MAX LERNER STATES IN HIS BOOK, AMERICA AS A CIVILIZATION, "SEXUAL REVOLT IN AMERICA has asserted three freedoms: the freedom to break the formal codes; the freedom to diverge from the majority sexual patterns into deviant behavior; the freedom to lead a fully expressive sexual life in the pursuit of happiness. It is the last of these three which has become most meaningful in recent years." And it was this freedom that the mountain people exploited diligently-at every swap party for fifteen years. Nothing was new any more ... except murder, maybe?
CHAPTER ONE
A hand snaked around from behind me and clamped on my mouth. The other arm hooked around my left arm and yanked it behind me. And then I was leaned backward against a hard muscular body as my left arm was shoved upward, threatening to tear it out of its socket.
I screamed, but it came out as a gurgle. My right hand swung my purse up and over as I tried to beat him on the head. But no such luck. I tried kicking backward, wishing that I had my boots on. So I tried to drive my spike heels into his shins.
He yowled and yanked my left arm up even higher. But he said nothing, as though afraid I might recognize his voice.
He momentarily released my left arm. And then I suddenly smelled something sweet and sickening. It made my head swim. And then it was jammed under my nose. That did it.
I didn't conk out. But gray fog was all around me. I felt my knees getting gooey. He threw me on the ground. I felt his fingers fumbling under the collar of my dress. It was ripped to my waist. My bra was torn away. My panties were the next to go. And all I could do was lay there in the swirling fog, helpless as a calf on a skating rink, and as naked as a marble.
The grass was sharp and dry and was cutting my back and my buttocks and legs. It was torture. But my legs were not bothered by the grass very long.
My legs were pulled up and spread wide apart. And then I was rammed. I managed to give a weak scream, as I was ripped apart. He lay full on me, mashing my legs against my torso, and making like a jackhammer, as I fought against the passion rising within me.
He was a goon, a monster, and the lowest form of animal, to grab and chloroform me as he had done. If only I could tell who it was. But it was as dark as outer space. And his cologne mixed with sweat had the damndest odor, and made me sicker than the chloroform.
So I wasn't about to enjoy being raped. I struggled and fought the passion surging within me, vowing not to respond to him.
But it was useless. Suddenly a tidal wave churned up within me, rising higher and higher, and I exploded like an ammunition dump.
That fired him up even more. He rocked and rolled and ground his bone into mine. His fury charged me even more. And in a moment we blasted together.
I was soon limp and weak. I had had it, and felt as if I were ready to heave.
But he hadn't had his fill. He backed away for a moment, and then he grabbed me, flopping me over on my belly. He grabbed my hips and got me up on my knees.
I wasn't about to go for that. I lunged and kicked and tried to scream. That's when I heaved, and I was too choked to yell.
He grabbed my buttocks and spread them wide. In he went with one lone hard thrust, ripping me again. My mouth and throat were full of sour swill. I felt as if I were going to heave again.
My belly flopped and churned and everything started coming up again. In the middle of that, I was suddenly twisted and tossed by a passion I had never known before. And then, as I heaved, I erupted in a cataclysmic upheaval that threatened to tear me apart. It was hell. It was horrible. One end of me was so sick and the other end of me was in the throes of ecstasy.
I lay there with my face scratched and torn by the dry grass, clawing at it, while my butt was up in the air being speared like a fish.
He withdrew momentarily. Then in he came again. This time through the back door. I screamed, but my throat was so choked up that it came out like a blubber. Everything that could come up had come up, but I was still weak and sick. Still in spite of that, my butt was on fire again and once more ready to explode.
And so, sick as I was, I found myself ramming back against him to meet his every thrust. Faster and faster he went, getting wilder and wilder, until we finally erupted in a flaming crescendo of ecstasy and fell apart.
But not for long. He rolled me on my back.
He was back for more. I wasn't about to give it to him. He hauled off and slapped me. It rocked my head to one side. But that only made me all the madder.
He ripped into me again. I got my hands up and clawed his face. By God, tomorrow I'd be able to know who had done this to me.
He let out a guttural growl. His hands found my throat and began clamping down. My eyes popped. My tongue was hanging out. I was fighting for breath. And all the while, he kept right on banging me.
Everything began to get far away. A pink haze began to float around me. And I remember being dimly aware that I was leaving this world, but, oddly enough, I didn't care.
Suddenly I could breathe again. But his body now lay prone on me as dead weight. He was no longer hammering me.
My hands shoved against him. But I was too weak for that. So I got one leg out from under, shoved with it, and at the same time rolled onto my left hip.
I was free. He was sprawled beside me. I lay there gulping air and rubbing my neck. Everything was all jumbled up. And there was still some pink haze drifting around.
I was so tired that when I tried to sit up I fell back again. And then I fell asleep.
I was awakened by a rough-soled boot on my middle, jolting me around. I opened my eyes and stared up into the glare.
"Come on, you goddamn tramp, get up," a rough voice said.
I struggled up onto my elbows, still squinting at the light.
"Get up."
A hand grabbed my arm and yanked. I was hauled to my feet. I was shoved forward. "Get going."
I was herded across the dry grass, and it cut my feet. A light kept bobbing right behind me, and a hand kept jabbing my back.
