it? Bull worried the question. He looked off to his right but could make out nothing in the shadows. He looked to the left and saw a squarish shape and a metallic glint of light. He took a few quiet steps toward it, and it became a small station wagon.
That was more like it. His hunch had been correct. And not just a car, it was a wagon, and the bed of a wagon could be put to good use. He had sometimes wished he'd bought a wagon himself. He worked his way toward it, slowly, soundlessly, his heart beating harder in anticipation. He hunched over, keeping his head low so that he wouldn't be sighted. Then, when he could touch the wagon, he raised up and flashed his light into it. Nothing.
The wind went out of him and he was hollow with disappointment. He felt like cutting the tires and shooting a couple of holes in the radiator. His luck wasn't thin-it was gone. Disgusted, he turned back toward the vestigial path and lovers' lane.
Then he brought himself up sharply, clicking off the flash. He must be losing his grip! Here was a new wagon, it had appeared to be a Nova, hidden away in the brush. Old or new, why should a good wagon be left in such a place by its driver-unless the driver was nearby?
He turned up the path again, keeping to one Side, moving silently. He peered deeply into every shadow as he went, inspecting every hollow. The land rose and he came to the crest of the hill, and still he found nothing. He began to think that he'd tried the wrong direction or had been heard, but he pressed on. The land fell away and he came to a thicket that looked impenetrable, but on an off-chance he pushed most of the way through it-easily.
And there he saw them.
As nearly as Bull could tell in the moonlight and it was so bright that it was almost like day-they were little more than kids. Not that they weren't old enough: the boy looked like a real stud and the little girl had a figure like a dream. They had spread a blanket out in the clearing, and both of them were as naked as the day they were born.
He was too far away to hear what they were whispering to one another but close enough to see the action clearly. The girl-small and slim but with enough breastwork to satisfy two men-was flat on her back, her face turned toward the kid. He was lying on his side, kissing her. Then, still kissing, the girl rose up on one elbow and rolled toward the kid, and he went over onto his back. He was about as passionately ready to take a woman, Bull imagined, as he had ever been in his life. Yeah, the younger generation was pretty knowledgeable in that department.
The girl shifted her body, bringing her boobs to the kid's chest, her long dark hair falling over their faces. As she continued to kiss, she moved her breasts slowly from side to side in long sweep. Each sweep made her pull at a buttock, first one then the other, so that they had a sensuous rolling, caressing motion. They were as lushly round as the girl's breasts, a deep smile of a crease on each. And Bull, excitement flooding him, thought, God, what he'd like to do to a rear like that!
The motion of the girl's shoulders and breasts and hips slowed, came almost to a halt. One of her hands came down from the kid's shoulders. Her fingertips passed over his ribs and Bull could see him shudder with ecstasy as the hand groped. Her shoulders and breasts and hip began to sweep and roll again, and she kissed and stroked and tugged at her lover, and Bull sensed his own desire growing rapidly. Then the kid suddenly shoved the girl away from him as if he could no longer bear her touch.
They weren't apart for long. This time it was the kid's turn to bend to the girl and kiss her. As he did so. Bull could clearly see his fingers sink deeply at one full young breast: there was almost more than a single hand could hold. The kid massaged and pulled and drew at her. He moved the peaked tip and teased with his thumb and forefinger. Then, after a time, his hand moved to the other breast and his mouth moved to the first one, and Bull could almost feel that himself, as the kid rolling his head around, moved the girl's boob over her ribs.
When the kid's mouth went to the second boob, his hand moved, just as hers had. And her body trembled too-as did Bull's. Still the kid kept after her, and when he moved his mouth back to hers, one bare foot shifted out.
Then it was her turn to shove him away, and she struggled to sit up. The kid sat up beside her, and she curled to his arm. For a few moments, they rocked back on one arm. She kissed and then paused, looking at him. She caressed him for an instant, then brought her mouth closer for a long kiss. His throat as dry as sand, Bull waited.
The pair was whispering, and Bull would have given a couple of teeth to know what they were saying. But it soon became evident what that was all about. The girl pulled back from the kid, lying flat out. The kid made a couple of tentative moves, and then apparently they had accomplished their purpose, because he made about three more and they stopped, the girl's arms coming up to his shoulders.
They lay like that, absolutely quiet, for quite some time-until Bull began to wonder what the hell. Then he noticed that they were moving slightly. For the first time Bull realized that, ridiculously enough, the girl was still wearing one white bobby sock, and somehow this made his passion all the more intense.
Bull had thought that the final action was starting; in his book it was sure as hell past time for that. But once again the pair became absolutely immobile. There in the moonlight, they might very well be mistaken for a statue, if anybody ever made statues of that kind. The babe certainly had everything that Bull ever wanted to see in a statue or a painting or a bed, for that matter, and he supposed the kid wasn't bad looking in his way. He was one of these slim, wiry types you had to look for: they don't pack much weight, but when they get mad they may do something silly and do it so damned fast you hardly know it until it's all over.
They finally got started. The girl's feet moved cautiously. Just as cautiously, the kid's body moved, and for a moment Bull thought they were going to quit. But no, he moved again, and Bull could hear the girl sigh with pleasure. When the kid did that again, the girl strained to him. Then they were in the rhythm of that together and working faster.
Bull sighed. That was enough for this kick. He might let them finish, of course, since they'd gone this far-but why? The next kick would be the look on their faces when he nailed them.
So he stepped out into the clearing, and the girl screamed as his flashlight beam and his smooth low voice hit them: "All right, you two, break that up."
Opinions would vary, but some might say that Bull Chapman had just made the worst mistake of his entire life.
CHAPTER TWO
Earlier that evening, Richard Bristol walked into the spacious living room of his home and announced that he was going out-taking Laura to the movies.
His father lowered his evening paper and said with studied casualness, "You're seeing an awful lot of Laura, aren't you?"
Richard shrugged. "Quite a bit."
"Surely you're not serious about her."
"Why, of course not," his mother cut in, looking up from her needlework. "Laura's just a child. How old is she. sixteen? Seventeen?"
"She'll be eighteen in October," Richard said.
His father nodded as if something significant had been stated. "Son, I don't want to criticize you or worry you, but I know for a fact that Mr. Dale has been worried about the amount of time you and Laura have been spending together. I'm sure it's nothing against you personally-he simply holds the view that young people are apt to let their emotions run away with them-"
"Oh, Dad, he's scared over every guy that takes Laura out on a date!"
"He has good reason," his mother said. "Look at his older daughter, Doris. Before she got married, she had a reputation as one of the wildest girls in Adamsville-"
"And now she's a respectable young matron," Richard said, "with three kids, and death on sin." He was warmed and pleased by his father's laugh.
"I wasn't criticizing Doris," his mother said. "She's a dear, fine girl and a treasure to the Altar Guild."
Richard started for the door. "I've got to get going."
"By the way, Richard," his father's voice followed him, the tone again studiedly casual, "when are you going on that camping trip you talked about? I thought that was why you bought the station wagon."
"I don't know, Dad. I kind of lost my interest for the time being. See you later."
He hurried out of the house to his Nova and headed it down the long drive toward the street and toward Laura's house.
There wasn't going to be any camping trip. A camping trip would take him away from Laura, and the idea of not having her nearby was unbearable. Though he had known her all his life, he had noticed her for the first time only last Easter, when he'd come home from school for the weekend. Before that she had been a kid, a daughter of family friends: in the sixth grade when he entered high school, an unimportant freshman when he was a senior. Then at Easter he had seen her as a girl turning into a young woman-a small dark young woman, full-bosomed, round buttocked, and long-legged. Back at school, he had thought about her, and some of his thoughts had made him sweat.
Still he had thought of her as a kid until he came home for summer vacation. The very day he bought the wagon, he asked Laura out for a drive to show it off. They talked and laughed and he found her exceptionally bright, and by the time they got back to her house, they were in love.
Within two weeks, he asked her to marry him. She said she wanted to but couldn't, not yet. She had to get through college first-not only was it expected of her, but Richard wouldn't want to marry a "dumbunny." Richard had an answer to that. He had an independent income of about six thousand a year from a trust fund settled on him by his maternal grandmother, and he'd get the capital when he finished his education: a mininum of a four-year degree. He had now completed his pre-med and while he was going through med school, she could be going through college. They could live together and not be dependent upon anyone.
But there was another difficulty. The age of legal majority for women in this state was eighteen, and Laura wouldn't be able to marry without her parents' consent for another three months, at which time he and Laura would both be back in school-not the most convenient time for a marriage ceremony and an impossible time for any kind of a honeymoon. It looked as if any wedding would have to be held off at least until Christmas and perhaps even longer.
Richard argued with Laura that the only sensible thing to do was to ask her father for his consent immediately, but she had argued back that to do so was futile, since he would never give it. The only result would be to make him try to break them up, and he showed all the signs of wanting to do that already. Only because the two families were lifelong friends did he tolerate Richard.
Actually, in his secret heart Richard was somewhat relieved when Laura balked at facing up to her father. He felt that he should make a stand-declare his love for Laura and present his reasons for immediate marriage-but the thought of bearding the lion in his den was rather unnerving, and Richard wondered if he were a coward. He felt that at twenty-one he should be all manliness and confidence, but the fact was that plenty of adolescent worries still clung to him. He even worried occasionally about such things as whether he might be oversexed or undersexed. Richard had a great many uncertainties and, at twenty-one, he would have been a damned fool if he hadn't. But that didn't help any when it came to handling Mr. Dale.
When he pulled the Nova up the long circular drive of the Dale home, Laura was already at the door, looking very young and fresh and clean in her blue summer dress. He met her on the porch, and she tried to hustle him away from the house, but Mr. Dale was quickly out through the door, his long white double spike of a mustache quivering.
"Oh? You two going out again?"
"Yes, Father. To a movie."
"To a drive-in, I suppose. That's where all the young people seem to go these days."
"Yes, Father, there's a good picture playing-"
"Oh, I'm sure, I'm sure," Mr. Dale said, scepticism in every syllable. "Just see to it that you don't keep her out too late, young man. And you." He turned to his daughter. "You know how to behave yourself-see that you do. You're no common little...." His voice wavered and he didn't complete the sentence.
"Yes, Father. I'll be all right."
Mr. Dale seemed to relent. "All right, have a good time, both of you." Laura kissed his cheek, Richard shook his hand, and the two went to the station wagon.
As they drove away, Richard, feeling a little embarrassed, said, "My God, he acts like I'm some kind of potential rapist or a cold-blooded seducer or something!"
"Oh, he really likes you, Richard," Laura assured him, "but he's sort of scared where love is concerned. Especially love and me."
"What's so terrible about love?" Richard brooded. "Love is important in marriage. I don't say that's everything, but that's pretty basic, and I can't think of a better way of expressing feeling. I'd be a liar if I didn't admit that you affect me and that I want to love you. If I didn't, there'd be something pretty wrong with me, and I'd do better seeing a doctor than trying to become one."
"I know, dear," Laura said, laying her head on his shoulder. "And I want to love you too. And someday we will. We'll have love and children and a home of our own and all of the good things. But meanwhile we have to be careful. You know what I mean."
Richard knew very well. An incident had occurred.
Less than a month ago, the two of them had spent part of another evening at a drive-in. Once it was quite dark, they started necking. Richard knew from Laura's initial clumsiness that she was not too experienced, but she was quite passionate by nature and easily excited.
As the necking became more intense, they started petting. He ran fingers down the top of her dress; he caressed her breasts through layers of material. She was shocked and frightened, but she accepted his assurance that that was all right because they were in love and planning to be married. He told her it would be strange if they didn't want to touch one another and try to do so, and she became very nearly as active in the petting as he. She didn't object when he at last raised her skirt. She ground her body against his and bruised his mouth with hers. But when Richard reached for the waist of her panties, she pushed his hand away.
The farther Richard went, the farther he wanted to go. He whispered into Laura's ear. "Please, I only want to touch you. Let me take some of your clothes off...."
"No," her frightened breathless whisper came back. "We mustn't, Richard."
"I love you, Laura, I won't hurt you. Just your panties, your bra, so I can touch you."
"Richard, I don't want to do that. Not until we're married."
"I know that. I'm not asking that. Only to touch you." Again he petted her. "You're so sweet, I want to touch you."
Her breathing was coming harder. "I want to touch you, too. Touch you and see you. But we don't dare, not here. Oh Richard, isn't there some place where we can go?"
He thought for a long minute, and then the answer came to him. "Yes," he said, "I think there is."
He hadn't thought of the place in years and he wasn't sure if he could find it or even if it still existed. He had discovered it one day in his sixteenth year while out hiking, and he had never mentioned it to anyone. He had preferred to keep it in mind for plans of elaborate seductions which never took place. Richard didn't have a great deal of experience. He had been seduced once by a high school tramp, had another while drunk, had had a couple of similar experiences in college, and had once visited a disorderly house-and worried for weeks afterward. Anyway, he thought of the place now.
Laura was disturbed when she saw that they were going through a lovers' lane, but Richard told her that this wasn't the place he had in mind. He found the nearly hidden turn-off without much difficulty and discovered that by moving a tree limb he could hide the wagon in the brush and, with the limb back in place, no one would ever know.
He took a blanket from the wagon and led Laura deeper into the woods. There were several clearings, but he was looking for one that was particularly well hidden. When he found it, he spread the blanket out on the ground, and he and Laura sat down.
Their ardor had somewhat diminished but was quickly revived. They rolled in one another's arms, and their hearts pounded. They began to pet again, slowly, and Richard unbuttoned Laura's lightweight sweater. He reached down the back of her slip and unhooked her bra, and she loosened her slip strap. Then, for the first time, he brought out one great ripe breast, its tip big and high in the moonlight, and he gripped and smoothed and set the breast to throbbing. When at last he brought a kiss to it, Laura murmured her pleasure.
He petted her under her skirt for some minutes before reaching for the waistband of her panties. She released her hold on him and lay back, lifting her hips slightly, so that he could lower her panties. But when he got them down to her knees, she suddenly bent her legs so that he couldn't take them off.
"Let's take off all our clothes," he whispered.
"No ... No more."
And that was all she would consent to. Out of fear or some remnant modesty, she insisted that they keep their clothes for the most part on, though she let him touch her where he pleased.
He touched her again, as she shook and breathed hard through her mouth. "Let me hold you," she demanded.
And so they held one another. She held him loosely, and he petted her gently, making her tremble more and more until at last she cried out, "Oh! Richard!" And when her body had subsided, he kept on petting her until he had brought her to a peak once again.
Then she said, "Oh, Richard, that was wonderful! Richard, was that good for you, too?"
He couldn't help laughing. "Honey, nothing happened to me yet."
"No?" she looked astonished, unbelieving.
"Honey, think about what you've read in books, and you'll know."
In the moonlight, her expression was puzzled and thoughtful. "I remember vaguely. Then I've got to help you, don't I. Oh, Richard, let me help you! You've got to enjoy this, too!"
With that, she reached for him again, and her soft gentle hand sent a shock over him.
"Is that good, Richard? Is that good?"
"So good...."
"I like you, baby, oh I like this...."
Some female instinct told her exactly how to do what she was doing. She leaned over him and thrust a breast against his mouth, and she crooned, "This's so good ... isn't this good ... let's make this good for my darling, my sweet love...."
Then he was torn apart, and she laughed with delight. "Why, you dear sweet thing," she said, "you're wonderful. I never dreamed that a man was such a wonderful thing!"
"This man, above all."
They had a couple of cigarettes and talked, and then, when he began again, the bad thing happened, the thing that almost spoiled everything. He touched her and inspired by his own reviving passion, touched her more passionately, and he didn't stop.
Not until she cried out in pain.
He hadn't hurt her badly, but she was scared and sobered by what had happened. And when she realized what that meant-that in a certain limited technical sense she was no longer a virgin-she wept. Perhaps many girls no longer think that concept worth their tears, but Laura was not one of them.
They rode back to her house, their mood subdued and quiet. In the parked car, they kissed tenderly and warmly. But before they parted, Laura said, "That mustn't happen again, Richard. We've got to be more careful. I don't regret a thing that's happened tonight, please understand that, but you and I are too passionate for our own good, and we don't want to spoil things for ourselves."
"But meanwhile we have to be careful. You know what I mean."
Her words echoed and reechoed in Richard's mind as they sat in the drive-in watching the poor budget detective movie. Laura was so warm and sweet tucked under his arm, and when he looked down he could see the tempting dark hollow of her breasts. As she had told her, he wanted her, wanted her badly, but he respected her wishes, and he didn't want to do anything to frighten her away.
But it was hard keeping his hands away from her. Since that night when he had hurt her, they had kept their petting light: there had been nothing that wouldn't have passed under the bright lights of the women's dorms he was acquainted with back at school, but the memory of the sweeter things of that night about four weeks ago came back in flashes that made him gasp. The velvet breast with the swollen tip, the white panties down on her legs, the tender flesh. The images made him warm.
Thinking of them now, he wanted to be even closer to her than he was. He tried to concentrate on the dull gray images on the giant screen, but the warm feminine presence under his arm kept drawing at him. She, perhaps without conscious thought, placed her left hand lightly on his right leg, and he felt an exquisite tug of muscles. Without a word, he brought his left hand beneath her chin and tilted her head back against his arm, and she smiled at him in the dark. He lowered his head and their lips touched. Their mouths opened and his tongue touched her hard white little teeth. They pressed hard, twisting against one another. "Oh, you took so long," she whispered, laughing, and they kissed again.
After a time, they relaxed, closing their eyes and no longer trying to follow the story flashing across the screen. Laura's left hand lazily scratched his leg, and brought his right arm farther around her so that he could cup her right breast. Laura sighed with contentment and her fingers pressed gently at Richard. Memories of her soft mounds bared again flashed through his mind, and he raised his right arm so that he could slide two fingers down the V-neck of her dress and under her brassiere. He moved them from side to side, stroking the soft inner curve of first one and then the other. They were as smooth as velvet, as soft as firm foam rubber, but as warm and vital as only female flesh can be.
Laura turned in his arms so that his fingers were forced to withdraw, and they exchanged a long shuddering kiss. His left hand went to her right breast and her right hand slid, and she murmured, "Oh, my darling...." As they kissed some more, Richard eased Laura's skirt up over her knees and found the flesh almost as soft as her breasts.
"Richard...." she whispered after a few minutes.
"Yes."
"I've already seen the main feature."
"So have I."
They kissed again and he stroked her legs. They hadn't been this close since that night that seemed a hundred years ago.
"Richard," she went on after a moment, "do you think we could go to our place and not go too far?"
She had never referred to that as "our place" before; she had hardly referred to it at all. But he knew where she meant. "Yes," he said. "Yes, let's go to our place." And he pulled away from her to start the wagon.
They were in luck. He found the turn-off easily, and there were no nearby cars to see them drive into the brush. He took the blanket from the back of the wagon, and within a few minutes they had located the same spot they had visited before.
They spread out the blanket and sat down on it, and, on impulse, Richard kicked off his moccasins and pulled off his socks. Laura saw what he was doing and followed his lead. She had just taken off her saddle shoes and one white bobby sock when she glanced up at him, as he was unfastening the last button on his sport shirt. He wore no undershirt, and his hard, neatly-angled chest was exposed to the moonlight.
"Oh, Richard, Richard," she said with something like a sob, and she flung herself into his arms. They fell back onto the blanket and pressed closely together. He found the top button at the V-neck of her dress and unfastened that. She didn't seem to notice. He went on to undo the other buttons down to her belted waist. Under his hand he found a warm nakedness; she wore only a bra under the top of her dress.
He pulled his mouth away and looked at her, the moonlight flooding into the opening he had made. She reached to touch his chest, his ribs. Her eyes were half closed and drunken.
"Darling," she said, "would you like to see all of me, take my clothes off, see me naked?"
He didn't answer immediately. He brought his mouth to hers again and put his hand into her dress on her ribs. Then he found the bottom of her bra and eased it up, very carefully because it was tight, off her breast. That tended to pinch the breast down and, perhaps because of that, the expanded pink tip seemed to strain higher. He brushed his thumb up over the rigid tip and pinched, and Laura cried out.
"Yes," he said. "I do want to see you naked. I want to see you, darling." His fingers twisted the one exposed tip.
"Take off my clothes," she cried, her legs working. "Strip me naked, Richard, I want to be naked with you. I want you to see everything. And I want to see all of you."
His hand left her breast and fumbled at her belt to get that loose. Then she rose up on her knees, Richard following suit, and she drew her dress up over her head and cast it aside. She reached behind her to unhook her bra, but Richard said, "No, I will." Kneeling before her, he reached around and unfastened the bra, drawing the straps slowly from her shoulders and the cups from their high firm treasures.
She was as beautiful and desirable as anything he had ever seen, as she knelt there in her half slip, naked from the waist up. Even in the moonlight he could see where her light tan left off, leaving the high, up-tilted breasts white and almost shiny, setting off the dark, pointing tips.
"You like me," she said.
"I love you," he affirmed, and he reached out with both hands to raise her breasts, to weigh them, to palm and squeeze them so that the tips emerged past his fingers, to test and move the plumpness of those tips. With a sigh, she pushed his hands away so that she could take his shirt from his shoulders and toss that over with her dress. Then, still kneeling, they were in one another's arms, mouth to mouth and chest to chest, her hard tipped softness crushing between them.
Any semblance of rational thought was gone. What Richard did next was automatic, dictated by passion. His left hand came up under her right breast. His head tipped, his back bending, and he brought his lips to her. She bent back over his right arm, her head hanging down, so that her breast rose to him. He took the offering, pressing and moving and biting gently. As she shook in his arms, he raised the back of her half slip and reached underneath to her panties. He explored each round hemisphere, lowering the panties until she pushed against him to escape his touch. Then he brought his hand around in front to raise her half slip again. She trembled as he found the waist of her panties and drew them down. He had never dreamed that a woman could be so soft and yet, underneath the softness, so firm. As her muscles jumped, they seemed to have an independent life, a life all their own. He reached to stroke her as he continued to work at her. She grunted at his repeated touch. Abruptly, panting harshly, she pushed the two of them apart, and they fell back onto the blanket.
She appeared to regain control first. Lying there bathed in moonlight, a wisp of nylon around her middle and her panties at her knees, she slowly kicked the panties down and off. Richard roused up and reached for the waistband of her half slip.
"No," she said. "You first." She reached for his belt buckle and unfastened that with one hand, undid the little metal hook at the waist, found his zipper and lowered it. Then he shoved both underwear and slacks down and slipped them all the way off to lie completely naked before her.
She raised up on her knees beside him. "You must like my body."
"I adore everything about you."
She took his hand and raised it, sliding the hand over her breasts, caressing her.
"Do you like these?" she asked.
"I love them."
She slid his hand down.
"Do you like this?"
"You're lovely."
She shoved the back of her half slip down under her hips and brought his hand around behind her. "And this?"
He cupped one rich buttock. "That's the most beautiful in the world."
She lowered the half slip part way. This was the first time Richard had seen her torso quite naked, and he shook with need for her.
"And do you like this?"
"I love that," he said, moving his hand. "I love that and I want that. I need that."
"Oh, Richard." She fell onto her back and rolled away from him laughing, a note of hysteria in her voice. "We're going to be so happy! We'll be married soon, we have to be, I can't stand this if we aren't, and then we can do everything."
Lying flat on her back and grinning at him like a happy child, she lazily kicked the half slip away, down her legs and off, and at last they were both completely naked to one another. He pulled himself over beside her and, lying on his side, whispered, "I love you, Laura."
"I love you, Richard. I wish you'd kiss me."
He kissed her gently, touching no other part of her body, and their tongues flickered lightly and delicately at one another. Then, still kissing him, Laura rose on one elbow and rolled him over onto his back. She moved her body so that her breasts slid over his chest and she rested her' arms on each side of him. Then, as she continued to kiss him again and again, she swept her breasts across his chest from side to side. "Ah, love," she whispered, "you make my breasts so hard they hurt. Oh, love, they hurt good!"
Then she slowed the sweeping motion, bringing that almost to a stop. He felt her hand on his ribs. The band moved down, setting up flames on his skin, and she held him. She began to sweep her breasts across him again, caressing his sensitive flesh. Then he could stand that no longer. Before he lost control, he pushed Laura aside.
After a moment, he felt sure of himself again. He bent to Laura, looked into her love-drugged eyes, and kissed her. As their mouths met, he clutched the breast nearest to him, digging at that harder than he ever had before. Then he brought his lips to her and transferred his hand to the other breast. As he sank his face on the first breast, he stroked and stretched the tumescent tip of the second. Then he moved his kiss to the second and reached farther to pet her. With something like a little whinney, she responded to him, against his touch.
Then she gasped and shoved him away, sitting up beside him. He sat up with her, looking into her drugged, nearly closed eyes, and took her into his arms. Her head went against his chest. "Oh, lover," she sighed, and he felt a little stab of pain: she was biting his chest. Her head went still further, and she bit him under the ribs. She kept on biting him, and Richard fell back, leaning against one arm. She bit him again and then paused. "You're so beautiful, love, and I love you so much," she said softly. Then she gave him a long kiss such as she had never given him before. Her head moved a bit, and he couldn't help but react to the dangerous touch of her sharp little teeth: knowing that the margin of control was growing all too slim, he pulled her to him and again they held one another, gently rocking.
"Richard," she whispered at. last.
"Yes."
"We mustn't do this. But do you think, maybe, for just a minute, you could ... we could, just for a minute ... and-and stop ... you know?"
"All right. Soon."
He needed another minute to be sure he was all right. Then he lay her back and settled down with her. After a few tries, Laura saying, "No-no...." she said, "Ah, that's right." And with three short moves which once more brought him to the very edge of his control, he took her.
At last they were together. Lying perfectly still, their eyes closed, they found out what that was like.
"Is that good, Richard?" she asked.
"So good, better than anything else in the world. Am I good for you?"
"Oh, yes. I want to hold you forever." She sighed and smiled. He dimly realized that she still had one white sock on, and he smiled too.
"Richard, love," she said after a moment.
"Yes, Laura, darling."
"Would that be so awful if ... Darling, would that be so terrible if-if we went ahead?"
He hesitated. Even now he didn't want Laura to do anything she would regret. But he refused to believe that she might regret this, for he Wanted her so badly himself.
"Of course not," he said.
"We're going to be married soon, and isn't that better to have this together than apart like last time?"
"Yes, much better. Much better, love."
She began to shift her feet. "Then let's, darling. Let's have this together...." Her voice grew more urgent. "Please. Oh, I love you, Richard!"
The quiet rest had given him all his control back and he began with confidence, heightening her passion slowly. "Oh, that's good, good, love. I love you, Richard!"
He began to work faster, and she picked up the rhythm. "Oh, Richard, love, I'm getting closer! I want you to have this with me, love! I want to make this good for you. Am I being good to you-"
She screamed. The flashlight beam beating down on them turned the rest of the night dead black.
A low-pitched voice, smooth and impersonal, said, "All right, you two, break that up."
CHAPTER THREE
If Bull Chapman had been the kind of man to laugh easily, he certainly would have laughed at the terrified way in which the kids scrambled apart. But he was more apt to snicker than to laugh, and now he didn't even do that, though he was amused at how foolish they both looked.
The girl's scream didn't last long, a point Bull counted in his favor: He didn't want anybody to come investigating right now; he'd handle this in his own way. Both kids got to their feet, and the girl picked up her dress and held it in front of herself. Her eyes were still crazy with terror.
"Who is that?" the boy asked, his voice shaking.
"I'll ask the questions."
Bull worked his hand through the leather thong of his stick so that he could reach into his pocket and pull out his wallet. He flipped it open in front of the light, revealing his badge.
"That's who I am," he said. "Now, who are you?"
The boy licked his lips, reached for his slacks and underwear, and started putting them on. "I don't see any uniform," he said. There was a touch of bravado in his voice, but it still shook. "Are you on duty?"
Bull put his wallet away and lifted his stick, giving it a couple of threatening flips. "Kid, I'm always on duty. And if you give me a word of cheap punk talk, I'm going to crack your skull before I take you downtown for booking. I may just do that anyway for kicks-a punk like you making out with a little girl like that!" Righteous indignition boiled up in Bull's voice, and the girl began to cry: "Oh, no ... oh, no...."
"Shut up!" He snapped the phrase at her like a bullet. She stopped the words but the tears kept coming. He turned back to the boy. "Now, what's your name?"
"Richard Bristol."
"Richard Bristol." The name was familiar, and Bull turned it over in his mind. "You live out on Bordon Avenue?"
"Yes."
"Yes, sir."
"Yes, sir."
Bull knew now who the punk was. His father owned a string of supermarkets and God only knew what else. That was just fine with Bull.
He looked at the girl who had been cowering behind her dress, too shy to drop it to put her clothing back on.
"And what's your name?"
The girl tried to answer through her tears but couldn't
"Come; on, girlie, I haven't all night, what?! your name?"
"Laura Dale."
"Mason Road?"
"Yes."
"Oh, yeah...." Old man Dale was a farmer. Not a real farmer-just the owner of about thirty-five thousand acres he wouldn't dirty his hands in, a bunch of feed stores, and some kind of soybean processing plant.
Yes, he thought, this was one of the richest catches he had ever made.
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Laura, a girl like you from a fine family-"
"Please!" Her weeping grew more intense.
He looked at them both for a moment as if thinking the whole thing over. Richard hurriedly pulled on his socks and shoes and yanked on his shirt.
"How old are you, Richard?"
Richard didn't answer.
"Come on, come on, kid, you'll have to answer down at the station anyway. How old?"
"Twenty-one."
"Just a kid-but of age." He looked at Laura, "And you. How old are you?"
"She's almost eighteen," Richard said angrily.
"Almost. But not quite. Too bad, kid," Bull said softly. "That makes this a statutory charge. You're going to draw about twenty years. But don't worry-if you're lucky, you'll be out of the state pen in seven. That's a long time to pay, boy. Seven long years or more to think about that. And if you didn't finish with her, that makes that all the worse, don't it?"
Richard looked frozen and Laura choked and started going "Oh, no ... oh, no...." again.
Richard at last found his voice. "Look, officer. Do you have to turn us in?"
"What do you mean, do I have to?" Maybe the kid was going to offer him a bribe. The only trouble with that was that he probably wouldn't have more than a few bucks in his pocket. Maybe he had a bank account, but the bank wouldn't be open until Monday. Maybe he had money at home, but how much? And besides, once you started delaying things so as to get some cash raised, your suckers started thinking, and there went your game-right out the window.
But the kid didn't mention money. He said, "We haven't been hurting anybody. We're going to be married, and what we do our own private business-"
"That's what all you punks say, but the law says otherwise. And I'll bet the girl's father does too."
"We are going to get married!" the girl wailed. "Honey, that's what all these punks say. If I really believed that...."
"We are, officer," Richard said. "That happens to be the truth!"
Bull made his voice sound disgusted. "I don't even see that the girl's wearing a ring."
"We-we haven't announced our engagement yet!"
Now it was time to show incredulity. "Are you trying to kid me?"
"No-"
"No, officer," Laura cried out, "Please listen to him! Please believe us!"
Bull bit his lip. He swung his stick back and forth For a full minute he said nothing. Things were moving along just fine from his standpoint, and they'd move even better if he let the two of them do some sweating. "If there's anything I hate," he said, "it's for someone to try making a fool out of me-"
"But we aren't!" Richard said, and Laura cut in, "What we've told you is true!"
Bull bit his lip. He swung his stick back and forth and jiggled his flashlight.
"Well, under the circumstances I guess it isn't absolutely necessary to pull you in...."
The kid sucked air and his words were little more than a whisper: "Thank you, officer."
"I'll tell you what I'll do. We'll all pile into my car, and we'll go see the girl's old man. If it's okay with him, we'll forget the whole-"
Laura wailed.
"Now what's wrong!"
"It's her father, six If he ever found out-"
"He'd horsewhip you and jail you, huh? Well, can you blame him?"
"He might do that, sure, but it's worse than that. He's the kind-well, this would just about kill him. I mean, he's the kind that acts like his daughters aren't even supposed to be human beings, let alone female. I mean, he might actually have a heart attack or something!"
Bull sighed. "I know the type. You two have got a lot to put up with." The note of sympathy in his voice was almost genuine. "Well, what am I going to do with you two, then?"
Neither of them answered. Laura's tears had subsided.
"I guess I'll just have to let you go with a warning. And you, kid, if I ever find out you haven't done right by this girl, I'm going to feel responsible, which means I'm going to have to find you and brain you-"
"I plan to do right by her, officer-"
"You better just mean that, and you'd better just do that. If you don't, I hope she looks me up."
After a moment, Richard said, "We'd better go, Laura-"
"Oh no you don't! You go, Richard! You pile into that wagon of yours and get out of here. I'll see to it that this girl gets home all right." Richard looked as if he might object, so Bull turned his back to Laura, saying, "Pull on that dress-you make me nervous!" Then he addressed Richard. "Now, you take off like a big bird. If I don't hear that wagon pull out in three minutes," he glanced at his wrist watch under the light of his flash, "the whole deal's off and I go to the girl's father and I mean it."
Richard looked toward the girl.
"It's all right, Richard," she said. "Please do as he says."
"I'll be sure her old man doesn't see me deliver her home. Don't worry."
"Laura, I'll see you-"
"I said go! Double time! Three minutes-get moving!"
Richard hurried through the thicket and out of the clearing. As soon as he was gone, Bull turned his flash on the girl. She was just pulling her dress down over her upper legs, and she moved her hands up to button it. In her haste, she hadn't bothered with her underwear; it still lay on the edge of the blanket, which Richard had apparently forgotten or abandoned in his haste to follow orders.
"Wait a minute," Bull said, "and don't move. Listen."
The girl froze. She wouldn't dare do anything against orders now, Bull thought. If he told her not to move but to listen, that was exactly what she would do.
After a moment, he snapped off his flash, and for an instant could hardly see Laura. Then his eyes began to adjust to the change in light. Gradually they began to register the moonlight which was flooding the clearing. Bright, he thought. Plenty bright enough. And still the girl didn't move. He soon could see the inner circle of one high boob where the moonlight cut into the open front of her dress. She was sure a beauty, all right.
And fair game.
"There he goes," Bull said, as he heard the motor of Richard's station wagon come to life. He traced the hasty departure by the sound of the engine. The kid probably hadn't even bothered to move the tree limb aside, just driven into it and shoved it away.
The sound of the Nova faded away, and for the first time that night Bull became aware of the loud shrilling of the summer insects.
"He's gone," he said.
As if coming out of a trance, Laura began to work at her buttons.
"Wait a minute."
Bull's words stopped her again. He walked to her, dropping his stick and flash onto the blanket. His heart was pounding. God, she was small and delicate looking-he could break her like a stick. He towered over her. She looked at him, giving him an uncomprehending stare.
"Aren't you forgetting something?" he asked.
He slipped one huge paw into the front of her dress and pressed against her breast, so soft and yet firm and hard-cored. She gasped and pulled away from him, still staring at him.
"You and me got a date, you know that. Don't you, now?"
The girl didn't answer but backed away from him. He seized her arm.
"You and me got a kind of silent bargain, you know that."
The gaze she gave him was the same one, filled with a kind of horrible fascination, that a small bird is sup posed to give a snake. She pulled away from him. but he stood firm, and all she could do was circle backward around him as he kept staring at her.
"Now, look. You didn't think I was going to let you two go without getting something out of this, did you?"
Her mouth moved but no words came out.
"This isn't going to hurt you any. Hell, you're going to love this. What's the difference if you sleep with one more guy. You got plenty more left to give. You worried about your boy friend?-he'll never know. Nobody will ever know. Just you and me. And we'll both have a terrific memory of how good this was. You'll wake up in the night, crying for me again."
"I'll scream," she said.
"No, you won't. Because if you do, I'll break your neck. I'll drag you in and tell how your boy friend ran out on you after I discovered you two together. Hell, I might even really break your neck and blame that on him. That ought to draw him more than twenty years."
She tried to speak again but couldn't. He put his hand back under her dress, squeezed his fingers over her breast, and pushed her back against a tree. She was virtually pinned there, as his hand twisted and pulled.
"Oh, come on, now," he said. "Be grateful. I'm doing you a big favor. All kinds of favors. I'm not telling your folks-and I will if you don't give me what I want. I'm not squealing on your boy friend and getting him sent up-and I'll do that too, if you give me any trouble. You're up the creek, cutie, you've got to do as I say. And that's my third favor, because I'm going to give you the best time you ever had in your life."
Laura was crying again, crying softly and struggling against the hand that held her captive by the breast. "Please," she begged, "please, let me go."
Bull snickered. This was fine. He would have been disappointed if Laura had calmly acquiesced to his demands. Oh, that would have been better than nothing, of course, but he could always get the best and most responsive in that kind of loving from Lily. Here, a lot of the fun was in the struggle-forcing the unwilling female to do as he pleased. As long as he got what he wanted, the more the witch wept and struggled, the better.
He had a flash-memory of lowering a revolver to send a hot slug into a small brown and white dog.
"No," he said, "no, you're not going anywhere. Not yet. Not unless you want your father to know everything and your boy friend sent to prison. Do you want that?"
"No."
"Of course you don't. And that's not going to happen. We're not going to let that happen, are we?"
"That's a good girl."
He put his other hand inside her dress on her other breast, forcing her front completely open. The soft flesh looked good to him, squeezing up between his strong fingers in the moonlight. Her tears had run down her cheeks and fallen to her breasts, and he could actually feel them on his fingers. They gave him a kind of thrill, and he pushed her back all the harder against the tree.
"You're going to do as I tell you." He moved closer to her. "Open my clothes-"
"No, no!" She grabbed his wrists and tried to push him away but he tightened his grip on her flesh, twisting her painfully, and she cried out.
"Do as I tell you, Laura."
Sobbing, the girl sent her trembling fingers to his waist. She unbuckled his belt, unfastened the metal hook at the waist, and pulled his zipper down.
"Push 'em down, Laura."
She gave his clothes a timid push, and they fell down to his knees. She was doing just what he demanded, and she would continue to do so. Never before had he felt so powerful and so potent.
"Now the rest. Push 'em down."
Her eyes closed, she shook her head.
"Down!" he punctuated the command by giving both breasts another squeeze.
Eyes still closed, she fumbled at his waistband. Then, her weeping never stopping, she began to work his clothes down.
"Now open your eyes. Look at me...."
She opened her eyes. She was leaning. She did as she was told or she got hurt.
"Did you ever see a man like me, Laura? You know you never did. You know that you really want me, don't you, Laura?" His thumbs cut at her breasts. "Don't you?"
Her head bobbed dumbly.
"Touch me."
Yes, she was learning, all right. She reached out, and he shook as he knew her soft palm and curved fingers.
"Yon ever touched a man like that, Laura?" he asked, his voice hoarse. "Maybe you've been out with a lot of punks, but never a man like me. Now, raise your skirt."
Her hand fell away from him, and she collapsed in a fresh paroxysm of sobs. His cruel hands couldn't force her to stand, so his left hand withdrew from her breast and caught her under one buttock, and he leaned his weight against her to hold her up. He worked her skirt up on her right side so that he could grip her bare buttock and press against her soft leg. She was so damned soft and smooth!
Then he made a mistake. He removed his pain-giving right hand from her breast and put the hand under her skirt. Suddenly her small fists rained against his face and shoulders. Nails raked one side of his neck like dull blades. A thumb pressed in on one of his eyes, and lights exploded; he threw his head back, released her, staggered a step away.
In that instant, she was gone. He looked around, half blinded and hardly aware that he was howling with shock and pain-and he saw her. He took a step toward her fleeing figure, and his pants tripped him up. He went out full length, one arm cushioning the fall, the other lashing out for her.
He got her.
He barely got her ankle, and his grip went down to her foot as she fell.
She tried to pull away from him, and he felt her slipping: he had caught the foot on which she still wore a sock. He tightened his grip and reached out with the other hand. He caught her ankle again, and he had her. "You witch!"
He managed to get to his hands and knees, and he forced her to crawl backward toward him. When she was to him, he raised her skirt onto her back, and the moonlight caught her squarely. He passed his left arm around the front of her to hold her captive, and he had a wild impulse to sink his teeth into a hip as hard as he could, but that was replaced by another impulse which he immediately gave in to.
"You witch!"
He hit her. She screamed and fell forward, flat on the ground.
He struggled (o his feet. He took a couple of steps bent down, and grabbed her raven hair and pulled. She came painfully to her feet, he guided her back to the blanket, and he threw her to the ground again.
"You listen to me. Laura? Can you hear me?"
She nodded.
"You better think of that old man of yours. You better think about your stud rotting away in jail. Because if there's any more screaming or trying to get away, the whole deal is off, see? You try to cross me up just once again, and I won't give you a break, see? Do you understand me, Laura?"
She nodded again.
"All right. Get up."
She did as she was told. "Think of your old man and your boy friend and take off that dress."
When she hesitated, he grabbed the collar of the dress and pulled at it. Slowly she slipped the dress over her head and off.
He grabbed a handful of hair and put his other hand on her throat. "Now you're going to give me some, and if you try any tricks, so help me, I'll kill you! Understand?"
Her head scarcely bobbed.
He forced her to kiss him. He felt god-like with power, the power of his will. Nothing and nobody in the world could stand up to him and refuse him what he wanted. He shoved himself at the girl. Suddenly she gagged, twisted away from him, and began to be ill.
Surprised and uneasy, he stared at her as she emptied her stomach. "Don't kid me, witch-you love that and you know you love that."
"Please, please...."
Her begging gave him a perverse reassurance. That was almost as if she were begging for what would come next. Snickering, he unbuttoned his shirt and disposed of that. He wore nothing beneath. He took her hair and her arm, lifted her, and tossed her so that she fell like a limp sack flat on her back. Stepping out of his clothes, he went to her.
As he fell to his knees, he grinned. He slipped a hand out and stroked her. She whimpered and twisted over onto her side.
"Come on, Laura. You know you want me."
He rolled her onto her back again, gripped her, and forced her with little difficulty. Her hands came up and pressed on his face.
"Don't do that, baby. Think of your old man. Think of Richard."
Her hands dropped away. Her head was turned to one side, her eyes were closed, and she was still weeping. That was fine, just fine. Her smooth, deep-naveled, moon-whitened middle and her high full mountainous breasts jerked with every sob. He put his hands to her breasts and flexed the tips. They thickened from his pinches, and he told himself that he knew damned good and well that she was really aching for what she was about to get.
Her hands pushed on his shoulders, her heels dug in, and she tried to get away from him.
"Think of Richard, baby. Think of the scandal and your old man and twenty years in prison for Richard."
Her efforts subsided. Her legs went down flat on the ground. As he tried again, she once more attempted to twist away.
"Look, if I have to clobber you, I will. Not enough to knock you out, because you're going to enjoy this, baby, but that's going to hurt."
He reached down to grab her. Carefully, with a long sigh of pleasure, he took her.
"There, now you love that, don't you, Miss Rich Witch. You never knew anyone like me, did you? He moved a couple of times. "And I'll tell you the truth, you're pretty good yourself."
"Richard, Richard...." The words came out in the faintest of wails.
"This isn't Richard, you know, this is me. Your punk Richard ran out on you. You said he should go because you wanted this, witch. You wanted a real man. Now you got one. And how do you like him, Miss Rich Witch?"
He kept working, his voice growing lower and huskier, his breathing growing harsher.
"God you're good! And how you do love this! You always love this, no matter how you fight. You rich alley cats are all the same. But not all this good. Your Richard was never like this, was he. None of the punks you know are like this. You're going to dream about this, baby. You're going to dream about this over and over. You're going to cry for me. None of your punks can thrill you the way I can."
And then he thought he found a response from her. That might have been his imagination; it was impossible for him to conceive that a beaten and humiliated female's response might be given not in pleasure but in pain and horror and anguish, a terrible cramping of the body and soul. He wouldn't have minded such a response; he would have enjoyed that. But he believed that in the long run, unless something was wrong with a woman, she could receive nothing but the most exquisite pleasure from his beatings.
So he cried, "You see, you love this! You can't get enough of this! You're going crazy with this! Take this! And this!"
And babbling away, he was at the end, mad with pleasure. m
CHAPTER FOUR
The girl wasn't crying any more. She sat on one hip, her legs curled slightly, and she was propped up on one arm. Her head hung down. The moonlight, streaming over the other hip, made her look like ivory, and again Bull thought of a statue. Some dames looked like nothing, absolute nothing, when you got done with them, but there was no denying that this little girl was a beauty.
He stepped into his clothing. "Oh, come on, now. That wasn't so bad, was that? Hell, I was good, you know I was." The girl didn't answer, and he continued dressing. "That wasn't as if you lost anything. You're not even a virgin, you had nothing to lose. Your boy friend isn't going to find out. Your old man will never know. You got a free kick, and now you're on easy street. Everything is just the way it was. Everything is jake." Her continued silence and immobility unnerved him, and he spoke louder. "Let me tell you something, kid. In this life, you got to get your kicks where you can. The iceman offers you a free kick and nobody's looking, you take that! Who's going to know? Everybody else does, at least if they've got the nerve, so why shouldn't you?" Still she didn't answer, and he made a sound of disgust. "Aargh, what am I telling you for? A babe like you, you've probably had more than your share. A new punk every time you go out on a date." He laughed nervously, went to her, and gave her a clumsy pat on the shoulder. "But none like me, huh? God, but you loved me!" She didn't move, she didn't speak. She didn't even flinch at his touch. Anger welled up in Bull Chapman. "Well, don't just sit there like a damn dummy! Get your clothes on!"
Slowly, painfully she rose to her feet. She tottered over to where her clothing lay, found her panties, and began pulling them on. As she dressed, she made no effort whatever to conceal herself. It was as if Bull didn't exist or didn't count. She might just as well have been completely alone in the woods.
When she was dressed, Bull picked up his flashlight and his stick. He said, "Come on," and led the way back toward the lane, not bothering with the light. The girl, head down, followed behind him.
When they got to the lane, he found that, as he bad guessed, Richard hadn't bothered to move the tree.
Bull: he had simply pushed it aside with his wagon. Bull carefully put it back in place and tried to raise some of the mashed-down weeds. There was no point in giving away a perfectly good spot.
Again, he told Laura to come on-she had waited patiently for him as he had fixed up the turn-off-and she followed him along the rutted road to his car. He got a kind of kick out of her docile response to his commands, but he wished to hell she'd say something.
He got her into the car and started back into town. The girl sat hunched away from him in the far comer, her eyes closed, her face blank. Bull said, "Yeah, everything's going to be all right, now," but she didn't appear to hear him.
Finally he couldn't stand her silence any longer. "Listen! Laura! Look at me!" he commanded sharply.
Her head turned toward him and her eyes opened. He glanced at her a couple of times and could read nothing in. her face as the passing lights revealed it, but certainly she looked okay.
"There's nothing wrong with you! You understand? You're all right!"
"Yes," she said calmly. "I'm all right."
Relief swept through him. "Sure, you are, you're A-okay. We had our bit of kick, and who's the wiser? Your father and your boy friend don't know nothin'. and they're not going to know. You did me a favor, and I'm doing you a favor. And that's what makes the world go round, hey, kid? We're all square now, you and me."
The girl didn't answer, but Bull thought he saw her smile slightly.
He went directly to Mason Road and pulled his car up to the curb almost a block from the Dale home. He reached across Laura and opened the door on her side.
"You better walk home from here. If your folks want to know why, say you had a fight with your boy friend. I'll sit right here and be sure you're all right till you turn up your drive, so don't worry."