The beam finally outlined a car. Someone came in from the left and yanked open a rear door. I was shoved through the opening, and sprawled half on the seat and half on the floor. Someone grabbed my ankles and shoved my feet inside. The door slammed.
I got on my side and then up on one elbow. There was a grillwork between me and the front seat. Two big cops were sliding in up front. The motor roared. The tires kicked gravel as the car rocketed away.
I was finally able to sit up. I shoved my fingers through my hair and looked around me. The headlights bored through the blackness. And I could see fence posts flashing by but little else.
And then straight ahead, and far away, I could sec the first twinkling lights of a town. They grew brighter and brighter. And before long we were rolling down a deserted city street, with no traffic, as if it were a ghost town.
The car turned right and went a block. It turned right again and then left into a driveway. It locked wheels and skidded. I was thrown forward and had to shove out my hands to catch myself.
The two cops climbed out and went into a building. They soon came back, yanked open the rear door, and reached for me.
"Come on, get out," one of the cops said.
I was marched through an open doorway and down a hall. We finally turned right into an office.
Two young cops were sitting at desks. They looked up as we came in.
One of the cops tossed my purse onto the first desk. The cop sitting at it opened my purse and asked, "What's she in for?"
"Murder."
I stared at him. "I didn't murder anybody," I said.
"Shut up," the cop holding my arm said, "you'll have your chance to talk in court."
The cop at the desk dumped my purse and started pawing through it. "Who did she kill?" he asked.
"Johnny Blake."
"Like hell I did!" I yelled. "He raped me. Look at my throat. He was choking me and I was just about ready to shove off. Then he fell flat on me, and lay still. I crawled out from under him and I was exhausted. I guess I fell asleep."
"We get those stories all the time," said the cop at the desk, flipping through my billfold. "So you're Connie Stewart?"
"Yes," I said.
He continued flipping the plastic leaves in my billfold. He frowned and looked up. "You're a barber?"
"Yes." He laughed.
"What are you laughing at?" I asked. "You look as much like a barber as Dracula would look like an angel."
"Why?"
"Look at you. You're stacked. Hell, you look like you belong in a cat house."
I hauled off and swung at him. But he shoved back from the desk in time and jerked his head away.
The cop holding my arm grabbed my other arm and pinned them behind me. "Now calm down, you little bitch."
The cop at the desk pulled two envelopes from a drawer. He dumped my billfold and coin purse into one envelope, sealed it and signed it across the flap. He shoved it toward me and held out the pen. "Here, sign this just below my name. And if everything isn't there when you get it back, start squawking."
He shoveled everything else into the larger envelope, sealed it and signed it. He had me sign it, too.
Then I was pushed toward a counter. The cop from the rear desk came over and grabbed my right hand. He mashed all my fingers down but left the index finger straight out. He slapped my index finger onto a black pad, rolled it around, and moved my hand toward a white sheet of paper. Again he rolled my finger around. And lo, there was my fingerprint. He did the same with the other three fingers and with the thumb.
He went behind me and came around on the other side. He went through the same rigmarole. And there were all ten of my fingerprints. He handed me a piece of paper to wipe my fingers on.
I was then herded into a booth. It had lines across the white wall at the back of it. Each line was numbered. I finally realized they were used to show my height.
They mugged me from the front and from both sides. But they didn't offer to show me any proofs, so I could choose the best profile.
I was then marched out of the room and down the hall and into another room on the left. It looked like a doctor's office. And there was the familiar examining table, with stirrups. I was shoved onto the table and told to lie down. I wasn't about to put my feet into those stirrups, with those two cops staring at me.
They went out and closed the door. But I knew they were probably out there.
Before long a sinister-looking little guy came in. He had a perpetual sneer. He had the eyes of a rat and the furtive movements of one. I figured he was some kind of a cop.
He stared at me for a moment and then he said, "I hear you claim you've been raped."
I nodded.
"We'll see," he said, walking over and grabbing my ankles and jamming my feet into the stirrups. He knocked my knees wide apart and stared at me down there. He grunted.
He turned and went to a cabinet. He fitted a band around his head that had a light on it. He picked up a shiny hunk of steel that looked like a pair of tongs. He came back over to me.
Again my knees were butted by his forearms and spread wide apart. I heard a stool scrape on the floor. He disappeared from view. The cold steel was jabbed into me and I was spread wide apart.
"You're lying," he said.
"What do you mean?"
"You've had no sexual relations within the last twenty-tour hours."
"But I'm all ripped down there."
"Not much. You were probably using a Coke bottle."
"Like hell I was," I flared.
He pulled out the instrument, stood up, and walked over to a sink. He threw the instrument into it and began washing his hands. I wondered why he hadn't done that in the first place.
He put the headband in the cabinet and headed toward the door.
"You didn't look at my throat," I said. He turned and stared at me.
"Look at the marks on my throat," I said. "He tried to choke me."
He came back over and kicked up my chin. His fingers probed my throat as he frowned down at me.
"There are some bruises," he said. "But there's no evidence they were caused by fingers. What did you do, try to hang yourself?"
"Hell no," I said, getting up on my elbows. "What kind of a doctor are you, anyway?"
He turned and silently went to the door. He opened it and went out without saying a word.
The two cops came in again.
"Okay, get off that table," the taller one said, throwing some clothes at me. "Get dressed."
They went out again and closed the door. I climbed off the table. There was a pair of panties that looked as if they were made from a flour sack. There was no bra. Just a blue demin dress that looked like a shirt. And there was a pair of paper scuffs.
It didn't take me long to dress. I was jamming my feet into the scuffs when they came back in. "Come on," the taller one said.
I followed them into the hall and to an elevator. The shorter one jabbed at a button and the cage jolted slowly upward. And the higher we went, the worse it smelled. It was a combination of hog lot and privy.
The cage finally stopped. The shorter cop shoved the door back. I was pushed into the hall and down it to the right.
The shorter cop pulled some jangling keys. He shoved one key into a lock and twisted. He pulled the door open. And I was pushed inside.
It was a dimly lighted, long room with double deck bunks marching down both walls. And on the bunks sprawled women of every age, shape and size.
A tall swarthy girl with raven hair floating down over her shoulders sauntered up to me. Though young, her eyes were old and her mouth was hard and she had the manner of one who had seen too much brutality.
"I'm Lila," she said, with a cigarette drooping from her thin lips. "I'm the tank captain."
I nodded.
"What're you in here for?"
I shrugged. "They say, murder."
"That's a rap you can't beat," she told me.
"But it didn't do it," I said.
"That's what they all say," she said with a sneer. "Come on, honey, I'll get you bedded down."
I followed her down the aisle toward the other end.
"Things have been kinda slack around here for the last week," she told me over her shoulder. "Only got sixteen in here tonight. So you can have your choice of bunks back here."
I looked at the stained mattresses and wondered if I could sleep on the floor. She laughed.
"You'll get used to the decor, honey," she told me. "Come on. We'll find a blanket and a pillow for you."
She went to a pile in the corner and rummaged around. She handed me a dirty pillow without a cover and a rough blanket that smelled like a wet dog.
"Most girls don't sleep much their first night here," Lila said. "They're scared. So I let them sleep with me." I shook my head. "I'll be okay."
She squinted at me. "I said you're going to sleep with mc."
I dumped my pillow and blanket on the bed. "And I said I'm going to sleep right here."
"One thing you'd better learn, kid, is that nobody crosses Lila. I want you. And I'm gonna have you. Now get up there to my bunk."
She started toward me like a jungle cat. I backed slowly away, wondering what chance I would have if she jumped me. She kept on coming, her lip curled and her eyes glowing with lust.
A big fat Amazon suddenly sat up on her top bunk. She had hennaed hair and a bloated sagging face, and breasts that flopped around on her fat belly. I glanced at her on my left, as I backed down the aisle. Lila paid no attention to her.
But as Lila passed her, her foot came up and hooked under Lila's jaw, snapping her head back.
"I told you to leave these green girls alone," the Amazon told Lila, as she staggered back, grabbing at her throat. "Now leave her be."
Lila let out a scream like a wounded tigress. The big one slid down and thudded to the floor. She was in a half-crouch with her arms at the ready. I couldn't see Lila.
And then the big one started on up the aisle, so Lila must have been back-pedaling.
I started forward and found my bunk. It was cold in there, but I wasn't about to use that stinking blanket. So I tossed it on the empty bunk above me. And I sprawled on the bed, wondering if I would have lice by morning.
Twelve hours earlier, I thought I had the world by the ears. And now there I lay on that filthy mattress, breathing putrid air, and wondering how much longer I had to live. If only I had been content to stay in L.A. But I had had a gutful of that nightmare. The air had to be chewed instead of breathed. The freeways were legalized murder. No matter where you went, you were shoved and pushed from all sides. What they called apartments was a belly laugh. They were so many cardboard boxes jammed together with a swimming pool in front. The walls were amplifiers, and you could hear the guy next door every time he belched or banged his wife.
Besides that, L.A. didn't cotton to lady barbers. I was in a five-chair shop. The four men would be busy, and I'd be reading the paper. A man would walk in and be shown to my chair. But when I got up, he broke and ran. He'd wait for one of the men. I was starving to death.
One cold smoggy morning, I was sitting in a coffee shop having a roll and coffee for breakfast. I couldn't afford anything else. And then I read a piece in the paper about a small town high in the mountains up north. Its one and only barber had just died after his eightieth brithday party. Too much ice cream and cake, probably. But anyway, the town was looking for another barber. The old man had been dead nearly a month. And everyone was driving fifty miles for a haircut.
I opened my purse and reached inside for a zipper tab. I yanked it. My fingers fumbled inside. I pulled a fifty-dollar bill and held it to my lips to kiss it. That was my mad money. I never touched it. But now I was going to touch it.
You should have seen the cashier's face when I gave her a fifty-dollar bill to pay a thirty-three cent check. But she slapped it down on the register and began pulling bills from the drawer.
A few minutes later I was in a phone booth with a hatful of change. I told the operator to get the operator in Slocum and tell her I wanted to talk to anyone in town interested in getting a barber.
The operator probably thought I was nuts. Her voice suddenly became as cool as a mountain stream. But she finally got me hooked up with Abe Jethrow in Slocum. He told me he was the head of the Town Council. And that nobody wanted to come to Slocum.