Without a word, Laura got out of the car and walked away.
"Good night, kid."
She didn't seem to hear him, and he closed the car door. She walked at an even, unhurried pace, never looking back, and Bull didn't take his eyes off her until she left the sidewalk and entered her driveway. Then he started his car, made a U-turn, and drove away.
He took a deep breath, and the air was sweet in his lungs. He found that he was shaking slightly, and he laughed aloud. He told himself that that was all over now and everything was okay, just as he had told the girl. She wouldn't dare talk, and what good would it do her if she did, a little witch like that who'd probably played around plenty in the past.
But, man, she had been good, one of the best he had ever seen, and he had seen plenty. He liked two kinds, the kind who really went for that and the kind that put up a fight, like this girl. And even the kind that fought really liked that. In the end, they always went for that, whether they admitted it or not. Well, almost always-you ran into a frigid witch now and then, of course. But basically all women were the same, whether they begged or fought you off. Witches.
He had learned about women early. He had started looking around them when he was about twelve, and when he was thirteen there was this sixteen-year-old tramp who used to tease him and get him all wrought up. When she got wise that he was an okay kid and could keep his mouth shut, she started meeting him in an old unused barn on the edge of town. At first she only petted him, but finally she gave him a chance to find out what love was like, and she taught him all the tricks. A couple of years later, after she was married, he would go to her house now and then, and she swore that he was a hundred times better than her husband.
It was the same babe-what was her name? Delia?-who had put him onto some of the other available girls in the town. He was just a dumb kid, and after knowing Delia, he couldn't see any other girl. Hell, he would have married her if he could, he was so set after her. Delia laughed and said that was only because she was his first. He didn't believe her, and after a while-maybe she was getting bored with a dumb kid, even a kid like him-she offered to prove that. She took him over to another dame's house, a nineteen-year-old married woman who was separated from her husband, and told him to try her. Right then and there. He was scared green, and he refused. But Delia said that he couldn't resist this dame if she went away and left them together-which she did. The dame seemed to laugh the whole thing off as a joke, and she gave him a couple of beers and talked to him like nothing was going to happen and all the time her boobs were moving farther and farther out of her dress. And pretty soon he hadn't wanted to resist. The next thing he knew, she had his pants off and was doing all kinds of things to him and then her dress was off and he was giving that to her but good right there on a kitchen chair. After that, he and Delia and the older dame had plenty of wild parties together in that little house.
But Delia finally took off for a couple of years, and the older dame disappeared for good, and it wasn't until he started playing high school football that he really began getting variety in his women. Sure, there was a date here and there, but after his freshman year was over, things got better all the time. He found out that there was more than one babe like Delia in high school, and some of the tramps were pretty good, even came from rich families and had plenty of money to spend. That kind went for the football heroes, and he was one of the best in the game right from the start. So he got his share and more.
That was best, of course, in his senior year. By then there was a crowd of little witches from fourteen on up in school who really knew how to love. If there was a game and they lost, he might still get something because he'd done Ms share, and that wasn't his fault. But when they won, that was better yet.
Then the guys who had really played sort of hung around the locker room until the others had cleared out. Then these babes would come down, four or six or as many as eight, all squealing and kissing and grabbing at you, and everybody got to try a time or two, right there on those hard wooden benches right in front of everybody else, or in the showers, or anywhere else anybody felt like. They all just stripped down and kept playing away. Of course, the guys who'd racked up the most points got first choice, and once after a football game when he'd scored four times, there was no limit for him. He just kept taking every naked little pigeon that got close to him, and when they all went out afterward, he kept doing the same all night. God. he must have had eight girls two dozen times that night, because sometimes he'd start with one and finish with another. God, the things you can do at seventeen-not that he couldn't do just about as good today and do that a hell of a lot better.
But his luck went bad, or so it seemed at the time. He had almost made it through high school when they caught up with him and the whole gang. There was this one little babe, fifteen years old, who wanted part of the deal, wanted to travel with the hep crowd. So they let her go along on a beach picnic, just before the end of school. It had turned out that she was all talk. She went for the petting all right, and she finally took her clothes off, but when she looked around and saw that the action was for real, she got scared. Bull had to smack her down and force her, the damned little tease, while the others cheered him on. He'd gotten quite a kick out of that, but then she went and squealed to her old man, and the balloon went up. It was just lucky that he had witnesses that the kid kept begging him and that he was willing to go into the army immediately.
That turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to him. He hadn't been overseas very long before the war ended and Germany was up for grabs. Or rather the German women were. At first they teased the troops by sneering at them while they sat on their porches with their feet propped up. You could see them but you couldn't touch. But Bull knew that they really wanted loving and, when fraternization began, he saw to it that they got that. There was hardly a night he didn't have a woman or two for four for five cigarettes each, and he never paid more than a pack. If they wanted a pack, they had to do plenty to earn it.
Then there were Korea and Japan, and what he hadn't already learned about women, he learned there. He got into the MPs along the way, and that was for him. If anybody was going to bust any heads, it was Bull; and he was surprised at how soft most MPs really were. That was why he had to get out of the service, he was chasing prisoners and he clobbered this one guy, not so hard, and it looked like he wouldn't come to. There was a lot of talk about a court-martial and a DD or at least an administrative ticket, but the guy lived, so they gave him a regular discharge a few weeks later, with the clear understanding that they never wanted to see him again.
It didn't matter. By that time the old heat was off here in Adamsville. He was a football hero who had been in the army and who knew cop work, so three years ago he came back and got a job on the force. He couldn't have gotten it without his MP experience.
It turned out fine. The cops here were a lot of slobs, but that just meant they stayed out of his way, and he liked to have a lot of elbowroom. For one thing, it let him play the little game he'd heard about long ago. You kept your eyes open. You knew everybody, more people than knew you. You knew where they lived and what other people thought of them.
Then when you were cruising around one evening, you spotted the wife of one of the town's most prominent lawyers, a louse if there ever was one. And the wife just happened to be, not with her husband, but riding around with a local doctor. You followed them to his cottage and waited a couple of hours. You followed them back to her house. When she had gone inside and the doctor had left and it looked as if the dame was alone, you knocked on the door and offered her a little proposition.
If you picked your game well, you weren't apt to be refused.
Bull pulled that a number of times. There was that young English teacher from the high school. All he'd had to do was remind her that a few words spoken to certain members of the school board and she wouldn't get a contract renewal or even a recommendation for a new job. Of course, she hadn't been the best-she'd obliged, but she'd looked at him like some kind of bug, the witch. He'd have gone back and given her seconds, but she hadn't been worthwhile. No response-she probably hid that-and no fight.
Then there was that very respectable widow who had a kid doing yard work for her. The kid started disappearing into the house for an hour or two or more every day. By keeping his eyes open, Bull caught onto what she was up to, and he'd found her so good, he later went back for seconds. Whatever happened to that dame?
Oh yeah. He heard that she hanged herself for some reason. The crazy things that dames do.
Oh, there had been quite a few of them on Bull's list since he'd returned to Adamsville. And there'd be a lot more if he played his cards right.
But the more he thought about that, the more he was sure that there had been no other as good as the girl he'd taken this evening. Small and dark and thin, with those great swelling boobs and luscious round behind! He hadn't done nearly everything he'd like to do to that little witch. If he'd kept his head, he'd have taken her a second time before letting her go.
You had to be awfully careful of who you went hack to for seconds. Some didn't like to pay off twice, and they might do something stupid like blabbing. But this little girl had seemed okay when he got her home; she knew the score. Maybe he'd look her up again.
Soon.
Why not? Hadn't she loved that?
Richard was trembling when he reached his station wagon. He was trembling from fear, relief, anxiety, humiliation, and, most of all, with concern for Laura.
He started the wagon, backed up swinging the tail around, and nosed out into the Lane. It hadn't even occurred to him to move the tree limb, but it was light and he pushed it out of the way and kept going.
He didn't see any police car, but after about a hundred feet he spotted an old Chevy, and he guessed that it must be the officer's.
That was the first time it came to him that the man might not even be a cop. He did look vaguely familiar, but Richard hadn't gotten a clear view of him, thanks to that flashlight. He didn't really know what the man looked like, and he hadn't gotten the badge number. But surely the guy wouldn't have acted the way he had if he hadn't really been a cop. He had seemed decent enough at the end.
But what had he been doing there, and out of uniform at that? Just cruising around looking for trouble? Or trying to make trouble? Richard remembered his saying something like, "I'm always on duty."
The more Richard thought about what had happened, the more his apprehension grew. He wished that he hadn't left Laura behind. Surely he had had no choice
-and yet he wished that he hadn't left her.
Now that he was on his way, he hurried along the lane, hit the blacktop, and headed back toward the heart of town. He couldn't simply go home and hide his head under his pillow-he had to see Laura one more time this evening. The poor girl must be dying
-embarrassment was too weak a word for what she was going through.
All because they had loved one another-still loved one another, he corrected himself-and ached for one another and wanted to be close together and to make love. And because a big lummox of an overeager cop had stumbled across them.
And the man was big! That was one distinguishing mark that Richard would recognize. He had looked like a giant looming up there in the dark, and Richard was no pigmy. He tried to remember the biggest cop he had noticed around town.
He turned onto Mason and headed toward Laura's house. A block short of it, he turned off on her side of the street. He went most of the way around the block and parked the wagon. Then he got out and, feeling like a foolish kid, he sneaked across the lawn, moving from tree to tree and bush to bush. The house was situated in the middle of four acres: it was one of the biggest places in town. If Laura's folks caught him out here-and without Laura-there'd be hell to pay.
He got down on the ground beside, and a little under, a stand of bushes. From here he could see most of the front drive and, by looking over his shoulder, some of the back yard. He mustn't miss seeing Laura when she returned.
She should be here within a few minutes. Still, he had hurried to get here, going over the limit, and he had to take that into account. And the cop might go slowly-he had to take that into account, too. Furthermore, he knew that under the circumstances time would drag another item to be taken into account. He tried to reconcile himself to a long wait, but that only made his anxiety worse.
The evening had grown no cooler, and Richard became aware that he was sweating. It had been comparatively cool on the hill above the lane, and the air had been free of mosquitoes, but here they buzzed and sang about his ears, and he began to itch. But that was nothing compared to the aching that had started deep down in him.
And the aching was nothing compared to his concern for Laura and the situation they had gotten into. It seemed to him now that he had behaved like a scared punk-like the very kind of person whom the cop had at first taken him to be. Why couldn't he have spoken up more and sooner? And even if he had done precisely the right thing, why did he have to feel so unsure of himself in doing it? Why did he have to feel like a scared, licked puppy instead of a man? Why did he have to be so craven?
Feeling as he did, he couldn't blame Laura if she hated him after what had happened this evening. He couldn't blame her if she had lost all her respect for him. And if she had, he saw no way in the world that he could possibly win it back. He had flunked out all the way around.
The minutes dragged by like hours. Surely she should be here by now. Perhaps she had entered the house by the back way and he had missed her. He watched every car that passed on the street, hoping that it would stop and let Laura out.
Then he saw her, walking up the drive.
He waited for a few seconds to be absolutely certain that it was her, then recognizing her shadowed figure and her gait, he rose up and moved from tree to tree to meet her. Twenty feet from her, off the drive, he called to her in a low voice.
"Laura."
She stopped. He had half expected-hoped that she would run to him and throw her arms around him. But she stood immobile and didn't utter a sound. "Laura...." He went toward her, but she didn't look up. He took her hand. "Are you all right?" She nodded. "Come with me."
He glanced over his shoulder at the house, then led her back down the drive and around the block toward his car. He said a few things like, "It's okay, honey, it's all over now. We'll forget all about it," but his words sounded futile in his own ears, and Laura didn't answer.
He opened the wagon door and helped her in and then got in from the other side. She sat curled in the comer away from him, and when he reached for her, she shrank away.
He tried to reassure her again: "Darling, it's all right. I know you feel bad, but everything's going to be okay now."
Still she didn't answer, and fear blossomed in him like a slowly opening wound.
"Laura, talk to me. Laura, please." He hardly dared to ask. "Honey, did anything happen after I left?"
Her voice was small and tight. "That was horrible."
"Of course it was. But it's over-"
"That was horrible."
The wound opened further.
"What was horrible, Laura?"
"What he did to me."
He seemed to be talking without breath. "What did he do to you?"
She was silent but her face worked convulsively.
"What did he do to you, Laura?"
"He forced me."
At one and the same time, he was too horrified by what she was saying to understand what she was saying. "Forced you to do what?"
She was breathing harder, as if she might be crying, but the tears were all gone. "He did things to me. He hurt my breasts. They hurt so! And he made me open his clothes. He hurt me. And he kept saying that he'd tell Daddy and that you'd go to jail for twenty years." Her breath was like the rasp of iron on iron. "And when I was on my hands and knees, he hurt me. I still hurt. And he made me take my dress back off again. And kiss him and hold him and I got sick. And he kept saying that you'd go to prison if I didn't let him, and once he said he might really break my neck and you'd get more than twenty years. And finally he raped me and he hurt and hurt."
Suddenly she was sitting up straight, her eyes open far too wide, and she was gasping as if she couldn't get her breath, as if in some kind of epileptic fit.
"Laura!"
Just as suddenly, she collapsed into his arms, where he cradled her in horror as she wept without tears.
He was numbed. The full impact of what she had been telling him was too much for him to take all at once. But gradually that got to him. The girl he loved, the girl whose body he had enjoyed with such adoration earlier in the evening, had been raped. Her body had been abused and she had been forced to accept. She had been forced into a state of terror close to insanity. The girl he now held in his arms had been befouled by an unknown giant who had come upon them in the dark.
He realized that she was mumbling something: "I can't live, I can't."
"Yes, darling. We'll both live and be happy and I'll take care of you forever."
"I can't, I can't live."
His words had sounded hollow to him as he had said them, and her repeated wail of anguish made them all the more a mockery. How could he say he'd take care of her when he had failed so miserably tonight?
She was quiet for a minute, then she went on: "Oh, I want him dead. I can't live with him knowing what he did to me. I want him all wiped out. I want that never to have happened, never ever to have happened."
He didn't choose his words. He merely heard himself saying them. "I'll wipe that all out. I'll make that never to have happened. I don't know what I'll do, but I'll do something. I'll find that guy and one way or another I'll take care of him. So help me God, I'll take care of him."
It was a vow and he meant to keep it.
CHAPTER FIVE
When Laura was ready to go into the house, she seemed once again to be in control of herself. Exhaustion was written all over her small delicate darkly-framed face, but she was calm.
"This dress is a wreck," she said. "I'll have to dash right upstairs and get it into the laundry before anyone notices. Then it will be all right."
"Will you be all right?"
She didn't answer.
"I'll call you tomorrow, Laura."
She nodded.
"And I love you, darling."
And now she didn't even nod: she didn't appear to hear. For a moment, Richard thought of repeating his vow in an effort to get through to her, but he dismissed the idea: to repeat his promise would only be to diminish its force, not to bolster it. Some things, if they are to be truly meaningful, can be said only once.
He started the wagon, took it down the block and around the comer and up the driveway of Laura's house, pulling to a stop before the front porch. "Should I take you to the door-"
"No, I have to hurry." She opened the door of the wagon.
"Good night, Laura," he said. "I love you."
She slipped out of the wagon and headed for the porch steps, murmuring, "Good night."
Only after she had entered the house and he had pulled away did he realize that they hadn't kissed before parting. They hadn't kissed since she arrived home.
He went home and got drunk. Quietly, soberly drunk.
If his parents noticed, they didn't say anything. They were intelligent, perceptive people, and if Richard was getting something off his chest, perhaps it was for the best. And he was doing it in his own home in an unobtrusive manner which made trouble for nobody, which was the way he'd been taught to do it.
In spite of all the liquor he consumed, he didn't sleep for hours. He had certain tokens of his adulthood; his Speed Graphic, his typewriter, his .22 pistol, his knife. He had fantasies of what he'd like to do with the little Colt automatic, and they seemed unsatisfactory. So he thought about what he might do with the knife. It was a custom-made six-inch switchblade for which he had paid twenty-five dollars, and he could shave with it comfortably. But all such fantasies of revenge seemed childish and futile, and what was true reduced him to tears. He wept in the night as he hadn't since he was a child, and he bit his pillow to keep his family from hearing him.
Near dawn, he fell into an exhausted sleep. Fortunately, he'd remembered to drink a quart of water with some aspirin before going to bed, and he didn't feel too badly when he woke up in the early afternoon. After some orange juice and coffee he felt very mildly drunk for a couple of hours, but not so much that it bothered him.
His family said nothing about the incident. The nearest they came to it was when his father said, "Oh, by the way, Richard. It's occurred to me that I must have sounded rather pompous yesterday evening." He mimicked himself. " 'Surely you're not serious about this girl!'"
In spite of all that had happened, Richard couldn't help grinning. "You sounded okay."
"In any case, if you happen to be serious about Laura, it's your own damned business, and Papa Dale will just have to sweat it out."
He walked away before Richard could answer.
Richard telephoned Laura to tell her he would be over to see her.
"I'd rather you didn't come over, Richard. I'm not feeling very well. T wouldn't be very good company."
"But I want to see you-"
"Please. Maybe tomorrow. Or Monday. Right now I only want to be alone."
Alone. Not with him. Why should she want to be with him? What good could he do her?
After a moment he asked, "You are okay, aren't you?"
Whatever she said, she didn't sound right, and that left him feeling sick. "Just remember that I love you," he said.
"And I love you. Good-bye, Richard." Before he could say another word, the phone clicked.
He had promised Laura that in some way he would take care of the man who had forced himself on her, but how he was going to do so. he hadn't the slightest idea. He racked his brains and found himself at a total loss.
Find the man and murder him? He would have liked to have done that, but he didn't know whether he could actually bring himself to the point of killing or not. If he could, he wondered how he would react to the act afterward-and how Laura would react to him once she knew. For surely she would guess. And much as she might hate the man, the odds were that she would draw the line at murder.
It was quite possible that Laura had not been his first victim or, for that matter, that she would be his last. Could he find out about some other victims and expose the man? It seemed un-likely. Since nothing had happened to the guy in the past, as far as he could tell, any victims probably kept their mouths shut-just as Laura was doing. It wasn't likely that they'd want to open up to Richard, even if he could locate them.
And suppose he did locate them. How could he expose the man in any way without having him refer to Laura and him and thus draw Laura into it-which she certainly didn't want. There would be a question as to why Richard should take the trouble to expose the fellow, and people would naturally believe anything the man said, true or false. And he could make things sound plenty bad for Richard and Laura both.
But all this was largely academic; Richard felt that he had about a chance in a million of pulling off some kind of expose. Was there, then, some way in which he could ruin the man privately, some way he could run him out of town so that Adamsville would be rid of him forever and Laura would never have to see him or think of him again?
This, too, seemed un-likely, but it was the best possibility, short of murder. It depended upon two things: First, on Richard's locating some kind of usable material. Second, on the man's being nearby in Adamsville.
It was quite possible that he was from some distant locality, though he would seem to have some knowledge of the town. This last point gave Richard a glimmering of hope, though he still had hardly any idea of how to go about his task.
That glimmer grew brighter on Sunday afternoon.
Though he was not a particularly religious person nor irreligious either, for that matter-Richard had the habit of going to church with his family when he was at home. The habit was made more pleasant by Laura's presence, but she wasn't there that morning. Her absence increased his desperation, and he decided to see some friends that afternoon, friends who might be able to point out a certain cop to him. But he never reached the friends.
He was driving down Main Street that afternoon when he found himself behind a police car. Something about the heavy shoulders of the driver seized his attention, and excitement welled up in him. The police car made a right hand turn after a couple of blocks, and the view of the driver was obscured, but Richard followed him. The cop made a left at the next comer, and Richard got a quick glimpse of his face.
He was positive that it was the same face he'd seen but dimly less than forty-eight hours ago.
He also made a left and kept following. The cop made another left at the next comer, and Richard followed but failed to get a good look. He did get a look at the next comer as the cop turned back onto Main Street, and his impression that it was the same man was reinforced.
The meeting wasn't altogether luck, of course. If the man really were a cop and Richard looked for him, he'd be bound to find him within a few days. But running into him so quickly gave Richard the feeling that he was making progress.
He didn't dare follow for too long; he didn't want to be spotted. He crossed Main Street, rather than following the police car. and headed for Laura's house.
When he arrived there, he found her pale and listless, and she was reluctant to come for a drive in his car. But the urgency in his voice got through to her, and she finally agreed.
When he had driven a few blocks, he pulled up on a shady residential street. He twisted in his seat to look at Laura, who had remained silent.
"I've found him," he announced.
"Found who?"
"The guy!" he said, surprised. "I spotted him just a little while ago. He's a cop."
"We knew that already," she said in a tone of flat factuality.
"No, we didn't. We only knew what he told us. Now we know for sure."
Laura shrugged. "What's the difference? If we had assumed that he was telling the truth, things wouldn't have been any different, would they?"
Her comment brought him up short, and his glimmer of hope wasn't quite as bright as it had been. He hadn't taken into consideration Laura's superbly feminine grasp of concrete actualities, much more highly developed than in most seventeen-year-olds. A man might talk possibilities and probabilities and chop logic all day and all night, but his woman would still ask, "What's the difference? How does this really change things? Where does the bread come in?"
"The point is," he said after a moment, "I no longer have to worry about whether or not the man is within easy reach."
Laura was silent, as if considering whether or not this really did made a difference. If she was, she didn't pass judgment aloud. Instead, she asked, without looking at Richard, "What are you going to do?"
He chewed his lip for a minute. "What do you want done?"
She didn't answer, and he wished to God he hadn't asked that question. He had taken an important task upon his shoulders, and now he was asking her to define it for him, as if in hope that she wouldn't ask too much. It was that damned touch of childishness, that feeling of ineffectualness, that he thought he'd never get rid of.
"Don't worry," he said. "I'll know what to do when the time comes. And I'm going to make it come. But I've got to ask one question, Laura. Please don't be angry. But are you absolutely sure you don't want your folks to know anything about this?"
The answer was what he fully expected, but he hadn't expected its force. She turned on him, her face white. "No! Don't you dare tell them! My poor father, that would kill him-"
"All right, all right," he overrode her, "I'll never tell anyone-"
"How can you ask! You know how my father-"
"I had to ask because what I do might depend on the answer! Now that you've said it, I'll never have to ask again."
She relaxed. "I'm sorry. But you scared me."
He looked at her pityingly. The poor kid. So scared of her father's worries that she didn't even dare tell him that she'd been raped, let alone that her body had been touched by someone who loved her and wanted to marry her. And the two things in combination-she'd almost rather die than have him find out. It could be considered immaturity on her part if she weren't so young, but there were thousands if not millions of older women who felt much the same way.
"Please take me home, Richard. I'm so tired."
He started the car and pulled away from the curb. They drove back to her house in silence. When he let her out, again she neglected to lean toward him for a kiss, and when he put his hand on her shoulder, she slipped out from under it as if she didn't feel it.
As he drove away from the house, a thought hit Richard with doom-like finality, bringing sweat to his face and hands: Before this thing is done, I'm going to have to kill that man. As certain as we both live in the same world, I know that I'm going to kill him.
He knew that he was going to kill the man. He didn't know when or how, but he knew it-it was as if the blood were on his hands already. Perhaps he had known it from the time Laura had told him what had happened. Maybe he had been afraid to understand what he was certain to do, the way he had at first been afraid to understand what Laura was telling him. He had been numbed by the blow; it took time to awaken to the truth.
He didn't want to kill. He had to find another way of dealing with the enemy, and he had to find it fast: it was the only way to avoid becoming a murderer. It was as if the knowledge of what the blackmail-rapist had done to Laura had triggered a bomb within him, a bomb that had its own longing to explode, a bomb that was ticking toward its final moment when it would destroy the enemy-and possibly Richard and Laura as well.