Well, I told him I'd take Slocum, sight unseen. But L.A. didn't go for lady barbers, so I wondered if Slocum would. He told me that Slocum had no choice. Driving fifty miles down a mountain road for a haircut was no picnic. And if I could do the job, I'd make out okay. So I told him I had no money to buy a shop. He told me not to worry about that. The town would buy the shop and sell it to me on my terms.
So at nine o'clock I went back to Charley, who owned the shop where I had worked. I told him I was quitting. I started gathering up my tools. When I told him I was going to Slocum, he began to laugh. It seems he had spent a vacation in that county and had stayed there one weekend. He said that the only excitement in town was when there was a dog fight. That everyone went to bed at sundown. And that there was only a general store, a saloon, the post office, and filling station, besides the barber shop.
But I wasn't about to stay in L.A. and starve. Just because everybody else went to bed at sundown, didn't mean that I had to. Oh yes, and another thing. Charley told me there was no such thing as television. And all that you could get on the radio was rock n' roll. So after the evening news, everybody shut off their sets and went to bed.
A week later I was in Slocum. I didn't know whether my old wheezing car would make it. But after two blowouts and a radiator blowup, I chugged around the last curve and rolled down Main Street in Slocum. It was just as Charley had said. There was a general store, the post office, the barber shop, the saloon, and across the street was the filling station. Main Street was about five-hundred feet long, and then it suddenly curved and once again become a mountain road. About a dozen cars were angled into the curb. Men in boots and jeans and blue chambray shirts were sitting on a bench in the sun in front of the general store, spitting at the curb and arguing. Some were smoking pipes and sitting there and saying nothing. A few were ambling up and down the street, as though they had no place to go. And the two women I saw coming out of the general store were dressed as the men were.
So this was Slocum. So this was where I was supposed to spend the rest of my life, since Slocum had no choice.
I climbed out of my car and stepped up onto the walk. The loafers in front of the store ogled me as I pegged by on my high heels. They acted as if they hadn't seen anything in skirts for many a year.
The barber shop was next door to the general store. It was about fifteen feet wide, a sliver of a building. And it was jammed between the general store and the post office.
So I stood there looking through the window. The chair looked as if it had come to Slocum in a covered wagon. So did everything else in the shop.
"Can't get no haircut, Missy," one of the loafers yelled from the bench in front of the store.
I turned and looked at him. "I didn't come here to get a haircut."
"Then what did you come here for?"
"To give everyone of you guys a haircut," I said. "You look like you need it."
You should have heard the laughter. One old geezer stood up, laughing so hard he was holding his sides. He pointed at me. "She ain't no barber. She looks more like Lady Godiva."
So from that very first day that's what I was known as in Slocum.
CHAPTER TWO
That night I met with the town council. They unanimously voted to buy the shop and give it to me to operate. I could buy it with no money down and give them a percentage of the gross every month. But since old Tom Haley, the former barber, had never grossed more than three-hundred dollars a month, it would take me one helluva long time to pay back one-thousand dollars for the building, the equipment, and the good will.
The good will angle made me laugh. You can't buy good will. You have to earn it and build it. Yet I was having to pay two-hundred dollars for good will. I only hoped that I would get value received. But the logical way to increase the gross was to raise the prices. Old Tom was still charging fifty cents for a haircut and twenty-five cents for a shave. Since I was not limited by my contract as to my prices, I decided to charge three times that much.
Nearly one-hundred people were in the Town Hall that night. So I knew that they would spread the word. Since the meeting broke up at eight o'clock everyone would probably be cranking their telephone and telling a neighbor about mc.
I had my own jackets and tools. Old Tom never wore a jacket or a smock, I was told. He wore boots and jeans and chambray shirt like the rest of them. I decided to dress like the rest of them, but to wear a jacket in the shop!
During my first afternoon in town I had gone into the general store. And there I met Seth Miller, who ran the place. He showed me around and showed me what he had. I bought a pair of boots, some jeans, and some blue chambray shirts. So that night at the Town Hall meeting, I was dressed like the rest of them. But I still smelled like a dry goods store. And my duds were not as faded nor were my boots as worn.
That night I stayed wtih Sy Perkins and his wife. Sy ran the filling station. And he was on the Town Council.
But I was up at daybreak, along with Sy. It was cold. And the water from the pump was even colder. But I pumped it into a basin and carried it to a bench on the back porch. My hands were numb, but I managed to get my face washed.
It's beautiful in the mountains at daybreak in May. Sy's back porch faced to the east. And as I rambled around his barn lot, I kept watching the bloody sky to the cast. The dim light got stronger and stronger. The chickens came out from their hiding places and began scratching for their breakfast. The birds awakened and began bursting into song. And the rabbits were still scurrying around. And as I stood there watching the sun suddenly shot up over a distant peak, I thought of the poor devils in L.A. cutting up the smog and eating it for breakfast. And I was glad that I was in Slocum.
In L.A., where I was born and raised, I never ate breakfast. But that mountain air woke me up fast. So when breakfast was called, I was as ravenous as a starved coyote.
Sy came out and leaned on the corral fence, watching me make friends with an old mare. He was a tall gangling man with iron-gray hair and a face that looked like an old boxing glove. But he was a quiet and kindly man, and called his wife, Mother.
"Mother has breakfast ready," he said. "Are you very hungry?"
"I'm starved," I told him.
I went over to the gate and went through it. We walked slowly to the house, enjoying the beauty of the morning.
The kitchen was fragrant with the odors of perking coffee and hot rolls in the oven. In Slocum, everybody eats in the kitchen. But I didn't mind. It was warm there, with the range glowing red.
Mrs. Perkins was a short dumpy and motherly woman, with white hair piled high on her head. She wore a simple calico dress with a pink flowered apron. And she bustled around the kitchen like a hornet was after her.
I put away six fried eggs and a slab of ham with umpteen hot rolls and three cups of coffee before I called it quits. And as I left the table, I wondered if I would be too big for my jeans in a month.
They invited me to stay with them until I got settled. There were living quarters behind the shop, where old Tom had lived. Sy told me they were not very fancy, but that everyone would pitch in and help me clean it up and paint the entire place. And that it would not cost me anything.
By seven, I was at the shop door, trying the key in the lock. The door swung back. And stale musty air swept out to greet me.
I walked around the shop. Everything was covered with dust. I tried to jack up the chair, but it wouldn't work. They had told me that old Tom was six feet tall. So I wondered how he had cut a kid's hair.
The linoleum was worn and faded until there was no pattern. The walls were grimy from years of soil. The wall cabinet behind the chair needed repainting. The mirror was old and needed to be resilvered. In other words, it was a dump. And it sure as hell wasn't worth any one-thousand dollars. But I was stuck with it.
I went through a pair of twin dirty drapes. I was in a small living room and kitchen combined. There wasn't enough room to swing a cat. Hell, a house trailer was a ballroom compared to that. There was an old beat-up oil stove in one comer. And a battered old cabinet in the opposite corner. The sink was scabbed iron, with most of the porcelain gone. I tried the pump and water gushed into the sink. That was about the only thing that worked. There was a small kitchen table that shook and trembled when I put my hand on it. And two chairs beside it were wired together.
The postage stamp living room had a threadbare rug and a couch and a chair with the fabric torn and faded. A rickety table along one wall had old magazines on it. If the shop was a dump, the living quarters were a tenement.
I looked around me and I wanted to bawl. Hell, this wasn't worth any one-thousand dollars. I had been taken. I had a notion to pack up and shove off. All I had as assets were an ancient car and the clothes on my back and my tools. So let them sue me and be damned.
I stormed through the drapes into the shop. And I bumped into Sy.
"Whoa, Nellie," he said with a smile. "What are you so steamed about?"
I waved my arm around the room. "Look at this dump. It isn't worth any thousand dollars. The building is ready to fall down. That chair doesn't work. There's a new mirror needed. Everything needs to be repainted. In the back, everything needs to go to the junkyard. Hell, it'll cost me another five-hundred to a thousand dollars to put this place into shape so I can work and live in it."
"Now simmer down," he told me. "Now take it easy. We know what it's like in here. As for that thousand dollars, old Tom's boy came up here and he saw a good thing. It would cost a thousand dollars to put up a new building somewhere else in town. So I suppose that's why he chose that figure. And he knew that the town was advertising for a barber. So he stuck to his price. We tried to knock it down, but couldn't. So the town paid a thousand dollars for this. You didn't. If you want out of your contract, we'll tear it up right now."
I stared at him for a moment and then I began to bawl again.
He took me into his arms and patted my shoulder. "There, there. I don't blame you for being upset. But it isn't as bad as it seems. After you called, the women got together and came in here and looked around. They were just as ready to bawl as you. So we had a meeting in the Town Hall. And the women read us men the riot act. They got busy, and so did the men. It's all settled. Everybody donated something. There's new linoleum and paint throughout the building. There's a new carpet and furniture. Samantha Lewis is even making new curtains for you. And Seth is throwing in the window shades. Oh, we'll have you fixed up real pretty here in a few days."
And that's the way it turned out. Everybody pitched in. Jed Hodson, who had a ranch down the grade, had a brother who was a barber over in Broken Tree, the county seat, fifty miles away, and ten miles before you started climbing the mountain. I had stopped there for some gas and a rest when I was headed for Slocum.
Jed called his brother. Yes, he had a four-chair shop with only two barbers. Yes, he wanted to remodel. Yes, he would donate a practically new chair and wall cabinet and mirror.
Jed came into the shop one morning to tell me about it. I damn near kissed him right there in front of everybody. And Jed said he was going over in his livestock truck to pick up the stuff.
So a week after I hit Slocum, my shop looked like an ad in a barber's trade paper. The linoleum looked like red tile. The new chair was gleaming chrome, green leather, and had a black frame. It was one of those new square modern jobs. It was a beauty. The wall cabinet was natural wood. Jed said it was birch. The mirror was plate glass and slightly tinted. Your face had a healthy rosy hue when you looked into it. And Jed's brother had even thrown in some fluorescent tubing to frame the mirror.
The walls were now pale green. There were fluorescent lights. And through Jed's brother, the Town Council promoted tubular chrome chairs with green leather. And there was a tubular chrome table with a black onyx top. Everybody contributed the latest magazines to put on it.