And thus, strangely, in his efforts at vengeance Richard found himself striving to save the life of the man he longed to destroy.
On Monday morning he sought out one of the people he had planned to see the afternoon before-just before spotting the cop. He phoned the police station, asked for Joe Harrison, and was informed that the latter was off duty. He looked up Harrison's address in the telephone book and, without bothering to call first, drove to his house. He found him tinkering in his basement workshop.
He was surprised to see Richard: they hadn't met often in the last few years. But Harrison, a thin-faced amiable fellow of about twenty-three, had been the president of the photography club when they were both in high school, and this gave them a common meeting ground. Richard's pretext for calling on him-and it wasn't altogether false-was that he wanted to buy a single-lens reflex camera, and he wanted the advice of someone experienced whom he could trust before speaking to a dealer.
For almost two hours they talked cameras and photography and became reacquainted. Eager as he was to get to certain questions, Richard didn't force the conversation but let it follow its natural course. Finally an opportunity arose for him to ask how Harrison liked police work, now that he'd been in it for a while.
"I like it. The pay's much better than average in this town, and the pension plan and insurance are quite good, and you sure meet all kinds of people."
"I'd think it would get a little tiresome, going around leaning on people all the time."
"No, that's only part of it. Around here, you spend more time stopping trouble than you do tossing people into the tank. I mean, a couple of housewives get into an argument over which kid hit the other first, and one of them calls a cop, or you see 'em yelling at one another on the sidewalk. So you stand there and stroke your chin and help 'em get it off their chests, and after a while they go off, great buddies, with a date to go shopping together. It happens all the time, and I get a great kick out of it. I don't know how people get the idea that cops spend all their time pushing people around."
"Maybe it's just that a few of them give that impression. For instance, there's one guy on the force here-I don't know his name-a great big guy, tall, has a low, smooth voice, built like a truck-"
"We've got a couple, three big guys like that, but Ted Sloan is a real clown, and everybody in town knows it. And I wouldn't want to cross Mickey James, but he's about as mild acting as anybody I ever met, a real nice guy."
"Couldn't be the fellow I'm thinking of. At least, I don't think he'd strike anybody as mild."
Joe Harrison frowned and looked away from Richard. "You must mean Bull Chapman."
"Big? Smooth, low voice-"
"Yeah, yeah."
Still Harrison avoided looking at Richard. After a moment, the latter asked, "What's the matter, you got something against this Bull Chapman?"
"Aw, no, Bull's all right, I guess. Does his work okay, sometimes maybe he's a little rough. He's kind of a lone wolf, so I don't know him very well."
"I take it he's not very popular with the rest of the force."
Harrison shrugged. "We get along."
Thus far, Richard had no more than the name of a cop who might have been a little rough at times. He decided to take a chance.
"If he's the guy I think he is, I sure wouldn't want to buddy up to him. You know, Joe, there've been some rumors going around town about some cop who blackmails women. When he catches some woman cheating on her man, he makes her love him-"
"Oh, for God's sake, Dick!" Harrison, red-faced whirled around on him. "You're a big boy now. Don't you know any better than to believe that stuff? That story has been told everywhere you'll find a cop! The dirty minds and the cop haters keep it going to get a cheap thrill!"
"You don't think such a thing has ever happened? You don't think it could happen?"
"I didn't say that," Harrison said sulkily. "Of course it could happen, and at one time or another it probably has. But how often? Just because all cops don't wear haloes doesn't mean they're all no good, for God's sake."
Richard gave the man a minute to calm down.
"Of course not," he said at last. "But there are bad doctors and bad lawyers and bad everything else, even bad preachers. So why not an occasional bad cop-"
"You'll find 'em," Harrison said tersely. "I'm not denying that."
"And if someone were playing a crummy game such as I mentioned-which cop would be most likely to do it?"
Harrison didn't answer. He went to a refrigerator in the comer of the workshop and took out a couple of "shortie" bottles of beer. He opened them and gave one to Richard, and they both drank.
"Okay, Dick," he said, "what's bugging you? This summer heat just getting to you, or are you trying to find something out?"
Richard wondered if he should lay some of his cards on the table. He took a deep breath and said it: "I'm trying to find something out."
"What and why?"
"I can't say yet. Maybe I never will be able to say."
"But you're willing to pump me about the men I work with."
"Maybe I've got good reasons."
"Okay. I've got a good reason for telling you to lay off. Like I said, I work with Chap--with the other men on the force. So let's stay friends and talk about cameras."
They talked cameras and finished a couple more beers, and Richard tried to soothe any rumpled feelings. He felt that he had blundered. An amateur at intrigue, he had given away as much as he had learned, and he couldn't be sure that. Chapman was the man he was after.
After lunch he went to the public library, found the files of local newspapers, and started looking through them, working backward. Unfortunately, there was no index to which he could refer. Scanning the papers in hope of finding information seemed like a futile pursuit, but he knew of nothing better to do. In the next couple of hours, he came across a few references to minor arrests made by Carl Chapman, but nothing more. Finally he gave it up.
It occurred to him that he might do better by looking into the newspaper morgue, but it was his understanding that such information files were rather carefully guarded. In all the movies he had seen, the lead had had an old friend who got him the information, very conveniently, but Richard had no such contact. After some thought, he decided to give it a whirl just the same.
A long high desk divided the newspaper's front office. A pleasant looking middle-aged woman came up on the other side of the desk, and Richard identified himself. "I have a sociology paper to turn in before I can get credit for a course I took last spring," he told her "It's supposed to be three thousand words on the career of a policeman in a town like this. Now, I'd like to get some background material before I interview anybody, and if I get enough material, maybe interviews won't even be necessary. So if you could let me look into the files of a few local officers, say Carl Chapman and Ted Sloan and Mickey-Mickey-"
"Mickey James. Of course, Richard, but we can't let you take the files out of the office-"
"Oh, I understand that!"
He hadn't expected such ready accommodation. He followed the woman back into the office, where she offered him a small desk. She left him and returned a few minutes later with half a dozen files: large manila envelopes, labeled on the comers.
"If you need more," she said, "I'll be glad to get them for you."
"Thank you."
Richard shuffled through the envelopes and was happy to see that Chapman's was among them. He had picked up a pad of paper and an inexpensive ball point pen on his way over to the Clarion Freepress, so he could make a show of taking notes. He went through several files before turning to Chapman's: he was almost afraid of what he might-or might not find.
When he opened it, he found very little. Carl "Bull" Chapman had been something of an athletic hero in his high school days, according to one yellowed clipping. Several others referred to his athletic feats. That came to an end when he was kicked out of school on a J. D. charge-some kind of scandal which had been glossed over by the paper. All the news that's fit to print, Richard thought ironically. That was such a dead issue that it hadn't occurred to the woman who had given him the files that they might contain something reflecting badly on a cop. After all, a cop, like Caesar's wife, was supposed to be above suspicion.
Bull Chapman had gone into the army, and then there was a long gap in the file. He had been in the MPs and had been discharged three years ago. His high school JD record hadn't kept him off the force-that was dismissed as "kid stuff," no doubt; the announcement of his employment had mentioned only that he was a home town athletic hero who had returned after serving God and his country with distinction, as was quite proper, Richard reflected.
After that, there were only some notices of arrests and one picture which increased Richard's certainty that Bull Chapman was his man.
He returned the envelopes, thanked the woman who'd given them to him, and left.
He stood outside the newspaper office on the hot concrete, the late afternoon sun scorching his face, and he thought, Nothing! Nothing I can use at all! I'm going to have to kill him! I'm going to have to kill him!
He didn't know where to look or what to do next.
He stood there for a few minutes, panting lightly from the heat, sweat coming out on his forehead, and then headed across the street to a bar. He bought a beer and carried it to a booth, where he sat down to think.
The only thoughts which came to him were images: the beam of light suddenly hitting Laura and him, the huge figure of a man looming in the darkness. The threat to Laura and himself making her sob, making his own knees turn to jelly. The man's hands on Laura's breasts, his forcing her to kiss him. Bull Chapman taking Laura's naked body while she begged and screamed.
And Bull Chapman dead, dead, dead.., "Oh, my God...."
"You sick, kid? Heat getting you down?" The barman was looking at him worriedly. Richard hadn't realized that he'd spoken aloud. "Yes," he said, "the heat."
"Getting everybody," the barman said. "If we don't have rain and some coolness soon, everybody's going to get sick or go nuts. You should see the lawns over where I live...."
Over where he lived....
Where Bull Chapman lived....
Where did Bull Chapman live? The newspaper clippings referred to a couple of different addresses, and Chapman might have moved since the last one. It wouldn't hurt to know where the man lived, and Richard might be able to strike up a conversation with a neighbor. Something might emerge from such a chat.
He finished his beer and went to the phone booth in a front comer of the bar. Looking in the telephone book, he found only one Carl V. Chapman. The address was 1021 Corona, and Richard knew the neighborhood; a neighborhood of small houses crowded closely together. He left the bar, went to his wagon, and headed for Corona Street.
He had a sense of impending progress as he traced the numbers down. This might be his break; it had to be. He found the eight hundred block, the nine hundred block, and then his hopes dissolved, leaving him feeling sick. Since he had kst been in the neighborhood, three small apartment buildings had been erected in the ten hundred block. There went his chances of getting anything from a neighbor through a "chance" conversation. Even if he went knocking on doors, there was a good chance that Chapman's neighbors wouldn't even know who he was.
He parked in front of the second apartment building-1021-and had a cigarette. He thought of all the movies he had seen about crooked cops and clever police work and private eyes and skip-tracing and vendettas and evidence, and it all seemed silly to him. He laughed weakly. There was only one thing to do.
Kill the man.
But while he was here, he might as well check the address. And who could tell, maybe something useful would pop up yet.
He got out of the Nova and went into the building's closet-sized lobby. He went over the names on the mailboxes and soon found one labeled Carl V. Chapman. The apartment number was 2-B. He turned to the inner door and pulled it; it wasn't locked. Well, he'd know where to find Bull Chapman when he wanted him.
He turned to leave.
Through the glass outer door, he saw a man glancing at his station wagon and turning up the walk toward the building. He was a big man, tall, heavy as an ox, and he was wearing a flame-flowered sport shirt and shabby pants. He entered the small lobby. He had a broad bland face and large brown eyes, vacant of expression except for some spark deep within. His thin brown hair lay flat against his skull. He looked slightly startled as he saw Richard.
"Well, well," he said, "look who's here." His voice was low and smooth.
The man with the flashlight, the night stick, and the badge. Bull Chapman.
The big man blocked the exit. "Looking for something, kid?"
"Maybe. Minding my own business."
"Yeah, I'll bet. Just visiting an old friend in this building?"
"Looking for someone."
"Who? Maybe I can help you."
Richard didn't answer. His chest felt full and he was breathless. He felt fragile looking up at Bull Chapman. It was as if he were looking at some mythical beast who had suddenly sprung to life before his very eyes.
"Kid, you wouldn't be looking for trouble, would you? I saw you following me in your station wagon yesterday. Why would you want to do a thing like that, kid? And now I find you here. How come?"
Richard tried to skirt Bull and get to the door, but the big man sidestepped and blocked him.
"I asked, how come? I did you a favor the other night, you know that. Now, what do you want from me, kid?"
Richard's voice was hoarse. "Right now, all I want is to get out of here and go home."
Bull snickered. "Yeah, I'll bet. Maybe I ought to pull you in for something, say loitering where you got no business. How about that?"
"Go ahead."
Bull was silent. He licked his lips and rubbed the side of his neck where Richard noticed three long inflamed scratches.
"Say, kid, did that girl of yours tell you something to get you all riled up?"
"Maybe she did."
Bull grinned. "Trying to make you jealous, huh?"
Again, Richard started for the front door. Bull's hand shot out, caught him by the face, thumb and fingers digging in painfully, and slammed him back into a comer. Panic grew for Richard.
"She didn't tell me anything to make me jealous."
"Well, what did she tell you, kid?"
Richard didn't answer. His jaws were aching. Bull reached out and slapped him lightly but stingingly a couple of times.
"Speak up, sonny, what did she tell you? Did she tell you she flipped for me, is that it?"
The words were like barbed wire coming out of his throat. "She told me how you forced her-"
Bull's face seemed to expand with surprise. "How I force-I" The laugh was a single explosion. "Is that what she told you, kid? That I forced her?"
"You made her do that-"
"I made her all right, but if I forced her...." He shook his head, grinning with amusement. "Kid, I've got news for you! All I can say is, if I forced her, she sure as hell put on a good act!"
Richard raised his fists. "You louse...."
"Ah, ah!" Bull backed off from him in mock alarm.
"You louse."
"Don't blame me, kid, I can't help it if she likes a man. And I'm telling you, that little girl really knows how. But I guess you know that already. Of course, I've spoiled her for you now. And the next time I take her-and I plan to-"
Richard's fists came in toward his shoulders, his head went down, and his knees and back bent as if he were crumbling. Bull stepped in toward him for the kill.
"The next time your girl and I-"
He never got any further. Not Richard's first but his left elbow come up in a short swift arc to connect with Bull's chin and snap his head far back. The giant went rubber-legged and pigeon-toed. Before he could recover, the stiff fingers of Richard's right hand plunged deeply into his padded middle, and he doubled up to meet a a hard right knee that set him onto his heels again. A pile-driving right elbow slammed into his face, and Bull Chapman collapsed into a comer.
Richard looked down on the big man in surprise. He could hardly believe what had happened. Why, he's slow, he thought. Big and clumsy and slow. Right now I could chop him to pieces. Right now I could kill him.
It took several seconds for Bull's eyes to clear and to focus on Richard. They, too, showed surprise and disbelief. "Why, you little punk," he croaked. "I meant what I said! That little witch, she loved me! She practically begged for me! And I'm going to have her again, you hear me, I swear I'm going to take that little witch, and she'll love me!"
Richard put up an arm and leaned against the wall. As he looked down on Chapman, he felt utterly impersonal. He said quietly, "I'm going to kill you, Chapman."
The big man was getting his control back. He managed a grin. "Little man, big talk."
Richard smiled back. "I'm going to kill you."
"I'm going to get up from this floor and take you apart."
"Get up."
Richard made a slight move toward Bull Chapman. Chapman's grin faded.
Richard went out the door and walked toward his station wagon. As he got in and started the motor, he heard Chapman's voice roaring after him .
"You aren't going to kill anybody, punk! She loved me! She's going to get that again!"
Richard drove away without looking back.
CHAPTER SIX
Bull stopped shouting and pulled his head back into the lobby. Shouldn't do that, he told himself. Ought to keep my mouth shut.
He found that he was trembling. It was one of the few times in the past dozen years that he'd found himself put on his back. That kid, he would never have thought he had it in him. He'd caught Bull completely off guard, and he moved so damned fast that Bull hadn't even seen what was happening. All he knew was that something was happening, then his head had cleared and he was looking up at the kid.
Crazy kid, he should have murdered the punk. If he'd hit Richard just once, just one good one, he would have snapped him like a dry twig. The kid wouldn't have had a chance, not the chance of a snowball in hell.
He opened the inner door and started up the stairs to the second floor. He tried to make a joke of the incident as he went toward his apartment. Imagine that kid thinking he could lean on Bull Chapman! And saying that he'd kill him! He never came so close to getting murdered himself! He was just lucky, that's all! Still, the little twerp did show some spunk. Give the crazy kid his due.
He entered his apartment-two and a half rooms with a pullman kitchen in the foyer. He pulled up the screen on the kitchen and opened a quart of blended whiskey. He took a long swallow. There seemed to be a little motor whirring in his interior, and it didn't want to stop. It made him feel like pounding and clutching at things.
To think that that little punk would take a poke at big Bull Chapman!
That damned little witch must have spilled the whole works to him. What the hell did she have to do a thing like that for! She got her boy friend off the hook, and he wasn't talking to her old man, was he, and what more did she want, for God's sake!
Besides, she had loved that.
But, God, what if he had picked the wrong pigeon?
This Bristol kid's family, they were big. So was the Dale outfit big around here, maybe bigger than the Bristols, he didn't know. Together or apart, they threw around a hell of a lot of weight.
Maybe this Bristol punk was really dangerous. If he started poking around and found some things out. So far nobody had squealed, but anybody will sing if the price is high enough, and these people were rich. They wouldn't even have to find the real game; people like that in a small town like Adamsville could hang a frame on you as easy as A-B-C.
Maybe Richard wasn't alone in this. Surely he wouldn't have the guts to come snooping around Bull Chapman on his own, not a college punk like that.
Of course that kill-you business was just talk. But if the kid did do something crazy, his money would probably get him out of it. That's the way it was with these fancy people. Always giving a hard time to guys like Bull Chapman.
The kid must have something in mind to go snooping around like this.
Feeling hot and sweaty, Bull went into the bathroom. Automatically, he looked into the mirror. There was a raw looking place on his right jawbone and another on his left cheek. A broad red trickle which he hadn't even felt ran from his right nostril to his mouth, and for the first time he realized what the salty taste on his tongue was.
So the kid had actually drawn blood, huh?
That settled it. He hadn't been kidding when he said he was going to lay that little witch again.
The next morning, Joe Harrison was just going off duty when Bull entered the squad room. The two men were alone. They exchanged short nods and said nothing. Bull went to his locker and began getting into harness.
He wondered if he would run into the Bristol kid again today. He rather hoped that he would. Given half a chance, he'd run the little bugger off the streets. Nobody was in a position to harrass Bull Chapman, let alone swing on him, and the sooner he taught the kid that, the better. No need to let him think that just because his folks drank the more expensive brands of Scotch he could get away with monkeying with Bull. Yeah, he'd like to run into the kid.
Or, better yet, into Laura Dale, "Bull."
"Yeah?" It was Harrison, stepping over a bench and coming toward him.
"There's something maybe I ought to tell you."
"So say it." As far as Bull was concerned Harrison could say nothing worth listening to, but nothing.
Harrison hesitated, chewing the comer of his mouth.
"You got something to say, Harrison, say it, for God's sake," Bull commanded irritably.
Harrison shrugged and started to turn away. "Okay, it's no skin off my nose."
"Wait a minute! What have you got on your mind, Harrison?"
Harrison turned back again. "I wouldn't even mention it, except we work on the same force."
Bull suppressed an impulse to jeer. He said, "Sure we do, three years now."
"And somebody's been sort of asking questions about the force, and he seemed most interested in you-"
Something like a fist grabbed Bull Chapman's heart, and he couldn't hold the words back: "Who? Who's been asking about me?"
"Take it easy. Just a friend of mine-"
"I asked you who, damn it!"
Harrison's cheeks colored. "I said a friend of mine! I thought I ought to warn you-"
"Warn me, you louse? Who's this friend you're in with?"
"I'm not in with anybody-"
"It wouldn't be the Bristol kid, would it? Richard Bristol?"
Harrison was staring at him. "Maybe it was. What did you do to him, Bull?"
"None of your damn business. Nothing! Did he send you around here-"
"Hell, I work here, Bull! I only mentioned it because we work together-"
"Aargh!" With an expression of contempt, Bull shot out a flatiron palm at Harrison's chest. It connected hard, harder than Bull had intended. Harrison reeled backward, tripped on a bench, slammed loudly into a row of lockers, and fell to the floor.
For a moment Bull froze. His control was slipping and he didn't know what to do about it. He could get into trouble over a little thing like this.
He walked over to where Harrison had fallen. The man hadn't moved, but when Bull looked down on him, his eyes were open. And they burned with hatred.
"Sorry," Bull said, extending a hand to help Harrison up. "Accident."
Harrison ignored the proffered hand and climbed to his feet.
"Okay," Bull said, "I apologized, didn't I?" Harrison didn't look at him. He dusted off his slacks and left the room without a word. "Sorehead!" Bull yelled after him. God, he thought, they're ganging up on me....
"Richard," his mother's voice came up the stairs and into his room. "There's someone here to see you."
It wasn't Laura or his mother would have said so. It flashed through his mind that it might be Chapman, but that didn't make sense. Without wondering further, he got off his bed and started down stairs.
He had lapsed into numbness. He had walked into a dead end, both in reference to doing something about Chapman and in his emotional state. He had believed his intuition that he was going to kill the man, and he had meant it when he made his threat in the lobby of the apartment building-or rather he had believed the voice he'd heard coldly saying, I'm going to kill you. But now all that seemed a hundred years past, part of a dream. He felt as cold and numb and emotionally drained as his voice had been.
His caller was Joe Harrison. Richard took a couple of quarts of beer out of the refrigerator, and they went out onto the back steps to talk.
"You still interested in Bull Chapman?" Harrison asked.
"Yes."
"I've decided I owe him nothing. I think he wants it that way, so he can have it that way. Shall I tell you about him?"
"I'd appreciate it."
As it turned out, Harrison had very little that was solid to offer. Bull Chapman didn't seek popularity with his fellow officers, and he didn't get it. He was the perpetual stranger on the force. Everyone would just as soon have gotten rid of him if possible, but on the whole he did his work well, though sometimes with unnecessary harshness. Now and then, he'd come in full of buddy-buddy spirit, but it rang false and it never lasted long. He was given to sudden shifts of mood, and he might be full of the old Santa Claus for ten minutes and abruptly turn sullen and mean. For the most part, he simply went his own silent way and let others go theirs.
"What about female companionship?" Richard asked.
"I don't really know. Every now and then he gets one of these jolly streaks and hints broadly about what ladies' man he is and how this dame or that one maybe isn't as pure as she makes out to be, and then he gets a real foul mouth. He's supposed to have a girl friend on the sly-Lily Wylie. Maybe you remember her. She was in high school with us, a year ahead of me. She was Lily Masters then. She's married to Tad Wylie, a real troublemaker, works at the foundry and hangs out at Brownie's Tavern all the time."
Richard didn't place either Lily or Tad. "What about those rumors about blackmailing women?"
Harrison frowned down at his beer. "Well, like I said, that's an old story. There have been rumors around here, and naturally everybody who knows him thinks about Bull." He looked up at Richard. "There was a widow who hanged herself a couple of years ago. You may remember. There was a stink because she left a note saying a policeman made her do it, but it got out she was crazy. There've been other things-like you asking questions." He looked down at his beer again. "If you ever tried to take care of a guy like that, Dick, I think I'd look the other way, so let's just say our little talks have never happened. My God, I think I'd help you kill the guy myself!"
When Bull Chapman returned to Adamsville, Lily Masters was twenty-one years old. When he first noticed her, she was twenty-two. She had married Tad Wylie, and they had moved into a house on Hudson Street, right around the comer from Brownie's place and handy to the foundry.
She was a hell of a good-looking woman. About five feet seven, she was well filled out; she had dark eyes and a mass of dark, naturally curly hair which she kept brushed to a sheen. She liked to wear dark slacks which hugged her well-rounded buttocks and white shirts tailored to emphasize her full high bosom. They were tight enough to show her bra and cut low enough in front to reveal a bit of lace.
She and Tad frequently visited Brownie's together, and Tad always seemed to have an eye on her. Nobody blamed him; she was a woman whom, once known, no man would want to lose. A couple of men had lost teeth for getting too fresh with Lily while Tad was around. He was a tall husky hooligan type with a temper that was next door to murder, and when he'd had a few drinks, he didn't mind taking on the house.
The trouble for the male population was that Lily was hard to resist. Not only was she extremely attractive, but she had a wild good humor, a raucous laugh, and an up from under-look-with-a-smile that promised all kinds of delights to a man if he ever managed to get her alone. She might be dancing with some guy to Brownie's juke box, Tad paying little attention other than to urge Lily to "show 'em how, baby." But if the guy got a little too close to her or if his hand strayed or if he looked at her in the wrong way, two minutes later he wouldn't be fit to feed to the dogs.
Bull started hanging around Brownie's, and he noted all this-from the size of Lily's boobs to the size of Tad's jealousy. He noticed other things as well. He saw that Lily wasn't always under Tad's eye. Very often, Tad would show up at Brownie's alone. At other times, Lily would arrive with him but leave early. He noticed prowling around on the side. Maybe Lily was all tease that, jealous as he was of Lily, Tad wasn't adverse to and no action, with her skin-tight slacks and shirts, but if she wasn't, there must have been nights when Tad left her starved.
Bull watched and noted everything.
Of course, Lily wasn't the only dame he had in mind. She was just one possibility out of a number. Bull not only found occasional fair game, but he had more than one dame, married and single, who was willing to take care of him. But Lily was such a good-looking dame that he tended to single her out and, by hanging around Brownie's, he managed to pick up a nodding acquaintance with her and Tad.
The more he watched, the more he became convinced that Lily wasn't losing much when Tad stepped out on her; she managed to get her share of the action. And he waited to get his share of that, too.
He had to wait a good many months before he got his chance, but the time finally came. Lily and Tad showed up at Brownie's one May evening, and Tad proceeded to get loaded. Lily seemed to be getting loaded too, though as far as Bull could see, she was drinking very little. After about three hours, she began groggily to complain that she was tired and wanted Tad to take her home. Tad, however, was in the mood to keep the party going, if possible all night. A couple of dames of dubious status who hung out at the joint suggested that the party be carried to their place, and Tad was all for it. He told Lily to stop bugging him and go on home to bed, if she had to be a party-pooper. Lily whined drunken complaints, but did as she had been told. Twenty minutes later, Tad and some others took off for the dames' place.
Bull remained behind. He observed all of it and was part of none of it.
He nursed his beer while a few people came and went, then left as unobtrusively as possible himself.
He looked in front of the Wylie house. The only light he saw came from a side window. Tad's MG wasn't parked out front. Then he went around the comer, made sure that he was unobserved, and entered the alley that led behind the house. He looked into the garage, and the MG wasn't there either.
He cautiously crossed the scruffy back yard and climbed one end of the steps onto the back porch. Except for the screen, the back door was open, and the kitchen was in darkness. He pulled at the screen very carefully. It was unhooked, and he eased it open a fraction of an inch at a time, though without wasting an instant.
He entered the kitchen and eased the screen closed again. Floor boards creaked as he crossed the room, but he held the noise to a minimum. His eyes were becoming accustomed to the darkness, and soon he could see quite well. He spotted the hall and entered it. A few yards away, a partly open door showed a faint light the same light Bull had seen from outside.
He heard something: the creak of a bed spring.
He listened carefully, and he heard more. Lily's voice hissing urgently, "Hurry! I need you! Don't stop now, go ahead. That's great, ah, sweetie! Oh, more, more!" And then a pause. "Finished already?"
Bull hurriedly pulled back into the kitchen. He moved to one side, away from the doors and the windows and squatted down in a comer.
He heard a few scurrying sounds, and a moment later a man he recognized as Mike Treyfus, another foundry worker who hung out at Brownie's, quickly crossed the kitchen and went out the back door.
Just as quickly, Bull straightened up and entered the hall. He went to the bedroom door and looked in.
"Hello, Lily."
"What the hell!"
She was still lying on the bed, one naked leg dangling over the side. Her shirt was open and her unhooked bra was up around her neck. Her slacks and panties hung from the ankle that was on the bed. Her figure was all that her clothing had promised it would be. Her boobs were great round white balls with large pink-brown buttons sticking way out. They hung from a narrow, deep chest above a thin waist, which in turn led to wide hips. Her long legs were neatly tapered. Bull, already excited, took her all in as he leaned against the doorjamb, his arms crossed on his chest.
Lily sat up and started pulling her panties and slacks back on. "You better get your frame out of here. Bull Chapman!" she said angrily. "If my husband catches you here "He's out for the night."
"You can't tell! You can't tell what he might do!"
"To you, Lily?"
"To you, you louse!"
"I don't think so. He may be grateful when I tell him how you've been cheating on him and give him names and dates. Like Mike Treyfus tonight. He's not going to doubt the word of an honest cop like me-"
"Why, you louse!"
"Now, don't say that. I'm not an unreasonable man. I'm willing to make a deal."
"Blackmail? I haven't got any money-"
"Who said anything about money?"
Lily was now standing before him, struggling to get her clothing up. She had pulled her panties and slacks to the tops of her legs. Bull took three quick steps forward, and clutched her.
Lily pulled back as if he bad burned her. "You filthy louse." She swung her left hand up solidly against his cheek. Then she reached for a pair of shears that glittered on a bedside table under a lamp.
Bull grabbed her by the wrist and the throat and shook her. "Drop that, Lily! Drop that!"
The twin blades fell to the floor. At the same time, her clothing began to slide back down her legs.
"Kick those pants off, Lily." He gave her another shake. "Get 'em off."
Lily kicked free of her slacks and panties.
"You're hurting me, you louse!"
"Are you going to do what I want-to keep my mouth shut?"
She nodded.
Still holding her wrist and her throat, Bull made her sit down on the edge of the bed. "Open my clothes," he ordered.
She did as she was told. She took a deep breath and reached out to touch him.
"You like this, eh? You're going to love this."
He made her lie back on the bed, and again she had one leg up, the other hanging to the floor. He pulled a foot free of his clothing and placed a knee on the bed. He released his grip on her throat and brought his hand to one breast, flipping her bra out of the way. For a moment he caressed the breast, squeezing and pinching, making the pink-brown tip stick out further than ever.
Her eyes dimmed. He released her wrist and brought that hand to the other breast. Then he brought his first hand down.
He grinned. "You're ready, Lily. I guess you've been ready for a long time. Maybe you're always ready."
"Yes," she murmured, reaching for him. He bent his knees and half sat on the bed, one foot still on the floor. He allowed her very slowly to do what she wanted.
He unbuttoned his shirt, pulled that off, and tossed it on the bed beside them. Lily looked at his naked body. He grinned and flexed his muscles, making them twitch and dance.
"How do you like that, Lily?"
She sighed. "You bum. How do you like that? You never had things so good."
"Neither have you, baby."
He reached for her breasts, took them with hard hands, and squeezed them. Then he came forward onto his elbows and took one bulging tip to his mouth.
"Damn you, Bull Chapman," she murmured, "live up to your name. Be a bull. I want to know what that's like to have a bull."
Bull worked. He took his time, exercising more control than he ever had before in his life, and she gave him as good as he was able to give. He managed to keep going past her first peak and bring her to her second before his own end-pleasure took over.
Afterward, she looked at him and grinned. "You're not bad," she said. "You're better than most of my husband's friends."
She became his one steady woman, the nearest thing he had to a friend. He confided freely in no one, but he did tell her more than he told anyone else, and he didn't make any secret of the fact that he had other women whenever the opportunity arose. Now and then, he tried egging her into admitting that she still had other guys on the string, but she would never tell him one way or the other.
On the day he had trouble with Joe Harrison, Bull went to Brownie's soon after getting off duty. Half an hour later Lily and Tad came in. They sat down in Bull's booth and chatted until Tad saw some friends come in and went to join them at the bar. Lily kept on talking to Bull, but he hardly heard a word she said. Finally she asked him what was wrong.
"Nothing's wrong. Why?"
"You keep squirming and frowning and your mind's a million miles away. What's bugging you?"
At last he told her. "There's this kid, last Friday night I took his girl away from him. Gave her the thrill of her life, and she really went for me. But I guess she gave the show away to the kid, and now he's haunting me. I think he's out to make trouble."
"What's he been doing?"
"Following me around in his car, asking questions about me, going to where I live." Lily laughed. "So what?"
"So this kids name is Richard Bristol, that's what. His family is big around here. They could make trouble."
Lily looked incredulous. "Is that all? A kid gets jealous and snoops around because you tried his girl? And you get worried?"
"Maybe you didn't hear me. This kid is Richard-Richard Bristol, I knew him in high school. So what?" Lily sucked at a bottle of beer. "You want to know something, Bull? For all your muscle, there's something craven about you."
"You want that beer bottle pushed through your teeth?"
"I'd like to see you try that with Tad around. Who was the girl?"
"What's the difference?"
She shrugged and patted his hand. "Just save a little for momma."
"Tonight?"
Lily didn't answer; she seemed to be thinking something out. "Yeah," she said after a minute. "I seem to remember that Richard Bristol was real cute, even when he was fourteen. I don't see him around anymore. Is he a wild kid?"
"I don't know. I don't think so. Probably thinks he's better than anyone else. Goes with nice girls, beds 'em, and gets real shook at the idea that they'd fall for anyone else, let alone the hoi polioi like me."
Lily was squinting, as if seeing something distantly. "Yeah. And now he's all full of self-righteousness and dreams of revenge, 'cause his girl is supposed to be better than us common cats."
"You got the picture."
"His girl cheated on him and now he's going to get even."
"That's what I was saying. And the squirt is bugging me."
Lily wrinkled her nose. "You bug easy. But it might be kind of fun to take some of the starch out of little him, you know that?"
"I catch him again, I'll take plenty out of him."
"Nuts."
For some time Lily was silent, which was perfectly all right with Bull. He had enough on his mind without having to put up with cracks from Lily-the situation could become serious whether she believed it or not. His mind drifted off in thoughts of what he'd like to do to Richard Bristol and what he planned to do to Laura Dale at the first opportunity, and he was startled when Lily spoke again.
"Yeah, I don't think you better come over tonight, Bullsie. Little Lily has other plans."
After Harrison left. Richard continued in his funk. He went back to his room and lay down on his bed. He told himself that he had to think, but the thoughts didn't come. What confidence he had in himself and his abilities as an adult was bleeding away, thanks to his ineffectualness in taking care of Bull Chapman. He remembered Bull's words, Little man, big talk, and they struck him as only too true. What good was he? What could he do for Laura? He felt so impotent that he didn't even want to see her or talk to her.
When the telephone call came that evening, he didn't know how to react to it. He felt a jolt of surprise but little more.
"Hello, Dick," the woman's voice said. "I don't suppose you remember me. but we were in school together. I was three years ahead of you-Lily Masters."
"Oh, yeah-yeah-I think I remember," Richard lied.
"I'm married now-I married Tad Wylie. Do you know him?"
"No, I don't think so."
"Well, what I called you about, Dick. Gosh, I'm almost afraid to mention it. Look, you can keep things confidential, can't you?"
"Yes, of course, what is it?"
"You've been asking around about-" there was fright in her voice, "-about Bull Chapman, I understand."
"Who told you that?"
"Never mind. Word gets around. If you want to know about Bull Chapman, I can tell you, and I can tell you plenty."
Something like excitement began to stir in Richard. "Well, go ahead."
"No. No, I can't right now. My husband may show up at any minute, and he mustn't know about this."
Richard saw something like a pattern: a man, his woman-and Bull Chapman. "I understand. Where can we meet?"
"My place. But that'll have to be late, after my husband has gone to work. He's on the night shift until Saturday. Can you come to my house tonight, say some time after midnight?"
"Yeah, if that's best."
"It is, Dickie, believe me. My husband is so jealous, he's almost as bad as Bull Chapman, and that's going some. You come tonight, and we'll talk, and-and I'm sure I can tell you things you ought to know."
"All right, Lily, I'll be there. Where do you live?"
She gave him the address. "But come up the alley and in the back way. Don't let the neighbors see you, and don't be surprised if there aren't any lights."
"You can expect me." ltl
CHAPTER SEVEN
Thus far his puny efforts had produced so little in the way of results that Richard was inclined to be skeptical as to whether Lily could help him. He remembered that Harrison had said something about Lily being Bull's girl, and it did seem likely that she was one of his victims; the jealous-husband bit fit. But Lily wanted to talk to him in confidence, which meant he could only hope that she would furnish him with another lead. Still, meeting Lily was better than lying around doing nothing.
A little before ten o'clock that evening, Richard left the house. He was fortunate in that, as a general rule, he didn't have to account for his comings and goings. As long as he announced that he would be out late,, he was left to do as he pleased, and more than once he had stayed overnight with a friend and arrived home the next morning to find that no one had been aware of his absence. On this particular evening, he simply announced that he was going to be out late and that no one need wait up for him, and nothing was said about it.
He went to Brownie's Tavern to kill time. Considering that it was a week night, the place was fairly busy, but he had no trouble in cornering an empty booth near the back. He drank his first whiskey and soda fast and nursed his second.
He wondered if he should have phoned Laura and told her he had a new lead in his effort to "take care of Bull Chapman"-whatever that meant; at the moment he wasn't at all certain that he knew-but he decided he was right in not doing so. If this didn't pay off, she wouldn't be disappointed.
The moment he had determined this, he saw through it as a rationalization. The fact was that he and Laura were no longer on intimate terms. They hadn't even kissed since "that night." When he had taken her out for a drive on Sunday, he had spoken his piece, and after that they had had little to say to one another. Whatever they had once shared, Bull Chapman had ruined it, and Richard had failed to salvage it.
The result was that it was un-likely that he and Laura would ever be married.
He hadn't thought of this before, and the idea had little impact now. It merely added to the dull sick ness he felt. That didn't change his obligation to do something about Chapman-if he could; but it did leave him feeling lonelier than he had ever been in his life.
Yes, he was sure of it-he had lost Laura. She didn't want to look at him, and he had no way of saying the right words to her. He might as well forget the whole deal and start living like a guy without a woman of his own. He tried to tell himself that his current way of thinking was merely the result of his deep depression, made worse by the liquor he was consuming, but he failed to convince himself.
He realized that he was staring at a man at the bar. The man was about thirty, tall and well muscled, with mean slit-eyes. He had the vague familiarity of someone Richard had seen around town for years and might even have talked to on occasion. The name Tad Wylie came to mind, and he wondered if the connection were only in his imagination. Maybe he did know who Lily's husband was. Then he heard a barman address the man as Tad: yes, this must be the husband. An uneasiness stole over Richard. He would hate to have this bozo catch him alone with his wife. He felt relieved when Wylie at last left, probably to go to work. He had another drink and watched the time tick by.
When it was well past midnight, he left Brownie's Tavern. He had no difficulty in locating Lily's house, and he followed her directions and approached it by way of the alley. From there, he could see that a light was on in the kitchen, though the shades were drawn. They were quite opaque, but slits of light showed like needles.
He looked around carefully and, as far as he could tell, there were no prying eyes. He crossed the lawn and went up on the porch. As he knocked on the frame of the screen, he wondered dully what he would do if Tad Wylie were to open the door.
The door was opened immediately and not by Tad. A woman's face, darkly framed with curly hair, looked out through a crack. She smiled and said, "Dick!" and opened the door for him. He went in.
He didn't get a good look at her until after she had closed the door. She was a very good-looking young woman, pink-cheeked and dark-eyed, and she was wearing an ankle-length pink peignoir over a knee-length white nightie. Not much showed through, but what showed suggested that she had quite a figure.
"My God, let me look at you," she said. "I've hardly seen you in years-just now and then at a distance on the street."
She was grinning at him and he tried to return a friendly smile. She was obviously glad to see him, and there was something familiar about her.
"You haven't changed, Dick," she said, "except to turn into a man and get a hell of a lot handsomer. Have I changed?"
"Got more beautiful."
She laughed. "I'm glad that you appreciate the fact."
Richard reflected that whatever Bull Chapman had done to Lily Wylie, he obviously hadn't killed her spirit He decided to get to business immediately. "Lily, what do you have to tell me about Chapman?"
Her grin faded. "Dick, I hope you don't take offense, but I've been worried ever since I called you. That Bull is a mean customer."
His slim hope grew slimmer. He thought of assuring her that he'd take care that she wouldn't be hurt, but in the light of what had happened to Laura, that seemed ridiculous or even pathetic.
Maybe it was the look on his face which made her change her tune. "Oh, look, I'm not saying I won't tell you, but I do think we ought to get reacquainted first. After all, a girl can't be too careful. Am I being unreasonable?"
"Of course not."
"Good." As she said it, she gave Richard an up-from-under look and smiled. It was a smile that suggested that they already shared intimate secrets, and it made Richard feel boyishly pleased and somehow a little embarrassed.
"Sit down," she said jovially, indicating the kitchen table. "Take off your shoes, open your shirt, make yourself comfortable-God, it's hot, isn't it! I'm dying!"
For the first time that day it struck Richard that it was hot. He'd been beyond any such observations, but now he found that he was wet with sweat. The night had brought no relief from the summer heat.
"I'm drinking ice water and Scotch sours," Lily said, taking a small pitcher of yellow liquid from the refrigerator. "I make my sours real sour. Is that all right with you?"
"Fine."
Richard had some trepidation about the sours. He'd never had one, and he'd already drunk three whiskeys that evening: his stomach was still warm with them. But then he figured that the ice water he'd be drinking would dilute the liquor. Or was extra fluid supposed to send alcohol into the blood stream all the faster? He had forgotten.
She poured the drinks and shoved one across the table to him. When he tasted it, he forgot his fears, for there was scarcely any alcohol taste at all.
"Like it?" Lily asked.
"It's very good."
"Finish it and I'll pour you another."
While Richard drank the rest of his sour, Lily came around the table toward him.
"Hey, you know, Richard baby, it's been ages, and you haven't even given me a hello kiss." Before he could speak, she leaned down, smiling at him, and put her mouth softly, then more firmly, on his. She held her lips there for a moment, moving but slightly, then pulled away, smiling again. "There. Now that's like old times." She sat down near him and picked up her drink. "And here's to new times."
Though Lily seemed unaware of that, the apparently innocent kiss had had an effect on Richard. Still at the tag end of his adolescence, he was far from having complete control of his body. On top of this, it had been a month since he'd had any kind of action whatever; it had been eight months before that that he'd last been with a woman. While not completely inexperienced, he was quite vulnerable, and the breach between him and Laura didn't make him any less so.
The result was that when Lily's lips moved to his, he felt a definite and uncontrollable tug. He tried to restrain himself, but it was several minutes before he began to feel at ease again.
And even thereafter he retained an awareness of Lily which he hadn't had before. He couldn't forget that she was a particularly attractive female, one with a built-in invitation in her eyes and a seductive body under her night clothes. The front of her peignoir came open, and he saw the unconfined movement of her large breasts under the lace of her nightie. As she leaned across the table to pour him another sour or some water, her breasts threatened to fall out, though she didn't seem to realize that.
She began to talk about high school days, mentioning teachers and students whom Richard had known, telling of amusing experiences she had had, and drawing anecdotes from Richard. Her sense of humor was infectious, and for the first time in over four days, he found himself relaxing and smiling without pain. It was as if. for the moment, at least, he'd found a safe harbor where he could relax from the problem and the despair which had beset him. He was in a comfortable kitchen, having a few good drinks with a beautiful young woman who liked him and made him feel good. He stretched his legs out comfortably under the table, and he felt a warm pleasure when Lily's legs happened to touch his. He found himself slipping off his moccasins as he talked and unbuttoning the front of his shirt to let the sweat run down more freely.
A weight left Richard's spirit. Laura and Bull Chapman and all that had happened could now be forgotten, if only for a short time. This was a respite during which he could gather his diminished strength and discover that there was still a possibility for joy and happiness in his life.
Lily seemed to have an inexhaustable supply of scandalous stories, most of them funny as she told them, about the people of Adamsville and her stories grew more scandalous and more funny as they continued to talk. She told about two men, the best of friends, who couldn't understand why their wives didn't get along. It finally came out that each wife thought that the other one thought that her husband was the better lover. The disgusted men had then brought them together and showed them that there was no practical difference, each bedding the other's wife to demonstrate that the performance was much the same, and the women had become friends.
In another case, a girl-whom Richard knew found out that her two best girl friends envied her very much for her boy friend, perhaps because neither of the girl friends had much romance in life. The idea of having the boy friend love either of the other two was, of course, unthinkable. But the girl solved things in a very satisfactory manner, from her standpoint. She asked her boy friend for a very special favor. He came to her house one evening and stripped, and she blindfolded him. He was honor bound to try no tricks. Then one of the girl friends entered the room and, never saying a word which might reveal her identity, proceeded to find her pleasure. A little later, the other girl came in and did the same, and both girls then went home, and the boy friend stayed the rest of the night. This solution had worked out so well that even after the two were married she continued to bring home an occasional girl friend to her blindfolded husband. She wasn't jealous in the slightest as long as he never knew who he was giving pleasure to, which kept things quite impersonal on his side. On the contrary, she was quite proud of her husband's ability to satisfy any female she brought home to him.
This story, on top of a number of others, reduced both Richard and Lily to helpless laughter. When they had both regained their breath, Lily stood up from the table, saying, "God, it's not cooling off a bit!" She plucked at her peignoir. "It's this damned nylon. It's the hottest stuff in the world."
With that, she took the pink garment off and laid it over a chair. As she went over to a small table radio and turned it on, Richard saw far more of her figure than he had before. Sweat made the white nightie cling to her hips and buttocks, so that flesh tones showed through. When the radio came on softly, playing a rhumba, and she turned toward him, he saw that the same thing was true in front; the nightie clung to her pinkly. He thought of incidents in some of the stories she had been telling him, and he averted his gaze.
"Do you remember the high school dances, Dick baby? Know how to rhumba?" '"A little."
He joined her and, smiling at one another, they danced to the end of the number. Then a twist came on, and they kept right on dancing.
Richard didn't quite know the variation she was doing, but he knew how to keep up with her and even to her, or so he thought. He danced with less inhibition than he ever had before, and it occurred to him that perhaps the sours had been stronger than he had thought: maybe a sour had a way of disguising the taste of Scotch.
As they twisted before one another, her hands move up and down in planes as if longing to touch his body, and his hands described her curves. She pivoted before him, wiggling her hips. Near the end of the number, she opened his shirt, started poking her forefinger at his stomach. Not to be outdone, he repeatedly thrust a forefinger at her soft breasts and then, in a burst of daring, plucked at them through the cloth but didn't release them, instead rolling them with thumb and finger.
The number came to an end. Lily knocked his hands away from her and, laughing, fell into his arms.
"Oh, Richard baby, I haven't had so much fun in so long! Why don't you give me just one more tiny kiss for old times sake!"
He had little choice. Her body was against his and her lips were moving closer. He couldn't think. Their lips met, and there was a moment of near-unconsciousness. Then Richard became aware that neither of them was moving, except for the slightest flutter of her lips against his. He became aware of the softness of her breasts, crushed against him, of the pressure of her legs against his, of his passion. He remembered learning that dancing was originally a prelude to love and still had that function in some places.
He didn't think about what happened next; that simply happened. He pressed against Lily. She leaned against him. Everything went hazy, and it struck him that he must be pretty drunk-drunk with liquor and getting drunker with Lily.
She stopped the motion of her body and pulled her head back, gazing into his eyes. "Thank you, Dick," she said softly. "Thank you. You don't know how much a woman needs someone friendly and sympathetic, someone like you. It's a man's world and a woman needs someone like you for a friend. You don't think I'm awful for kissing you like that, do you?"
"Of course not, Lily. I m grateful. You re wonderful girl."
"Oh, Dick...."
As she brought her face toward his again, one strap of her nightie came off her shoulder and the material slid off her breast. He had only a glimpse of a large pink-brown tip, tautly erect, before that hit his bare chest and was buried between them, a hard nub in the midst of softness. Again they kissed.
When the kiss ended, Lily stepped back from him. Her lips were thick from passion and her eyes had a sleepy glow. She glanced at her naked breast as if noticing that for the first time and casually pulled her strap back up, covering herself.
She shook her head to clear it. turned a smile on him, and said, "Well! Maybe that's enough of that! Care to dance?"
"I don't know if I could," Richard croaked, and suddenly they both bent double with laughter.
Richard staggered, and Lily said, "What's the matter, you're not going to pass out on me?"
"Oh no, far from it. I'm all right."
Lily turned off the radio. "I know what you need. Sit down in a chair."
Richard did as he was told, and Lily came up behind him and put her hands on his shoulders. "Now, relax."