They created a miracle in the back, too. I had a modern electric kitchen with all the trimmings. The ceiling was white and the walls were also pale green. The linoleum looked like hardwood flooring. There was a small beige rug on the living room portion. Somewhere they had rounded up maple furniture. And behind the living room the bedroom was now colonial, with ruffled curtains, pale green walls, and a colonial rag rug. It looked like a living room and bedroom such as you might have found when they dumped the tea into Boston Harbor.
I had a gala opening. Everyone had gathered wild flowers and it looked like a funeral parlor in there. But it smelled heavenly.
Abigail Dawson wanted to do it right. So she dreamed up a ceremony. They even stretched a ribbon across the front door and I cut it with a pair of gold-plated scissors her grandmother had used.
Yes, it was quite a day. In fact, there wasn't any work done in the shop until that afternoon. Because after the ceremony we all went over to Cynthia Peters' for a big breakfast. Yes indeed, Slocum had really taken me to its heart.
Since the members of the Town Council were the leading bigwigs in the town, they were to be my first customers. But not for free. Abigail saw to that. Because, she said, if they got free haircuts, so should all the other men in the mountains.
So Abigail suggested, as a means of giving me my start, that every man pay five dollars for his first haircut. There was quite a hubbub over that. Old Simon Longstreet grumbled and growled. Everybody said he had his first nickel and that moths flew out of his billfold when he opened it. But Abigail made so much fun of him, that he said he would kick in ten dollars for his first haircut. And so it went.
At one o'clock, I was in my shop, powdered and perfumed and with my curly red hair freshly shampooed. My jacket was gleaming white and freshly ironed, thanks to Mattie Myers.
Promptly at one, I went to the window and raised the shade. There was a big crowd in the street waving at me. I waved back. I went to the door and raised the shade on it. And there stood Sy Perkins, as my customer. And behind him stood Abe Jethrow.
I unlocked the door and swung it back.
"Good afternoon, gentlemen," I said. "Welcome to Connie's Salon."
Sy came in and climbed into my chair. Abe took the first chair.
I was busy all afternoon. There were six chairs along the wall. Fortunately, some of the men were bald and didn't take too long. So I emptied those six chairs two times. And by five o'clock, I was getting tired.
Tim Murphy was my last customer. As I hit the cash register for the last time that afternoon, I glanced at the sunburst clock that Maude Pritchard had lugged in one afternoon, telling Sy Perkins to put it up in the middle of the back wall and above the level of the door to my living Quarters.
Tim had given me ten dollars, telling me with a big grin that cattle had gone up a dime a hundred while his steers were headed for the market. And the day after they had been sold at the stockyard, the price had fallen twenty cents. So Tim was lucky and happy and wanted to share his good fortune with me.
The cash register was a present from Mortimer Greenback. Oddly enough, he was a banker in Broken Tree. He had a weekend place near Slocum and vacationed there. The day before my grand opening, he had come striding in and announced he had something for the shop, too. It took two men to carry it in from his car. It was as modern as 1980, and was trimmed with chrome and had light yellow buttons.
So that afternoon, at five, after Tim had left, I hit the No Sale button and the drawer slid open. It was full of greenbacks. Hell, I had probably taken in as much or more that afternoon than I made in a week in L.A.
I began counting bills. There were fives and tens. But the last five didn't feel right. It was too thick. So I gave it the once-over. And I found that two bills were pasted together.
I carefully peeled the bills apart. I stared. There was a one-hundred dollar bill glued to the back of the five spot. I grinned. That was probably Mortimer Greenback's work. But maybe not, either. I wondered if I had a secret admirer.
I stood there smiling and feeling proud of myself. Everyone had told me it was the best haircut they'd ever had. And I was holding two-hundred and ten dollars in bills in my hand, thanks to the generous guy who had slipped in the extra hundred. The Town Council would get twenty-five per cent of it, since it was over two-hundred dollars. But if I turned it in as one-hundred and ten dollars, as it really was, I would pay only ten per cent. I frowned and struggled with myself. Hell, that one-hundred dollars was an extra gift. Why should I pay percentage on it?
So I suppose that's why I didn't hear the screen open and close, as I was stuffing the money into a sack. "Are you closed?" I whirled around.
He was tall and tanned and had curly black hair and big smile. But on him the smile didn't quite come off. It looked like it was pasted on. Because his eyes were cold and calculating. His face was grim, even when he was smiling. He wore a white linen jacket with green shirt and pale yellow tie. His slacks were black and his shoes were ox blood.
"Yes," I said, "I'm closing now."
He shrugged from his jacket. "I just got back to town. I heard that you had opened today. I need a haircut."
Talk about horning in and making yourself at home. He didn't care if I had closed. He needed a haircut and he was going to have one.
I wondered who this big lug was. He certainly didn't belong in these mountains. I wondered what he was doing up there.
He went over to the window and pulled down the shade. "Leave that up," I said.
He turned and gave me a lecherous grin. "You're closed, aren't you?"
"Yes. But that doesn't mean that the shades have to come down."
He walked over to the door and pulled down that shade. By then I was steaming.
I went over to the window and grabbed the shade. I let it fly up and whirl around the roller.
"Now see what you've done," he said.
"That can be fixed. But my reputation can't."
I went over to the door and grabbed that shade. It flew up with a snap.
I went over to my chair. "I told you I was closed. And I am. If you want a haircut, go to Broken Tree."
He continued giving me his big grin. But his eyes were not smiling. I didn't like what I saw in them.
"Aw, baby," he said, "don't get so hot. In fact, there's nothing like money to cool a woman down. So how about fifty bucks for a haircut?"
I stared at him. This guy must be nuts. Sure, he looked like he might be a Rockefeller. But L.A. was full of four-flushers and con men, and I had seen most of them.
But this guy had made me mad. And when I'm mad, I'm not very logical. So I said, "Okay, fifty dollars it is. Now lay it right over there on the cash register before I start work."
He frowned at me and lost his smile. "Do you think I don't have it?"
"I don't know, and I don't give a damn. But I go only for sure shots. So if you've got fifty dollars, lay it on the register, and climb in the chair. Otherwise get the hell out of here."
Still frowning at me, he pulled his billfold. From it, he pulled a wad of greenbacks thick enough to wedge a door open. He peeled a fifty-dollar bill and laid it on the register. He climbed into the chair and sat down with a thump.
I threw the cloth over him and wrapped a tissue around his neck and tucked it in. Then I pinned the cloth.
"Do you want it Hollywood?" I asked.
"How would you know about that?"
"I've worked all the best shops in Hollywood and Beverly Hills," I told him. "You name it, and I can do it."
"I want a razor cut."
I nodded. "And that is always ten dollars more than a regular cut."
"You mean you want sixty dollars."
"You said you'd pay fifty dollars for a haircut. That's okay by me. And now you're wanting a razor cut. Well, I don't give a razor cut for the price of a straight haircut. So what do you want?"
He glared into the mirror at me. His hand went behind him. He pulled his billfold and yanked out the wad. He grabbed off a ten and handed it to me.
"There, now give me a razor cut. And it had better be good, or I'll take care of you but good."
I stuck the bill into my jacket pocket. "Threats don't scare me," I told him. "The bigger they are, the harder they fall."
I stropped my razor and went to work. It was like old times. But never before had I made sixty dollars doing a razor cut.
It was nearly dark outside when I yanked off the cloth and shook it.
"There," I said, "get over to the mirror and look at that."
He went over to the mirror and squinted at his image. He ran his fingers through his curls. He finally nodded. "Good job," he muttered.
As he was shrugging into his jacket he turned and looked at me. "What's a doll like you doing up here?"
"Making a living," I told him.
"How long have you been here?"
"A little over a week," I said.
"Then you should be fed up with this wild life. So how about running down to Broken Tree with me for dinner?" I shook my head. "No thanks. That's not for me."
"Why not?"
"Because it's not. And I don't have to give you any reasons."
I walked over to the register and picked up his fifty-dollar bill. I pulled the ten from my pocket and shoved them into the sack.
"I'm closing now," I told him. "Will you please leave?"
He shrugged and started for the door. "I don't give up easy. I'll be back. In time, you will be overwhelmed by my charms. And you'll be only too happy to go to dinner with me.
"Don't make book on it," I told him. "Now get out of here."
That was the first time I met Johnny Blake. Sy Perkins came in as he went out. Sy told me about him. His father was Abner Blake, a millionaire rancher and mine owner. Johnny was his only son, and the apple of the old man's eye. Johnny could do no wrong. And Johnny had always had unlimited funds and big cars and wild women. He ran with the jet set, and roamed the world. But occasionally he came back to Slocum to see his father.
Johnny had given me the big rush. But I didn't rush worth a damn. I had seen too many of his kind in L.A. He was rotten to the core. So if a woman gave him the brush and refused to be laid, Johnny went all out to bowl her over. That's what Johnny tried to do to me. It didn't work. And not because Johnny didn't try. He was buzzing in and out of Slocum for over a month, and barging into my shop every day that he was in town.
So the night of Johnny's death, I did a foolish thing. I went to a box supper alone out at the Bear Creek Church, three miles from town. Coming back, my car broke down. I had to hike it. So I took a short cut through the woods below Lem Padgett's place. I should have known better.
Because Johnny Blake was at the box supper. He tried to get next to me, but I told him to get lost.
I should have known that Johnny would follow me home. In fact, as I was hiking down the road, he went by in his big convertible. Then I saw him no more. But he must have gone cross-country and circled back. Somehow, he saw me cut through the woods. He had followed and grabbed me.
You know the rest. Johnny wound up dead. But as I lay there on that dirty mattress I wondered who and what had killed him. I most certainly didn't. The doc who had examined me must have been scared of the Blake millions or he would not have lied. I wondered who else could be bought or frightened by the Blake fortune.
So now what was to happen to me? Old man Blake probably had the district attorney in his pocket. I would probably be railroaded to the gas chamber. Since Johnny Blake was internationally known as a playboy, Broken Tree would probably be overrun by reporters from all over the world. My trial would be a circus and a farce. And, broke as I was and as unimportant as I was, no lawyer would want to go to bat for me and buck the Blake empire.
So, as I finally drifted off to sleep, I knew that I would never see my barber shop in Slocum again.
CHAPTER THREE
I awoke with a jolt. Lila was shaking me as if I were a rug.
"Come on, get out of there," Lila said.