For a full minute her hands ground and pinched his shoulders and the back of his neck, and that felt very good. But she wasn't satisfied. "We can do better than this."
She led him into a hall and into another room. When she turned on a lamp, he saw that this was the bedroom. Before he could formulate any thought or reaction, she said in a no-nonsense voice, "Lie down on your face. Right in the middle of the bed."
He did as he was told, and a moment later she started to massage his shoulders, then paused. She worked his arms out of his shirt and tossed that aside. "Now, don't go to sleep for me," she said. "I expect lots of appreciation."
He did appreciate the massage she was giving him. Strong capable hands worked over his shoulders and upper arms. They moved down, working and pounding every muscle of his back. "Hey, you're good!" he said.
"You're damned right, I am."
She shifted her position and started in on his upper legs and buttocks, but again she wasn't satisfied. Raise up," she said, "I want to unfasten your belt."
"Hey, if your husband-"
"He won't be home for hours, the bum. Raise up."
He let her pull off his trousers, and his socks went with them. He wasn't particularly startled at being asked to do this. He'd been to many a party at grad houses at school, and they had sat around on the floor, listening to jazz, drinking beer, and giving massages and back scratches. Slacks had come down now and then and bra straps had been unhooked, and that had all been very pleasant and sensual and had never gone any farther than that.
In those days, too, a massage of the legs had stimulated him, though not as much as now, with Lily doing that. Not only did she pound the muscles, but one hand slid soothingly over his legs. That shot shivers through him and, thanks to the alcohol, he didn't feel like fighting that. He let his pleasure build and felt wonderful. After a few moments, Lily grasped the waist of his tight shorts and pulled the back down in order to massage his bare buttocks, and he sighed with pleasure.
Her hands left him and her weight moved on the bed up to beside his chest. "Roll over," she said.
Sitting beside him, she went to work on his chest. But she didn't stay there long. Her gripping, squeezing fingers were transferred to below his ribs.
Then she did what he found he wanted her to do. She lifted the white fabric and pushed his shorts down his legs.
She sat looking at him for a moment. She said quietly, "You're good, Richard. I'll bet you'd be good for a woman." Then she put one hand out and began touching him-gentle touches, caresses, scratches, strokes. Both of her shoulder straps fell, and her nightie slipped down from her breasts. He had never seen any quite like them, so round and large with such extended tips.
He reached out and touched a breast, his palm turning, his fingers dragging. Lily sighed and pressed against his hand. Then she fell over on the bed beside him. She pulled herself against him so that they could kiss and she could move against his chest.
Richard had long ago lost his volition. Still moving a tip with one hand, he reached between them with the other.
"Richard," she whispered.
"Lily?"
"You're so good to me. You're making me feel-o good. I'll always be grateful to you."
"I should be grateful-"
"No. I don't know what I'd do without you tonight. I need you so. Oh, Richard, I need you."
She pulled away from him and sat up. She slipped her nightie over her head and threw that away. Then she lay down again.
He rolled against her. Then she directed him, and he took her.
Perhaps because of the alcohol, that lasted for a long time. Lily sighed and smiled luxuriously. She murmured his praises: "Oh, you're so good, Richard, you make me feel like a woman again. Oh, you're so good, such a man. You know what to do with a woman."
Gradually the pace picked up. Lily grew incoherent. Suddenly, she cried out. Richard kept working. Lily gasped and clutched at him. At last she called out, "I'm there, darling!" and Richard found himself at the last moment of agonizing pleasure.
When that was over, he must have dozed, for he was aware that Lily was trying to get him to drink a large mug of black coffee. He awakened quickly, and as he drank the last of the coffee, she began playing with him. His power and his need for her soon returned. He dragged her onto the bed with him, biting at her breast. "Baby, baby," she murmured, and he felt her mouth closing on him. They slid and shifted like two wrestlers. "Oh, Richard," she whispered, "make me happy again. I'll go crazy if you don't. Oh, I need you, lover." Richard, easing forward, began to please her. "Oh, thank you, thank you...."
And once again they worked until they broke through into the shattering end-pleasure.
The faintest light appeared at the crack under the shade, and Richard realized that soon he'd have to be going. He also realized that he'd been quite drunk and that he'd forgotten completely why he'd come here. Now he was sobering, but he was still subject to the sensual warmth of the woman who lay naked beside him, her head on his shoulder. Her hand moved over him and his passion began to return. He reached for one of her breasts, pinching, and she snuggled closer to him and moved her hand.
But time was running out and he had to talk to her. He tried to restrain his body.
"Lily, don't you think you'd better tell me about Bull Chapman now?"
"What about Bull Chapman?" she asked drowsily.
"Whatever you had in mind when you called me."
She laughed. "You'd better be careful of Bull, Dick. You're a good man on a mattress, but if he gets mad at you, he'll break you into small pieces."
"Maybe so, but ask him who bloodied his nose the other day."
"What have you got against Bull, Dickie?"
He didn't answer, and her hand continued to send shocks through him.
"He get wise with some girl you know?"
"Maybe something like that."
"If I were you, I'd forget him."
"It's not that easy."
"Oh, the hell it isn't! So maybe he tricked your girl. For one thing, she probably liked that no matter what she told you-I know I sure did when Bull first found me. And for another, why should you get all upset over your girl being with another guy when you've been with me all night? And don't tell me you haven't loved every minute." She laughed.
He listened to her with mounting horror and despair. "Bull put you up to-"
"To seducing you? Hell, no. This was my own idea, and man, was that easy! But look at things this way-Bull tried your girl and now you've seen his. And done a damned good job. So why go nosing around and getting yourself hurt? Relax and enjoy life."
"This is not that easy." His words sounded inane. They might as well have been talking different languages.
"Sure this is. Your little girl doesn't even have to know that you've been with another woman. Hell, you've turned out better than I ever expected, Dick, and I want you to come back! So just take life easy and live longer."
He felt utterly lost. Whatever he did, he showed himself to be a fool, a pawn others could manipulate as they pleased. They could rape his girl, they could seduce him, they could chide or spank him like a child, and he was left with nothing, not even his self-respect.
"I ought to go, Lily," he said mildly.
She laughed. She raised up to put her month on his chest. She bit, and teased him with her hands. She gave him a long kiss. Then she leaned forward to lower her great pink brown globes to his face.
"Not yet, baby," she said with a smile. "'Cause momma wants you one more time. And she's getting you."
He went home to bed, but he didn't sleep. Even the soporific effects of liquor and love could bring him nothing more than a light doze.
He got up at noon, took a shower, and ate a roll for lunch. Then he drove over to the Dale house.
Laura's father greeted him at the door, and he sensed that something was wrong: Mr. Dale was seldom at home on a weekday afternoon. His face was gravely worried.
"Richard," he said, "I wish you'd tell me-have you and Laura had some kind of quarrel?"
"No. sir." He wondered if it would be better to lie. "At least, nothing important. Maybe a mood-thing, if you know what I mean-"
"I mean something important. Perhaps your so-called mood-thing is more important than you realize."
"Is something wrong, sir?"
Mr. Dale threw up his hands. "I don't know! It would certainly seem so, and we've been thinking of sending Laura to a doctor. She's been acting so oddly lately, won't eat, won't talk, up in the middle of the night. At first I thought it was simply, well, the usual thing, but it's done beyond that. If you know of anything, if you think of anything that might be relevant, I wish you'd tell me."
"Yes, sir." Richard felt like a hypocrite. He had never known Mr. Dale to open up so and talk freely about his worries concerning his daughter. But he could tell the man nothing since Laura wanted him to remain silent.
Mrs. Dale told Richard that he would find Laura out behind the house. He located her sitting quietly under an arbor. She was staring straight ahead, and she hardly seemed to notice his arrival. Her small delicate face, framed by black bangs and long straight dark hair, might have been carved in ivory. Her eyes were blank.
"Laura are you all right? Your father is worried about you-"
"I'm all right." Her voice was as wan as her face.
He stared at her for a moment and then went on. The words came more easily than he had anticipated. "There's something I have to tell you, Laura. I promised you that I'd take care of Bull Chapman in one way or another, and I will. But so far I haven't done so well. So far I've flopped."
Her head didn't move and her mouth hardly moved when she spoke. "I want him dead," she said in a quiet monotone. "I want him not to be, any more. Richard, will you help me kill him?"
He was a nice young fellow. He was intelligent, perceptive, basically moral. He went to church with his parents now and then; he planned to vote responsibly. He shared the better values of the society he lived in. But lately he had learned that he shared something else with many a mild, quiet, upstanding citizen.
He had murder in his heart.
He remembered his intuition that he would at last come to this. Laura's question was almost a relief, and he smiled at her.
"Yes, Laura," he said in the full light of a summer afternoon, "I'll help you kill him."
CHAPTER EIGHT
Bull was nervous. First it was the damned kid, and now it was the girl. He had looked forward to seeing the little witch again, but there was something about her that hit him wrong. Dames just didn't look the way she did. They didn't act the way she did.
He didn't know just exactly what Lily had done to Richard or how she'd gone about that. Got him into the sack somehow, he guessed. But she had reported that when she was done with him he had acted subdued as hell and Bull probably wouldn't have any more trouble from him, and he hadn't The kid had laid off. Now it was the girl!
He first noticed her last Wednesday evening, when he stopped in at Smith's Confectionery for a cup of coffee. There she was, not staring at him exactly, but glancing at him, sort of. And not smiling, and looking sort of pale. When he stared directly at her, she looked away fast enough and started sucking at her soda straw.
Later he could have sworn that he heard someone following him down the street, walking when he walked, stopping when he stopped. And when he looked behind him, there was some female almost a block away, and in the dim light he couldn't be sure if it was her or not.
He saw her several times the next day. He got the impression that wherever he went, she somehow knew he was going there and got there first. She paid little attention to him, but it was almost creepy the way the witch got around.
It was natural, of course, that he should start noticing her around town after what had happened last Friday night. But he hadn't seen her at all for five days, and then she started popping up everywhere. That was not at all natural.
That evening he happened to look out of a window of his apartment, and he saw a woman across the street. She was small and her hair was dark. He could have sworn it was Laura Dale. To be sure, he left the apartment and went out front, but when he got there, she was gone.
It was the same story the next day-Friday. The girl never said anything, she just looked at him now and then. She didn't look as if she meant anything, like maybe she was still mad at him-if anything, she looked a little scared. But if she was scared, why the hell didn't she keep out of the way?
He saw her a couple of times on Saturday, too, and when she came into Brownie's Saturday evening, he'd about had it. He was sitting at the bar, drinking a rye and Coke and minding his own business, when in came the girl and sat down at the far end of the bar where she could look at him. She ordered something, maybe Seven and Seven, and got it, since good-looking dames don't get turned down in Brownie's no matter how young they look. She sipped her drink for a while, then got up and walked behind Bull-she actually touched him-and sat down again at the near end of die bar.
That was it. Bull had had enough. He picked up his rye and Coke and moved down beside the girl.
"Okay, cutie, what've you got in mind?"
The girl gave him a frightened look and turned her eyes back to her drink. He could hardly hear her answer. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh, come on. You've practically been tailing me for three, four, five days now. You got any funny ideas, like that boy friend of yours?"
"No, sir," she said. "Not like him."
Bull forced a laugh that was closer to his usual snicker. "Not like him, huh? Then what is this?"
After a moment she said, "My boy friend and I had a kind of a fight."
"And that's all my fault, natch," he said sarcastically.
"I guess it is, in a way."
"Kids jealous?"
"I don't know. I guess so." The girl still seemed to be afraid to look up at him.
"So now you're out to get even-"
"Oh, no!" Now she did look at him, and she looked shocked at his suggestion.
And Bull was completely at sea.
"Well, what do you want me to do? Patch things up for you?"
She looked back at her drink and said quite simply, "The hell with Richard."
Bull floundered. "So you're like that now, hey? So what do you want with me?"
"I guess I just wanted to be around you, was all."
At first Bull wasn't at all sure that he had heard correctly. He asked in a gender voice that he'd used before, "Why, kid?"
She colored and brought her glass closer to her mouth without drinking from it. "You told me that I wouldn't forget. I guess I haven't."
The breath went out of Bull's lungs. "Are you kidding me?"
"No. I haven't known very many men, not nearly as many as some girls I know, but you were different...."
Relief and triumph rushed through Bull Chapman. Of course! He should have seen that from the first! He should have known all along! He had known all along, but he hadn't used his damn brains!
Hell, he had known that she had enjoyed him! They almost always did, unless there was something wrong with them! And when they had a real man, they never forgot! Look at Lily. She knew he was the best thing that had ever happened to her. The only thing they don't like is feeling that a guy has the upper hand of 'em, so you've got to be careful not to give them a chance to even the score. But the real sensible ones simply relaxed and enjoyed themselves. And maybe came back for more. Like Lily. Like this kid.
She was a woman like all other women. She'd fought him and cussed him out, but when all was said and done, she knew he was good. Like nothing her panty-waist college-punk boy friends could "give her. So she had given Richard the gate and gone prowling, like any real swinger would. And she knew Bull Chapman was good. She was young yet and kind of shy, but she'd been waiting all along for him to make a pass, and he'd been too stupid to see that!
He shook his head and smacked a palm over his eyes.
"Is something wrong?" Laura asked. "No, kid. Nothing's wrong. So you've been dreaming about me, huh?"
"You said I would."
"I guess you're not very experienced." Bull felt downright fatherly.
"Maybe not, but," she flashed him an impish smile, some of her shyness leaving, "not without talent, I think."
"You can say that again, sweetheart."
"It's not that I'm so wild," Laura said seriously. "I just want to have fun like other people I know. I don't want to miss my share of the kicks. I want to start living my life while I'm still young enough to enjoy myself. Is that so awful?"
Bull shook his head. "You got the right attitude. I knew that night, when I saw you workin' on him, you were a real swingin' chick."
Laura giggled. "God, that was awful!"
"Nah, don't give that a thought. What the hell. But you sure gave me a scramble afterward."
She grinned brightly, "I was so mad!"
"I'll say you were!" Bull grinned with her. The cutie was really loosening up now. God, you could never tell about these wild rich kids-because she was wild, whether she called herself that or not. Kids like her could look so innocent, but underneath they were on fire and ready to try anything.
They chatted on, and Bull gradually became aware that he had struck even richer pay dirt than he had realized that night. This girl could turn into a real find. She told him that she would be of age in a few months, and there went that danger. Besides, her money opened up all kinds of possibilities. Bull had never before connected with a witch this young and unmarried and ready to live it up and rich-all at the same time.
Her hand was on his wrist, and he put a hand over hers. "One of these nights," he said, "you and me might try swinging over again."
A light went on in Laura's eyes. "I'd like that."
"Any time."
Laura smiled and looked away. "I wish I didn't have a date already tonight,"
"Richard?"
"Hell, no!" she laughed. "Break it."
She laughed again. "I suppose I could! Where would we go?"
"Hit the joints, go to my place."
"I'd kind of like to go where we were before. I like that out in the open. And the place has memories, you know? I'd like to have another drink or two and go there right away. That would be a nice way to start the evening." The light in her eyes got brighter and warmer.
Bull grinned. "I'm with you, baby."
"Okay," she said happily, "I'll give this joker a call."
Laura went to a phone booth, and Bull could see her making impatient gestures as she talked. After a moment, she came back grinning. She put her hand on his leg and boosted herself up onto her stool.
"He was madder than hell," she said. "He could have committed murder."
He had no trouble at all in locating the turn-off. There was a car parked up the lane, but it was quite a distance away, and with his lights off, Bull doubted that he could be seen hiding the Chevy. He put it in exactly the same place Richard had hidden his Nova.
They got out of the car and headed for the clearing. It wasn't as easy to find as Bull had expected, and Laura dragged him off in half a dozen directions.
"Baby, does that have to be the same spot? What's wrong with this one?"
"But I want that to be the same! Like I said memories! And besides, unless Richard came and got it, there's a blanket there. Come on, now!"
They kept searching, but still they didn't find the place, and soon Laura was close to tears. Bull was willing to go along with her to a certain point, but he began to get irritated. He'd started getting eager for her back at Brownie's, and he wanted to get the party moving.
He decided he'd better put his foot down. "Baby, you dragged me out here when we could just as well have gone to my place. Now here's a nice clearing. Lots of thick grass. Private, what are you most interested in? A little lovin' or finding an old blanket?"
She looked at him pathetically. "Lovin'. Bull. I guess maybe I'm just a little scared to get started."
He snickered. "Honey, let old Bull turn you on."
He gathered her into his arms and kissed her. She trembled against him, and that wasn't from desire alone; she had a scared look in her eyes. This kid might have been around-he knew that she had-but just the same she was even greener than she made out to be.
"Easy, baby," he said, "Bull's going to be nice to you, don't you worry."
He took her into his arms again, and this time she relaxed more. He concentrated on the various parts of her body pressing against him, and he stroked her back and buttocks as he lightly brushed against her. He had given her the rough treatment the last time. This party would be a little easier going.
He released her and reached for the top button of her sweater.
"Let me do you first," she said.
"No, baby, I can't wait that long to see you."
He hurriedly undid the sweater and took that off her. Underneath, she wore a full slip, he noticed with some disappointment.
"Wait a minute," she said. "I'll undress first, but let's do this right. Take this easy and make this the best possible for both of us. Sit down and watch me."
"Well, okay," Bull agreed with a sigh.
He flopped down and tried to make himself comfortable. Laura did a couple of little dance steps in the moonlight, and she did look cute. She extended one leg slightly and drew her skirt and slip up above her knees. Bull saw that she was unhooking her stockings from a garter belt, and the sight of her lovely leg was enough to make him want to pull her down beside him. When she was done with one stocking, she unhooked the other. Then she slipped her shoes off and came over to where Bull was sitting. She again extended one leg-toward him-and drew her skirt up.
"Take that off," she said. "Slowly."
Bull was in no hurry now. His fingertips went to her soft upper leg and lingered there. As he rolled down the stocking, he felt the muscles and tendons beneath the flesh when the stocking was off, he reached again to knead her leg for a minute.
"That's the idea, Bull, baby," she said, as if she were enjoying that. "Now the other leg, and make this nice for both of us."
Bull took his time, as he'd been told to do, feeling his own pressure building as he touched her.
She stepped away and started taking off her skirt. She wasn't being hurried about anything, not even this. When the skirt was off, Bull expected the slip to go but it didn't. Instead of pulling that over her head, Laura turned her back and managed to work the slip off her shoulders so that it fell to her waist. Then she reached up in back and unhooked her bra. She turned back toward him and eased the bra off, first one cup, then the other. Her boobs were as magnificent as Bull remembered them, white, high, and proud, but he didn't get to look long, for Laura turned sideways to him and pulled her slip back up. He was about to object when he saw that she was coming toward him with a promising smile on her face.
She knelt beside him, her back straight. He put an arm around her and gripped a nylon-clad buttock. Then she eased her slip off the boob nearest him. The pink tip emerged and brushed against his cheek. She took the breast in her own hand and touched his mouth. He brushed the cloth away from her other breast and took that to hand, and Laura murmured long and loud with pleasure.
His desire began to get the upper hand. He couldn't help that; he began to bend her back, to force her to the ground. He didn't want to wait much longer. But she said quickly, loudly, almost in panic, "No, Bull, no! Soon now! We have to do this right so that afterward we'll both want to do this again! Again and again!"
Slowly he released his grip.
Laura walked away from him, her hips swaying, the cloth over them shimmering in the moonlight. She acted casual, almost as if she didn't know that he was there. Then she stopped and, an inch at a time, drew up her slip in back. As the cloth came up. When the slip was at waist level, she slowly lowered her panties. The two smooth round hemispheres appeared, and Bull breathed deeply and thought about what he planned to do tonight. Laura dropped her panties slowly and stepped out of them, allowing her slip to fall, and then repeated the whole process in taking off her garter belt.
"Now, baby, now," Bull said, and Laura grinned at him over her shoulder.
The next time the slip came up, that moved even more slowly than before, and didn't fall back again. As Laura stood perfectly straight, the material moved, and then the buttocks emerged into the moonlight. She kept going and the small of her back came into view. Then the slip was up to her shoulders and over her head, and she was naked in the moonlight. Even viewing her from behind, Bull could see that he hadn't actually realized what a beauty this girl was. He wanted to love every inch of her glowing body.
She lowered the slip in front of her body. Then she turned toward him. She was holding the garment so that he couldn't really see her, but after a moment she eased that down a few inches and her boobs came into view again. He wanted them. He wanted them so badly, he could hardly stand up to go after them.
"Come here, baby," he said. "Come here, or I'm going to have to come get you."
She came back toward him, gradually lowering the slip until that hung down under her navel. "Drop that," he said. "Not yet, Bull-"
He snatched the garment away. He looked up at her, drinking her all in; the strong young legs, the jutting, bold globes.
"Get down here, baby."
She smiled as she bent her knees and knelt beside him. "Sure, Bull, and now let me undress you."
"All right, but hurry."
She unbuttoned the top of his shirt, and he saw that she was going to be much too slow. Angrily, he grabbed the front of the shirt and ripped that open, letting the remaining buttons tear away. He pulled the shirt off and tossed it aside. "Let me, Bull!"
"Then snap it up!"
"Your shoes-"
"Damn the shoes!"
He allowed her to unfasten his belt and zipper, but after that she was still too slow. He was so impatient that he couldn't wait for her to do the job. He raised up enough to shove his pants and shorts from under him and scooted them down, pushing off his shoes and socks at the same time.
He reached for Laura and pulled her against him. His mouth rammed against her mouth and his chest crushed one high pillowing breast while his fingers dug at the other. Her nails made him ripple with pleasure. "You're such a man," she said, "such a bull of a man!" He released her breast, and reached for her legs.
"No, not yet! Kiss me more first! Kiss me. Bull!"
"To hell with that!"
He squeezed at her legs painfully. Then he began pushing her back on the grass.
"Wait!" she said. "We're not ready yet! Let me play with you, bull! Let me kiss you!"
"Baby, I can't wait," he grunted. "I've got to have you now. You're killing me."
He forced her shoulders to the ground.
"Take me, you sweet witch, and I'll give you the thrill of your lifetime. Take me!"
She held him as if to guide him, and he tried to get to her, but somehow he couldn't quite manage.
"Take me! Take me quick!"
"I am! I am!"
He kept trying at her and he touched her, but still she held off.
"Here," he said. "Let me do this."
"No-no-let me help you!"
She gripped him more tightly and pulled and pushed at him, yet he never was close. That was almost as if she were fending him off, rather than helping him.
"Laura! Please!"
What the hell was she trying to do! Make him finish too soon?
With an enraged growl, he pulled her hands away. He raised up, grabbed her, and pushed at her. Her eyes were startled and frightened. The moonlight struck her now so that he could see precisely what he was doing. He moved forward so that he was touching her.
He savored the moment.
"Okay, witch, now!" Laura screamed.
There was a crashing of brush and before Bull could look up something burst into hot stars in the side of his head. He felt himself flipping through the air, thudding heavily to the ground, and rolling limply through the grass.
CHAPTER NINE
When Bull opened his eyes, he was at first blinded by a white radiance that was almost painful. Then he realized that he was lying flat on his back, staring up at the moon. He was groggy and he shook his head. It hurt badly. He must have been clubbed or collected a boot heel. He knew the feeling from past experience.
He heard them talking. "I thought you'd never find us!" she said. "Neither did I." That was Richard Bristol's voice. "I've been tearing all over these damned woods. A couple of times I thought I heard you, but I couldn't get oriented. I was never so scared in my life as I was when I heard his car and then you didn't show up."
Bull turned his head toward them. Richard was standing there with what appeared to be some rope in his hand. Laura was standing nearby, still completely naked and apparently unconcerned about the fact.
"Witch," Bull said. "Damned little witch-what are you trying to pull?"
Richard grinned. "He's still alive. I didn't kick him hard enough."
"I'll kick you," Bull said, as he rose up on an elbow "I'm going to take you apart."
Neither of them paid any attention to his threat. "I'm glad he's still alive," Laura said. "I'd be very disappointed to think that he couldn't have a last meal, but a condemned man should at least be given time to say a few prayers."
Fresh apprehension stirred in Bull's guts, but he wasn't beaten and he didn't intend to be. "Then start praying," he said as he rose up on his knees.
Richard turned a little more toward Bull and raised a hand. Bull saw a gleam on dark metal. Richard was holding a small caliber automatic.
"I'm through praying, Bull," he said. "Now it's your turn. Better pray that doesn't last too long, because this may hurt."
Bull froze, thinking, He wouldn't dare! He hasn't got the guts!
"You don't think you could hurt anyone with that little popgun, do you?" he asked.
"That all depends where you point it. Right now it's pointed at your middle, and you haven't got enough fat to stop a slug."
"Now, wait a minute, you two!" Bull came to his feet.
"Want to try taking it away from me, Bull? Come ahead. But the first time you get out of line, I'm going to start popping away with this popgun. I'm going to kill you, Bull, so help me. You know I already told you that."
Bull didn't move. He looked directly into Richard's eyes and measured the threat. The kid hadn't raised his voice once. He was as calm as a butcher surveying :i job that had to be done, but there was an intense, excited look in his eyes, even a happy look.
Bull turned his attention to Laura. She was in much the same state as Richard, except that she seemed even more happily excited. She was smiling and her high breasts-rose and fell perceptibly as she breathed-almost panted. She looked eager for the next move, whatever it might be.
The threat was real.
Just a couple of cheerfully murderous kids. Waiting for a chance or an excuse to have fun killing him.
"You're talking crazy," Bull said, and his usually low smooth voice was high and husky.
"I suppose I am," Richard conceded. "Maybe I am. well, that's tough for you."
"You can't get away with killing me! They're bound to catch you-"
"Maybe so, I wouldn't know. Anyway, that's our problem. You have other things to worry about." He smiled. "I'll tell you what. If you're a real good fellow, Bull, and cooperate, there's a chance-just a hare chance-that you may get out of this alive. So you see, cooperation will be a good policy. Okay?"
Bull glanced from one to the other. "Let me put on my clothes."
"Huh-uh. What do you want your clothes on for? Laura hasn't got her clothes on. Don't you like to be naked with a beautiful girl like Laura? Doesn't she do things to you?"
Laura giggled, and there was something insane about it. "Look at him," she said. "He's not passionate now."
"Take these ropes, Laura. And remember-don't get between him and the gun."
"Wait a minute. I thought I felt something in his pocket." She picked up his pants and drew his cuffs out "How do you like this, Richard?"
"Fine Let's try 'em. Back up, Bull. Back up or well end this here and now."
Bull's legs carried him backward. He seemed to have no control over them. He kept going until he ran into a tree. Laura, the cuffs in hand, walked around behind him
"Raise your hands," Richard commanded. "All the way up and back."
"No."
"Raise them, or," the pistol's muzzle moved down, "the first thing you're going to get shot off is vour big toe."
Bull's hands went up and back on either side of the tree. That was a strain. Cold steel clamped on his left wrist and then on his right. He was captive. Whatever chance he might have had to escape was gone.
"Now the ankles," Richard said, tossing the ropes over beside the tree.
As expertly as if she had practiced, Laura put a tight loop around each ankle, a length or rope between them, another length around the tree, drawing Bull's legs rigid.
"Tight?" Richard.
"He'll never get away."
Richard lowered his pistol, and Laura came out from behind the tree.
She stood, fists on hips, feet wide apart, and breasts heaving, fully revealed in the moonlight. She grinned at him. "How do you like that, Bull? How do you like not being able to get away?" She brought her hands to her breasts and squeezed them. "How do you like this, Bull? Why don't you come and take me?"
Sweat trickled down Bull's face and chest. He didn't know what might happen next, and he was afraid to think what the pair might be building up to.
"Do you think we ought to put him out of his misery, Laura?"
"Oh, yes, but not by killing him, not yet, anyway. Poor Bull can't get at me, so I have to go to him."
She moved to him and rested her body lightly against his. Her torso moved like velvet. "Does that help?" she asked. "Do you like this, Bull? I hope so. If you're going to die, we want you to die happy, you know."
He didn't want that to happen, but that did: his passion returned. As her body touched his like a flame, he began to strain. "Isn't that good?" she said. "Now animal and ready to go, aren't you. Bull?"
Smiling at him, she slipped away. She took a few steps back toward Richard. He reached into his pocket, drew something out, and handed it to her. As she took a step toward him, there was a snicking sound, and Bull saw what Richard had given her.
Six inches of glittering steel.
She took another couple of steps toward him, and his voice came out in more of a croak than a scream: "No!"
"Why, Bull, honey. What's the matter? And what's happening to your passion. That's going ... going ... gone. What a pity."
She took another step toward him.
"No, don't!"
"Bull," Richard said, "if you don't keep your voice down, we'll be forced to finish you off right away and get out of here. Remember what I said about cooperation? The quieter you are, the longer you'll live-maybe another fifty years, maybe an hour. But you must be quiet."
Bull heard something like a whining coming through his tightly pressed lips as he saw Laura raise the knife. There was a stab of pain as the point touched his chest. Then it was like an ice cube was being drawn down his chest. The steel barely touched him, and he dared not look, but he knew it was leaving a thin red furrow.
"Look at me, Bull," Laura said softly. "Look at me."
Bull dared not disobey. He had closed his eyes tightly, but now they opened.
"Look here," she said, pressing the blade tip so that he felt it cut in.
He looked at the shining metal, its point hidden in his skin.
"You're good at hurting people, Bull. Turn about's fair play. Would you like to be hurt here .. she pushed the blade further, then shifted it, "or here...." she shifted the point, stabbing him lightly again, "or here...." She stabbed him in yet another place. Bull gasped at each poke, expecting the knife to go the rest of the way in at any instant.
"Can't make up your mind?" she asked. "Maybe I can help you to decide quickly. Give you some incentive." She reached for him, pulled at him. "Suppose I cut a little at a time-"
A howl of anguish broke from Bull's lips. Trying to escape her, he threw his hips from side to side as hard as he could, and Laura burst out laughing.
"Keep quiet," Richard reminded them.
"Yes, keep quiet, Bull," Laura said. "I don't want to have to kill you too soon. I want you to have an enjoyable evening first."
"Let me go, let me go, let me go!" Bull burst into sobs. Tears coursed down his face. He was in the midst of a nightmare such as he could never have envisioned, and he was increasingly certain that he would never wake up.
"Now, Bull, baby. You and I don't let people go, yon know that-"
"Please, please!"
"But, baby, when we're done with you, you may not want to be let go. You'll rather be dead than alive-the way I'm going to leave you."
"No!"
"Yes, Bull."
She knelt down on one knee, grinned at him and asked, "Want me to kiss you, honey?" Then she started to reach with her left hand. Again, he swung his hips back and forth until Laura brought the knife up to touch his leg. "Don't do that, honey, or you're going to get much more cut up than necessary."
Then he felt her hand catch him, and the blade came up. She began to saw.
"No-o-o-ol"
He began to be sick, and Laura jumped back from him, laughing.
Richard had been scared stiff when at first he hadn't been able to locate Laura and Bull, and he had come close to shooting the man through the head when he found them. He wouldn't have been at all surprised if the impact of his heel had killed the man, but Bull had been unconscious only a matter of seconds.
Laura surprised him. He had known that she wanted to tie Bull up and spit in his face before killing him; he had known that she wanted to put him through some hell. But he hadn't expected anything like this.
This was completely out of character for her. She bad always been a demure and innocent little girl with only an occasional sign of the tigress. Now she was all tigress and a mad tigress at that. The depths and intensity of her sadism were astonishing. Richard knew next to nothing about psychiatric theory or diagnosis, but he supposed that all the threat she had felt to herself mental and physical-was now being turned outward. Perhaps her death wish had been aroused by the treatment Bull had subjected her to, and now that was being projected toward him.
As far as he was concerned, they could simply kill the louse and be done with him. Yet he, too, took a kind of cold pleasure in Laura's torture of Bull. Let her have her fun. Let her reduce the man to jelly. Then he, Richard, would put a few bullets in him-if Laura hadn't cut him to death first.
For almost an hour and a half Laura played with Bull. She would torture him, more mentally than physically, to the point of madness, then render false comfort, pretending to soothe him and trying-unsuccessfully-to excite him. Then, when his sobs began to subside, she would be at him again, threatening him with stabbing, death, and mutilation. Bull's shackles had allowed him to slide down the tree until he was on his knees and bent painfully backward, and Laura danced about him in the moonlight, her knife blade slowly growing redder. She would go up to him, caress him, brush him with her body-and then subject him to any filthy indignity she could think of. Then her knife would flash down to tickle him. They didn't have to worry about Bull screaming; before long, he couldn't.
"Let me go," his voice came in a whisper. "I'll go away. I promise you. You'll never see me again. Please, please, let me go away."
"Do you suppose he means that?" Laura asked grinning.
"I doubt it."
"Please, I want to go away. I need a doctor. Some place far away. Oh, God, please!"
"No, you might come back," Laura said, "and then we'd have to go through this all over again. You wouldn't want that. It's only fair to you to kill you now. As soon as I've finished-"
"No, please. Oh, for the love of God..
Laura smiled at Richard. "Can you find our place? Go get your blanket if it's still there."
"Hell, I want to see you do this."
"Be nice. Go get the blanket." , Richard hurried off. He found the blanket without difficulty. He shook it out carefully, folded it, and started back toward Laura and Bull.
Bull was still groveling. Laura had pulled on her skirt and was buttoning her sweater, two buttons in the middle of the front. The rest of her clothing was still lying on the grass.
"I think we might as well let him go, Richard. There's not much left of him."
Richard looked at Bull; he still was not cut badly.
This fact plus Laura's words brought him an unexpected feeling of relief. The cold amusement, the emotional numbness he'd felt, began to ebb. So we don't have to kill him after all, he thought. He wondered if either of them had really meant to kill him at all. After all, people like Laura and him just didn't commit murder. Murder in the heart, yes-but no more.
He leaned over Bull. "Chapman, you'd better mean that about clearing out for good."
"I do! I do!"
"And if I ever hear of you making trouble for a woman again-any woman-I swear I'll find you and we'll finish this. I swear it. And I can do it. I've got all the money it takes to find you any place, and if I don't shove the knife myself, I can get someone else to do that. Do you understand that?"
"Yes!"
"And you'll never forget?"
"No, no, please...."
Laura put on her shoes. She gathered up her stockings and underclothes and stuffed them into her purse.
Richard looked through Bull's pockets and found his keys. He unlocked Bull's cuffs, and the beaten giant fell sideways to the ground and rolled over on his stomach. Richard left him tied at the ankles.
He and Laura went to the edge of the clearing. He turned around and looked at Bull, who hadn't moved.
"Remember, the next time, I kill you."
CHAPTER TEN
As they hurried through the woods, Laura asked, "Aren't we going in the wrong direction?"
"No," Richard replied. "If I had parked along the lane, he would have noticed my empty wagon and been suspicious. So I went to the next road north-it's only a quarter of a mile-and parked there. Then I hurried cross-country to the lane, found our spot, and waited for you. I had plenty of time, if he hadn't made you go to the wrong place."
"Wonderful!"
They hurried on for a few minutes, going down a gentle incline, and then slackened pace. "We're nearly there, Laura. About as far from the road to the north as our spot is from the road to the south."
Laura came to a halt. "Our spot was, Richard. I never want to go there again."
"No. Neither do I."
He looked at her carefully. She was breathing hard, which might have been from the brisk walk, but the hard brightness in her eyes remained from her operating on Bull, he supposed. She looked around and so did he. They were in a small moonlit glade.
"Richard, is this place as private as the old one?"
"More so, if anything. It's not so close to a lover's lane or any houses."
"Good. I like this even better."
She seized the blanket from his arm, unfolded it, and threw it out on the ground, almost in a single motion. She stepped away from Richard and onto the center of the blanket, dropping her purse and kicking off her shoes as she went. She turned to face him, and she touched the uppermost of the two fastened buttons on her sweater.
She was a compellingly beautiful sight as she stood there, a gentle breeze wafting through her dark hair and the darker tones of her breasts showing through the thin sweater. Richard noticed the smooth flesh showing through the openings at the top and bottom of her sweater, and he remembered that she had nothing on under her skirt. The episode with Bull had left him keyed up he found, and involuntarily he mentally undressed Laura, seeing her hidden beauties.
She spoke first, and when she did. her voice shook.
"Richard," she said, and then in two short syllables she told him what to do with her.
"What?" He had heard her and understood her, and he wasn't shocked. That was just that she'd used a lover's word which he had never heard from her before. "I said," and she repeated her command. He walked toward her. Her eyes met his, and they were hard and challenging. "Do you still love me and want to marry me?" she asked. "After what I've done tonight, you don't have to say yes. I'll understand-"
"I love you more than ever and more than ever want to marry you."
A ghost of a smile came to her lips. "And I love you," she said more gently. "And eight days ago you were just starting to do that with me, and we were interrupted. Now the interruption is over. It's time you finished what you started."
He went closer and took her to his arms. "I want you, Richard," she said looking at him. "I want you to wear me out. I want us to go absolutely crazy." Her language was honest and direct.
He recognized, too, that nature was redressing a balance. Only minutes before, Laura had been doing a dance of death. Now the strange evening demanded for a crescendo a dance of life. That was what Laura wanted and needed-and he, too, he found as he drew her closer-and that was what she was going to get.
His mouth pressed to hers. They lashed and struggled and swarmed like two mindless animals. Richard found the separate vertebrae and the smooth muscles of the curve of her back, and he gripped a buttock.
Laura unfastened the two buttons of her sweater, then she went to work on his shirt. When that was open, she made his hands leave her body long enough to push the sweater off. Then she leaned back on the curve of his arm and took off her sweater.
She brought her hands to the firm, shining bowls and flexed her fingers against them. "They're good breasts, aren't they, Richard?"
"The most beautiful in the world."
"I enjoy them. And I want you to, also. People should enjoy their bodies, and one another's bodies as well."
"I'll enjoy your lovely body, love. I'll enjoy every inch of you."
"Then enjoy my breasts, love, and make me enjoy them. Do wonderful things for them."
As they sank to their knees, bringing their mouths together once more, he took a breast and caressed that. He moved the breast over her rib cage, stroked, sought the nerve center, teased the tip with his thumb.
"Oh, Richard," she sighed, "you're lovely to me, so lovely. And I want to be lovely to you. I want to do everything we can think of, everything that lovers do. I want to love every way there is...."
She reached down to his waist to unfasten him, but bent as he was, she couldn't get his clothing off. So she pushed him away, and he fell on his back. Then she quickly ripped his slacks and shorts down, and he kicked them off.
With something like awe, she touched him. "You're all mine. And I'm going to cherish you and guard you and use you and make you work forever. I love you!" He reached for her skirt, but she drew away from him. She took off his shoes and socks. And then, as if doing homage, she bent to kiss him wherever she could. Her warm little mouth and sharp teeth were almost more than he could take. He reached down, took her under the shoulders, and pulled her to him.
"What's the matter? Wasn't that good?" she asked.
"Almost too good. A few seconds more and you would have driven me mad."
"That's what I want to do. Drive you mad to drive me mad."
"Then you mustn't turn me into a madman too soon."
She smiled. "Oh. I see."
He held her closely and, as he kissed her, he pulled her skirt off. He ran his hand over her, seeking.
"I like that when you touch me," she said, crushing her breasts against his chest. "That doesn't hurt at all when you touch me. Is it safe to touch you now?"
"I think so."
"Let me take my skirt off first."
She turned her back to him, staying on her knees. She unfastened the button and the zipper on the side of her skirt and took that off. Richard reached out to stroke her. She mewed and fell forward on her hands. "Oh, glory I" she said.
She moved around, and he looked at the underside of her cliff-like breasts, silhouetted against the bright night sky. "Darling, I love you so much," she said, and the cliffs came swiftly to his face. He took one and drew at the other, but the one at his mouth didn't remain there long. She was kissing his chest, her long dark hair moving over him like a breeze.
Then she was giving him the most dangerous, sweetest kiss of all. Then he could take that no longer, and he pushed her away from him, rolling her to her back. He rose to his knees and looked at her, naked and panting, burning with love.
"I like that," she said. "Is that all right to love that way?"
"All ways are right for lovers," he said, "but there's a best way, and that's what we're going to try."
"Yes. That's how I want you." She twisted on her bade. "Love me the best way, darling."
His control was coming back, and so he went to her.
"Oh, love," she said as she reached for him, "this in only the second time you've been here. Only the first, really, because that will be different this time."
He took her, and they lay together quietly.
"I'd actually forgotten that was like this," she said, and moved a little.
He responded. Almost without conscious orders from him, simply because he allowed that to happen, he began to work.
"Love, I don't think I can take this," she said. "Oh, love, this may kill me!"
"Baby, sweet love," he asked, "am I as good for you as you are for me?"
"Oh, yes, yes!" Their work grew faster. "Oh, lover, you're so wonderful!"
He worked harder, played with her, and her breasts, her entire body, danced with him. Suddenly her fingers tore at him, and she screamed, "Richard! I'm there!"
Her cry and her sudden clutching set him off. As she continued to cry out, he joined her, the pleasureagony almost rendering him unconscious.
Then they slowed, slowed and ceased. They were lying silently again.
"That was so wonderful," she said after a while.
"Beautiful. I feel like you're really mine now. We're married, Laura, in the eyes of God, at least, and I'll never lose you."
"Never, my love. We've truly had one another, known one another, for the first time. And we'll remember that thousands of times more."
"Millions."
He moved away from her and looked for his cigarettes. He lit two and gave her one.
"Have you loved many girls, darling?"
"Oh, thousands."
"Tell, the truth. How many?"
"None of your business. But only a few. Very few."
"I'm just as glad. Were any of them better than me?"
"Don't be silly! That's like comparing a goddess with a tramp!"
"You're sweet to say so."
"I mean that."
They finished their cigarettes, chatted on, and moved closer together. Less than twenty minutes had passed since they had finished, but Richard responded instantly to her touch. They caressed one another and wrestled, laughing, gasping, giggling. Then they weren't laughing any more. They were panting, harshly, desperately. Then they struck at one another.
That was different this time. That lasted longer for Richard even though he played with Laura longer, and she had her moment twice to his once. He played with her not only longer but harder. But the final moments were just as good as the first time, pleasure ripping over them.
The next time, they had to wait longer, well over an hour and a half. But then they explored one another as deliciously as they had the first time. Laura petted him and squealed with delight before taking him, and her obvious pleasure was one reason for his capability.
After that, they both wanted to stay and love some more-they would have enjoyed remaining all night and swore to find a way of doing so sometime-but they decided it would be best if Laura went home. Smiling and cheerful, in love with one another and most of the world, they put their clothes back on.
For a long time, Bull Chapman didn't move. He lay shaking and babbling quietly to himself. He hardly had what it took to be grateful that he was still alive and unmutilated. He was a sobbing, slobbering mess.
When at last something like rational thought returned to him, his one thought was to go somewhere where he'd never be found, never be seen, again. When he had made his promise of going away to some place where Richard and Laura would never see him, he had meant it. Never before in his entire life had he meant anything so sincerely, and now that the murderous pair had left, he still intended to keep his promise. Not for the life of him would he ever dare to face those two.
Finally, he managed to gather strength to pluck at the ropes around his ankles. They were simply tied, yet it seemed to take centuries to get them undone. Every muscle in Bull's body ached, not only from the awkward position he had been in, but also from his contortions in trying to avoid what the girl had done to him.
He was a sticky, smeary, filthy chunk of trembling flesh: he felt as if he'd turned to slime, some inhuman refugee from a garbage dump. He looked at himself and wept.
With great difficulty, he managed to get his clothes on. Then he stumbled through the woods looking for lovers' lane. By this time he had only the vaguest idea of where it was. He finally stumbled onto it and walked down it, staggering with ache and fatigue, until he found his car. Once in it, he again broke into tears and collapsed against the steering wheel. "God, God...." he said aloud. That girl hadn't been human. She'd been a demon, some kind of evil spirit. She'd done things to him no human woman would ever do. When he thought of them, he began to wretch all over again. And that kid, Richard, had been almost as bad, the way he had stood by with those icy eyes and that cold little smile and the gun in his hand.
He got the car moving. Half of the way to his apartment he drove like a drunk, and he expected to be picked up by a fellow cop before he reached home. God. wouldn't those pigs love to catch him like this! They all hated him, and they'd give him hell for the rest of his life. He managed to gather his wits and drive more carefully.
He sat in the car in front of his building for a while, watching it carefully. He didn't want anybody to see him the way he was. He would have entered by the back way, but that was a much longer distance from his own door.
He hurried into the building and up to his apartment. Once the door of another apartment had started to open, and he'd almost cried out his dismay. But he'd run like hell and made it-he hoped-without being seen.
He turned on a few lights, pulled down the shades, and took off his clothes. They were so filthy from his body that he rolled them up tightly to put into the incinerator later. Then he took a quart of rye from the kitchen and treated himself to a long scorching swallow.
He took the bottle to the bathroom with him and kept it near at hand while he took a hot shower. Soon the hot water and the whiskey made him feel better.
Much better.
What a damned fool he'd made of himself in front of those two! What a blubbering mess he'd let them turn him into!
Him! Bull Chapman!
He should have known from the start that they'd never have the nerve to knock him off, let alone butcher him. The damned little witch had hardly even cut him-just these little scratches that stung but wouldn't even leave scars. By God, if he'd been in their place he would have known how to use that gun and that knife!
Maybe one of these days he'd be in their place!
To think that they, or anybody, would have the nerve to put bracelets on Bull Chapman! To tie him up naked! To tease him with a knife! To do foul things to him! God, he hated them!
Thinking about them, he burst into tears again under the shower. But not for long. He reached for the bottle and bad another drink.
Well, he'd show them. Someday, somehow. He'd cut Richard in front of Laura and make her drink his blood; he'd slice her breasts, but not before he'd love hell out of her. Barbarous visions passed through Bull Chapman's mind.
So they thought they could run old Bull out of town, did they! As easy as that! Play a few dirty little kid-games on him, and he'd hightail it out of town! Well, he had news for them! They hadn't even begun to make Bull Chapman run! He'd slaughter them!
Tears of humiliation choked him again. He fought them down and reached for his bottle.
They'd find out that they were dealing with a man. A real man. That Laura witch didn't know when she had a man. Lily was different, she knew. He thought about Lily-her big globular boobs with the tips sticking out ... He would have liked to have had Lily here right now, right here under the shower with him. He'd have shown her what a real man was like. Right now he wouldn't mind proving to some dame that he was a man.
Yeah, why not? It wasn't really so late yet; though-funny-it seemed to be. Why not pay Lily a call tonight? He'd give her the time of her life. That would prove he was a real man and not just a sniveling kid. Wouldn't that take a real man to give a dame a thrill after what he'd been through? Thinking about that he began to feel passion.
He got out of the shower and dried himself off. Yes, sir, he was going to give Lily a time tonight, and she'd never forget him. But first he had something else to do. He intended to put both of those kids through hell, and he could start tonight, right here in his apartment.
He walked naked into the living room and found the phone book. He looked up the name and address he wanted. The number was listed, all right. Very democratic.
He dialed. After half a dozen rings there was an answer.
"May I speak to Mr. Dale, please? Oh. sorry, this is Carl Chapman. I'm an officer on the police force-oh, I'm speaking to Mr. Dale!"
"Well, Mr. Dale, I'd like to do you a favor. I've got some information for you. Now, I should have run the kids in, Mr. Dale, but since I knew you wouldn't want a scandal-"
"No, I'm not drunk! Now, listen to me! I'm a reputable police officer. About a week or so back, I found your kid Laura and another kid called Richard Bristol on a blanket in the woods off that lovers' lane north of "It's my business, sir, because I'm a police officer and they were naked. Yeah, naked ... but they were just kids so I scared 'em and let 'em go. Knew you wouldn't want scandal. But I caught 'em again tonight, and they had gone all the way-you heard me! Shoulda run 'em in, but I'm doing you a favor! Maybe you want your daughter booked downtown-me, I wouldn't like it...."
Bull finally got the old guy straight on the whole thing. The louse sounded like he was sick, which he probably was. Bull almost laughed out loud on the phone.
He hung up.
Just like a damn Boy Scout. Good deed done for the day.
He took another drink and went to dig out some fresh clothes. After that-he gave himself a pat-all for Lily!
Laura was in the highest of spirits as Richard drove her home, the highest he had ever seen her exhibit. She was full of small jokes and wild laughter and her teeth flashed in her delicate face. No doubt it was because the weight of the past eight days had been lifted from her shoulders. The degradation to which Bull had subjected her had been washed away by the degradation she had turned on him and by the love she had found with Richard. He reflected that some philosopher might theorize that each of them-she and Bull-had degraded himself, but in psychological fact, that simply hadn't proved to be true. Laura even appeared to have gained by the total experience. Horrible as that had been, she now seemed more alive and more womanly than she ever had before.
Richard counted that to be a blessing to himself, for as far as he was concerned, he and Laura were now married. She was his responsibility for the rest of his life, and the sooner they could get the blessing of church and state, the better.
They rode through the night singing and laughing and chattering.
"Will you love me always, Richard?
"Always."
Laura broke into delightful giggles. "Oh, Richard, we old married people have so much fun!" She reached for him.
"Lady, give a guy a little time to recuperate!"
"Why, sweetheart, I thought you were superman!"
"Hey, look out! You'll wreck the car!"
Somehow they made it home and up Laura's drive without cracking up.
Richard turned the key, took Laura into his arms, and they kissed. It was as if the past week hadn't happened-except that everything was better. Now that the evening was drawing to a close and something like sanity was returning, Richard wasn't sure just how their threat to Bull Chapman would stick, but he told himself he could be fairly confident that it would stick enough. Maybe Chapman would get out of town, maybe he wouldn't. But it would be a long, long time before the man stopped dragging his tail, if he ever did. He wouldn't be able to think of some of the things Laura had done to him, let alone have them spoken of aloud. He had gone through an experience as bad as the one ever happening again.
"Want to come in the house for a while?" Laura asked.
"If we're in there together, your folks will think we've both gone nuts, the way we're acting."
"Aw, scaredy cat, come on."
"Okay."
They got out of the wagon and started toward the porch.
The screen door flew open and Mr. Dale came down at them like the wrath of God. He grabbed Laura and roared, "You dirty little tramp!"
"Daddy-"
His hand flashed across her cheek, making a report like the crack of a rifle.
Richard dived at the pair, but Mr. Dale had the reflexes of anger. His knuckles caught Richard on the jaw and slammed him back against his station wagon.
"Get out of here!" he said. "Get out of here before I kill you!"
"Daddy-"
"Mr. Dale, what the hell is this?"
"You know damned good and well! I heard straight from the police officer who caught you together."
Richard didn't wait to hear anything more. He opened the door of the Nova and slid behind the wheel. He started the motor and gunned off.
So his intuition was right after all. And this time there would be no turning back, no last minute reprieve.
This time he was going to kill Bull Chapman.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
He knew where he was heading without thinking about it. He whipped the wagon through the dark streets, driving toward Bull Chapman's apartment.
Chapman might have been right there in the Dale house, of course, but that was un-likely. He wouldn't have wanted to face Mr. Dale when he could just as well telephone. And he would want to go home and clean himself up before stopping anywhere to phone. Therefore the apartment was the first place to look. Richard didn't consciously go through the chain of logic; he leaped automatically to the conclusion.
He drove along Corona Street and pulled up on the far side from 1021. Looking up at the second story, he saw no lighted windows, but he couldn't be certain that 2-B was a front apartment.
He took his Colt out of the glove compartment, checked it for the second time that evening, and got out of the Nova. He left the key in the car and the door unlatched.
He put the gun in his pocket, went in front of the wagon, and crossed the street. Never hesitating, he went up the walk to 1021 and entered the small brightly lit lobby. He checked the apartment number again. Yes, it was 2-B. The inner door was still open. Richard went through it and up the stairs.
He found 2-B easily enough. It was one of two front apartments. He put a hand or; the button of his gun, making sure that he could get it out quickly and easily. Then he put a forefinger on a button by the door and leaned on it.
He could hear a buzzer inside.
After a moment, he took his finger off the button and waited, listening for any sign of life within.
He tried four times without getting an answer.
Since Chapman had gotten in touch with Mr. Dale, it was un-likely that he'd be afraid to open his door, and that buzzing should have awakened the dead. Richard was fairly certain that Chapman wasn't in his apartment.
Where was he, then?
Richard thought of Lily's house. Then he thought of Brownie's Tavern. Bull sometimes hung out there, it seemed; that was where Laura had picked him up only a few hours-or a lifetime-ago. And there were other gin mills where he might well be. "If Richard had been in Bull Chapman's place, he'd very much want to do some heavy drinking.
He headed back for his Nova.
Bull looked in through the door of Brownie's Tavern. Satisfied with what he saw, he took another slug from the quart he carried wrapped in a brown paper sack, and he headed for the alley behind Lily's place.
He hurried through the dark alley and across Lily's back yard with little caution. The kitchen was in darkness. The door was open but the screen was hooked. Bull gave it a yank, wood splintered and tore, and the screen swung loose.
Bull stepped into the kitchen. He couldn't see a thing. He yelled, "Lily!" and felt his way toward the hall as rapidly as he could. He banged noisily into something, a chair, lost his footing, and hit the floor with a resounding thump. He yelled again: "Lily I"
"What the hell?"
The kitchen lights went on. Lily was standing in the doorway, her hand on the switch, and Bull grinned at her. She was quite a sight, just the kind of sight he was looking for. She was wearing a pair of white pajamas, her husband's it seemed, for the legs and sleeves were rolled up. She had no difficulty in filling out most of the rest. The jacket, buttoned in three places, was shoved well out by her large boobs, and her tips made dark points in the cloth. She took a step toward him and stood feet apart and hands on hips, sweeping the bottom of the jacket open. Bull reached toward her, and Lily jumped back away from him.
"Bull, what the hell are you doing here?"
His bottle still in hand, Bull struggled to his feet. "Came to see you, baby. Came to give you a good time."
"Are you crazy? You get out of here right now-"
"Even brought my own bottle, see?" He threw the paper bag away. "Gonna give you a real party. You never had anything like you're going to get tonight."
Lily giggled. "Bull, you're drunk!"
"No, but I'm gonna be and so are you." He opened the bottle and pressed it to Lily's lips. When she resisted, he put one hand on the back of her head and pushed. She drank-a long swallow that set her to coughing.
When she had recovered, she grinned. She kept her voice low. "Now, you get out of here! I told you Tad wouldn't be on the night shift any more-he may be home any time-"
"Tad's in Brownie's getting loaded and talking to a couple of his dames. He'll be with them tonight, baby, and I'll be with you."
"You are crazy! You can't be sure-"
"I'm not sure-I know!"
And he did know. He knew because he was all man and everything was going to swing his way. He controlled everything, and he took any woman he wanted when he wanted her. He had never felt so powerful, so strong, so in charge of everything. If he wanted Lily now, he was going to have Lily now, and to hell with Tad.
He put the hand with the bottle around her back, pulled her to him, and grabbed a handful of boob, squeezing through the white cloth. Yes sir, no two kids could make a punk out of him-he'd show the whole damned world he was a man. He clenched his fist. "Bull, you're hurting me!"
He relaxed his grip on Lily and pressed his mouth on hers. He reached under her pajama jacket and found a cushiony boob, lifting, rolling, and rubbing that against its twin. He manipulated the big tip and felt that grow harder.
"Oh, Bull!" she sighed luxuriously.
"And you wanted me to leave I"
"But you must."
"Not if you can help it, baby."
Kissing her again, he ran his fingers lightly over her.
"Bull, Bull!" she sighed again.
Her fingers scrambled at him with a delicate teasing touch. His own hand moved, and Lily breathed harder.
"Damn you," she said after a minute, "now I have to have you. But hurry. We mustn't take too long."
She led the way to the bedroom, unbuttoning her jacket as they went. She climbed onto the bed. Bull opened his bottle, took a swig, and handed that to her. She took a couple of swallows as he tore off his shirt, then put the bottle on the bedside table. Bull pushed his remaining clothes down to his ankles, stepped out of them, and ridded himself of his shoes and socks. He stood up straight and tensed his muscles.
"How do you like that, Lily?"
She grinned at him. She unfastened the draw string and lowered her pajama pants. Arching her back, she said over her shoulder, "And how do you like this?"
He leaped up onto the bed and shoved at her. She fell flat, rolling over on her back. She squealed, "Damn it, Bull, that hurts!" and then giggled.
He hurt, too-more and more, as he looked at her, her jacket open and her pants down to her knees. He made her sit up, and he moved close beside her.
"Who's the biggest man you know?" he asked.
"You are, Bull. And who's the best woman you know?"
"Baby, you've got all kinds of proof."
He shoved her back on the bed. He took a globe with each hand and manipulated them.
"Oh, you're great," she said, "you're great!"
He slid down on the bed beside her, and she kicked off her pants.
"Love me, Bull."
He moved his face toward a swollen tip. "Soon, baby, soon."
"But we've got to hurry!"
"Soon, baby. Never say die."
There were several taverns in the same neighborhood with Brownie's place, and to save time Richard went into each one as he came to it. He parked his Nova near the first one, went in and took a fast look around, then hurried on foot to the next one. Nowhere did he see Bull Chapman.
When he came to Brownie's, Chapman was still not in evidence. He did see Tad Wylie there, which reminded him that Lily lived near by and that he had better check there next.
If Chapman were with Lily instead of out drinking, and if Tad were on the loose instead of at work, it was un-likely that Chapman would stay with Lily very long. Richard would have to hurry.
He ran to Lily's house. From in front he saw no lights. He moved as quietly as possible along the side of the house until he came to the bedroom window. It was open and a light was on inside, but the blind was down. He couldn't have raised or moved the blind because of the screen.
He listened for a moment. He thought he heard voices somewhere within the house, but he couldn't make them out. Then he heard footsteps and the creaking of the bed. A minute later a smooth low voice said something that sounded like, How do you like that, Lily?
There was no doubt about it, Lily had a caller named Bull Chapman.
Richard took the .22 automatic from his pocket. Lily had had him enter through the back door, and probably that had been opened for Bull, too. There was a good chance that the door was open now.
He moved swiftly but silently away from the window and around to the rear of the house. He went up on the porch, opened the screen carefully, and stepped into the lighted kitchen. He thumbed off his weapon's safety.
A series of thoughts raced through his mind so swiftly that they seemed simultaneous; they hardly had time to emerge into full consciousness. He fully intended to kill Bull. If he didn't succeed in doing so tonight, there would be other nights, and sooner or later he was bound to succeed.
But tonight there was another possibility, one which might or might not lead to Bull Chapman's death. If that didn't work out, Richard could probably count on meeting Bull later at the latter's apartment.
Seconds after stepping into the kitchen, Richard moved back out. He put the safety back on and stuck his gun back into his pocket, holding it there. He jumped from the porch to avoid making the steps creak. He hurried across the back yard and past the garage, breaking into a run when he reached the alley. He had realized that this was the shortest route to Brownie's.
When he arrived there, his heart failed; Tad Wylie was nowhere in sight. He looked carefully along the length of the bar-Brownie's was crowded on Saturday nights-and then inspected all the booths from front to back. Wylie must have left within the last few minutes. Richard wondered if there was some other place near by where he might find the man quickly.
At the door, he took one last look back into the room. Coming out of the men's room was Tad Wylie.
Richard hurried toward the big slit-eyed brawler. He stopped him with a hand on his chest, a hand which Wylie automatically brushed aside.
"Hey, you are Tad Wylie, aren't you?"
"Yeah, who wants to know?"
"If you're fast enough in taking a look in your bedroom, Wylie...."
Richard had to say no more. Deep hard ridges appeared in Wylie's face, his eyes turned to pinpoints, and his mouth shaped itself into an ugly snarl. A broad arm struck Richard's chest, knocking him aside and to his knees, and Tad Wylie bolted for the front door of Brownie's Tavern.
Richard climbed to his feet and ran after him.
Bull dug his hands at Lily and moved his face over her breasts. For the moment, at least, she had forgotten her haste, and he himself had lost his awareness of time. She had taught him a good deal about not hurrying the process of pleasure, and he wanted to make the most of her lessons. When you took a woman who fought you, that was one thing. When you took a woman who responded without a fight, that was another; you wanted to get all the reaction from her you could in order to make that better for yourself. Bull touched her here and there, making her jump and yearn for him, while her flickering hands and teasing mouth built his own pressure ever higher.
"I'm ready, Bull," she whispered urgently. "I'm ready and so are you. Please, Bull!"
"You want me bad, huh?"
"I'm dying for you!"
"And I'm the only man who can give you enough, right?"
"Why do you keep asking me things like that? I keep telling you, you're all man, what more do you want? Sure, you're the only man who can give me enough! Now, give, please!"
"That's right, beg for me."
"Bull, love me!"
Snickering, he shifted around on the bed. "Bull!"
He took her. "Oh, Bull...."
"Have you ever before known such a man, baby?"
"Never!"
"Not even me. Because I've never been so good as I am tonight. Tonight I'm the greatest."
"The greatest. Oh, you're such a man; tough, strong...."
That was what Bull wanted to hear. That was what he had to hear. He was a man, a real man, and nobody had ever proved any different. Whatever that Laura and that Richard might think-and they knew the truth whether they would admit it or not-he was a man! And he was proving that to a woman! A woman who was going crazy for him. He, as a man, a man!
Lily sighed. "Ah, Bull, Bull...." Her big round boobs, with their pink-brown buttons pointing, rolled from side to side on her rocking chest. They moved faster.
"Ah, Bull, I'm getting there."
"So am I...." That never happened.
There was a thumping of feet, which Bull scarcely heard. Hands gripped his waist, lifted him bodily, and hurled him across the room to bounce against the wall. Lily was screaming and Tad Wylie was coming at him. And that damned kid-Richard-was looking through the bedroom door; he had that funny little smile and those icy eyes.
Then Tad's fist crashed into Bull's ribs.
He tried to recover; he tried to fight back. He swung wildly and struck something-shoulders or a chest. But Tad's fists kept coming like pile drivers from nowhere. They crushed Bull's face and blood ran from his mouth.
It was all happening so fast.
Bull couldn't see Richard any more. He couldn't see Lily, but she was still screaming. Something like sledges was pounding into Bull, and his ribs were going. A sledge swung up on his jaw, and bone cracked and splintered. For a few seconds he couldn't see, and he thought he had been out on his feet. Then a sledge caught him in the middle, and he bent double, retching.
He caught the foot of the bed and held on to keep his footing. His vision cleared and he saw Lily kneeling on the bed. She was still screaming.
Tad whirled toward her. His open hand cracked back and forth across her face, and still she screamed as if she felt nothing. Tad had the face of a demon.
Now things seemed to be happening in slow motion. Tad twisted in the direction of the bedside table. One of his hands went up in the air and then came down to seize Bull's bottle by the neck. He swung the bottle backhanded and it connected with Lily's head, making a loud pop. Lily's scream was cut short and she dropped like lead, her eyes still open.
Tad raised the bottle again and brought it crashing down on the bed's headboard. He turned toward Bull, holding the jagged shards at waist level. I've got to stop him, Bull thought. Tad advanced toward him. Suddenly the broken bottle shot out at Bull, and he reached out to protect himself, only to find the ragged glass grinding into his face. He screamed, raised his hands, and jerked his head back.
Something like a set of hot claws caught him. He looked down with horror and saw nothing but blood gushing forth.
The broken glass came up to bury itself in his throat.
The lights in the room went hazy and he saw Laura and Richard and Lily and Tad and a young schoolteacher and a widow and many others and he had one thought: I wish I could die.
And he did.
CHAPTER TWELVE
From the kitchen, Richard heard the screams and the silence.
Then he got out fast. Not only was there no need to look for extra involvement, but in his present state of mind, Tad Wylie might well turn on him, too, and he didn't want to shoot Tad.
He went to his Nova and headed for home. He heard sirens before he got there. He wondered if Wylie really had finished Chapman off. He figured that there was a fairly good chance. He'd find out when he read tomorrow's paper.
Once home, he had a couple of drinks and went to bed. He slept like a man who had been drugged, and he didn't awaken until a little before noon.
The crime had been sensational enough for the Clarion Freepress to tear up its front page and insert the story; such things as this didn't happen often in Adamsville. The details, however, were sketchy. Evidently no one in Brownie's Tavern had known him by name, and Tad hadn't remembered who he was. Sooner or later, Richard thought, the police might want to hear from him.
He wondered dispassionately just how guilty he was. He'd put Tad Wylie in the position of killing his wife and another man. If Tad had gone a little crazy, Richard must have been crazy, too. He had been quite willing to have Wylie do his killing for him if Wylie had wanted to kill. Wylie had wanted to and Wylie had done it.
Murder in the heart, Richard thought. I am guilty. Perhaps even more guilty than Wylie, because I used him. I should have done the job myself.
Well, it was too late for regrets now. He would have to accept his share of the guilt-but no more-and live with it. When he thought of Laura and how she was now safe from Bull Chapman, he was sure he could do that.
He was not nervous when he went to the Dale house that afternoon. He had been through too much recently to be turned into a jumpy kid by the mere idea of an interview with Mr. Dale. There were a great many things in the world which would never frighten Richard Bristol again.
Laura met him at the front door. The mark of her father's hand was still on her cheek.
"Richard, have you seen the paper?"
He smiled. "Yes. Farewell, Bull. Where's your father, Laura?"
"Out on the side porch. Don't you think you should-well-"
"Keep out of his way for a while? No. Take me to him, Laura."
Laura led Richard through the house to the side porch. Mr. Dale was sitting in a rocker with the newspapers on a table near by. When he saw Richard, his face reddened, his spike mustache shook, and, standing up, he said, "Young man, you have no business in this house-"
"I want to talk to you."
"I have no desire to talk to you. I shall speak to your father-"
"He won't listen to you unless you listen to me."
"You get out-"
"Oh, Daddy!" Laura broke in. "I don't know what Richard wants to say, but can't you ever listen to anybody?"
"Have you seen the morning paper?" Richard asked.
The question brought Mr. Dale up short. He looked uncertain, puzzled. "If you're referring to the murders-"
"It was Carl 'Bull' Chapman who told you something or other about Laura and me, wasn't it?"
"It was, but-"
"And you're willing to take his word for anything without even questioning Laura or me."
Richard reflected that he ought to feel sneaky about all this. After all. Bull might well have told Mr. Dale the precise truth-not mentioning his own acts, of course. But he felt some small justification for lying. He was trying to get Laura off the hook with a father to whom she couldn't talk frankly, one who did his damnedest to inject his daughter with his own love-fear, and who by his efforts made Laura all the more rebellious.
But, on the other hand, the man had only been trying to protect his daughter according to his own lights, as good or poor as they might be, and that warranted respect. Furthermore, he was right on the general principle that it was damned poor policy for unmarried seventeen-year-old girls to go around sleeping with college boys or anyone else.
Richard felt rather sorry for the man and was quite willing to tell a few lies to save him-and Laura some pain. He honestly didn't believe that in this area Mr. Dale had what it took to stand up to the truth. He might have been wrong but, good or poor, those were his lights.
"I don't see that this murder business has anything to do-"
"It has a lot to do with Laura and me. Bull Chapman was the kind of character who made life hell for women. He made life hell for Laura-"
"Richard!" she called out in a little shriek and her face went white.
Mr. Dale's complexion matched Laura's. "What in God's name are you talking about?"
"This Chapman character took a fancy to Laura. He made a proposition finally. If she was, shall we say friendly-he wouldn't get her in trouble. Maybe by giving you a phone call after she'd been out with me."
"No sane man would try such a thing!"
Richard shrugged. "I never said he was sane."
Mr. Dale turned to his daughter. "Is this true, Laura?"
"Yes, Daddy."
"And you never told me?"
"I guess she was scared, sir. And you were awfully fast to believe Chapman last night."
"Will you please be quiet, Laura."
"I was scared. Not of you; of him. Daddy, that's over, and I don't want to talk about that."
Mr. Dale turned to Richard. "You might have stayed here last night and offered an explanation."
"You were in no mood to listen to one. And besides, I wanted to find Bull Chapman."
"I take it you were too late."
Richard didn't answer.
Mr. Dale sighed. He looked much older than he had a few days ago. He sat down heavily in his chair.
"So some perverse sort of person has been giving my daughter hell and no one has informed me. Perhaps hasn't dared to inform me. Yes, so it would seem. I must have failed somewhere along the line-I suppose every parent says that at one time or another. Thinking so should help, but somehow it doesn't...."
He looked up at Richard. "T have a feeling you haven't told me everything. This Chapman must have had reason to believe that Laura was vulnerable to blackmail, unless he was utterly mad, but there doesn't seem to be much point in going into that now, does there?"
The man looked completely forlorn, and Richard was glad that he hadn't had to modify the truth or lie any more than he had. He was getting off lightly. But now there was another matter he had to bring up.
"Mr. Dale, your daughter and I plan to be married as soon as she comes of age, with your blessing I hope, but we'd like your permission to marry even before that. As soon as possible, in fact...."
Speaking rapidly and firmly, Richard told Laura's father of their plans. He listened, showing no surprise whatever, nodded, and said he'd think it over. He closed his eyes and, feeling that they had been dismissed, Richard and Laura left.
They went for a ride in his station wagon. The sky was dark with storm clouds, but they couldn't enjoy the coming relief from the heat. They were both depressed and they rode out into the country in silence.
He spoke first. "We handled him all wrong, Laura."
"I know. That was all my fault."
"No more than mine. We must have been crazy."
"But if I'd had the courage to tell my father-"
"You couldn't have done that. You know you couldn't." The storm clouds thickened and rolled. "Laura, do you really want to marry a guy like me, a guy who still knows too little-"
She turned hurt, fearful eyes toward him. "What are you talking about? You said we were already married. Didn't you mean it?"
A knot inside him untied. He relaxed. He was happy again. "With all my heart. I simply don't want you to have regrets."
"Never! And I'll bet we have my father's consent within a month!"
"If you're that sure, we really ought to celebrate."
"Celebrate how?"
"How do married people celebrate?" She looked at him blankly, then grinned. "Drive fast!"
Within ten minutes, Richard had pulled the Nova off the road. They took the blanket out and headed for their new spot, finding it easily. They spread the blanket and sat down to take off their shoes and socks. Laura turned her back to Richard.
"Unzip me, husband."
"Gladly," he said, doing so. "And I hope you'll be willing to return the favor."
"With pleasure," she said.
When Richard had stripped to his briefs and Laura to her panties and bra, they lay down and gathered one another into their arms. A breeze swept through the woods, soon turning into a chill wind, and they shivered and clung together.
"Will we always find a way to love out in the open, Richard?"
"Always. Maybe even in the winter."
He unhooked her bra and while she got rid of that, he played with her breasts and kissed her rough pink tips. She slid her last garment down, then reached for him. Their mouths touched lightly and their tongues played delicately. Richard's hand played over her rich breast, then paused to push down his briefs and work them off, and she kicked down her panties.
"Don't wait too long for the first time, Richard," she said softly. "We only have the afternoon and the evening."
The wind rippled the grass and made the leaves whisper as she reached for him, turning her head to one side and closing her eyes. A few drops of rain hit them.