I sat up, shoving my fingers through my hair, wondering where in hell I was. And then, as I came out of my stupor, I remembered.
"The cart will be here in five minutes," Lila told me. "So come on."
I climbed off the bunk and stood up. The aisle was cluttered with women who were tall and short and fat and lean and old and young. They were standing beside their bunks yawning and scratching themselves. They were a mangy-looking bunch. And then I realized I probably didn't look much better.
I headed up the aisle toward the front. I wanted to wash up before I ate. But I didn't have to ask directions as to where to go. I just followed my nose. It smelled like a stable.
I held my breath and dived into the room. It was jammed. But I was lucky. I soon found a place at the trough and began washing.
A few minutes later I was back in the main room. A cart was being shoved in. Then the door to the hall was locked once more.
Lila took charge. She had two other women helping her. That was the poorest imitation of a breakfast that I had ever seen.
There was a thin watery gruel with big lumps in it. Lila spooned some of it into a bowl and dumped some milk on it. She picked up a spoon and handed it to me.
"There's bread on top the cart," she said. "You get two slices, and no more."
"How about coffee?" I asked.
"There's coffee on the other end of the cart. Have you got a cup?"
"No."
"Then go over there in the corner and find one," she told me.
I grabbed a slice of bread off the top of the cart and headed toward a table along the wall. Again I was lucky. I got a spot at the end.
I went over to the shelf in the corner that Lila had pointed to. There was a box with tin cups in it. They were all rusty. I sorted around and found one with only some rust on the bottom. I took it into the washroom and tried to scour it out.
As I sat at the table, munching dry bread and trying to get down some of the gruel, I again began pondering my fate.
Slocum had rallied around to fix up my shop and living quarters. But this was different. Slocum was not about to buck old man Blake. I knew that I was dead as far as Slocum was concerned.
But who had killed Johnny Blake? I sure as hell didn't. I was being choked to death and was fighting for my life at the time he toppled over. And what had killed him?
Somebody must have been trailing me through the woods heard Johnny coming, and hid out. Or perhaps that person had seen me enter the woods and had then seen Johnny following me. Knowing Johnny's reputation with women, that person knew what Johnny was up to. But that person did not move in until Johnny started choking me. But it was so dark out there under those trees. Nobody could have seen anything. But apparently that person heard me gasping for breath. Struggling as we were, neither Johnny nor I could have heard anyone walking up.
I shoved back my bowl and picked up my cup of coffee. I tasted it. It tasted like varnish remover. But I knew I had to have something in me. So I forced myself to sip it.
If only I had a cigarette. I was having a nicotine fit. I glanced down the table. I did a double-take. The women were rolling their own.
I glanced at a frowsy fat blonde sitting next to me. "Don't they give you any cigarettes in here?"
"Just the makin's," she said. She pulled a sack of Bull Durham from her shirt pocket and a book of papers. She laid them on the table. "There, help yourself."
I shook my head. "That's beyond me. I never rolled a cigarette in my life."
"Okay, I'll help you out," the blonde said.
She picked up the book and opened it. She blew against the leaves. She pulled one free. She folded part of it over, making a trough. Then she picked up the Bull Durham and opened the sack. She sprinkled tobacco into the trough.
"Here," she said, "be careful. Take this and be careful not to spill it. I'll let you lick it."
She passed it over and I managed not to spill it. I licked the paper.
"Now fold it over," the blonde said.
I did.
"And twist the ends." I did.
The blonde dug out a book of matches and handed them to me. Then she started rolling one for herself.
I lit it and damn near choked. It was like the one and only time I smoked corn silk out behind the barn. But after two or three puffs my throat went numb. I stopped choking.
That cigarette and that cup of coffee damn near finished me. I started getting sick and my head was spinning. I had to quit.
I wheeled around on the end of the bench and stood up. I began walking around in the lounge area. Cigarette butts littered the floor. The chairs were beat-up and the springs were poking up through the fabric. And the women who had finished breakfast were now parked on the chairs, rolling cigarettes or flipping them onto the floor.
I wondered how long I would have to stay in this pesthole. I know knew what they meant by the term stir crazy. I'd be worse than that if I didn't get of of there pretty soon.
Lila came over to me.
"Don't you like Bull Durham, honey?" she asked. I shook my head.
She pulled a pack of tailor mades from her shirt pocket. "I've got plenty of these," she said.
I reached for one. She yanked her hand back.
"Not so fast, honey. In this world, you have to pay for everything you get."
"Such as what?"
"Sleep with me tonight and you can have a pack of these," she said.
I shook my head. "I'd rather have the shakes. So get lost."
"Listen, tramp, nobody crosses Lila and gets away with it. So go in the head and get a broom. Sweep this floor. And after you finish that, you'll mop it."
I hesitated.
"Get going," she yelled.
All the other women gathered gathered around. They were smirking and laughing and waiting to see the show.
As I went into the washroom I passed a mousy little redhead.
"Lila's hell on wheels," she told me. "I know. I've still got the marks on my backside to prove it. So if you're smart, honey, you won't cross her. Do as she says."
"Like hell I will," I said. "If she goes too far, I'll slap the hell out of her."
"Better not. She'll yell for the guard. They'll take you down in the basement and work you over. So don't ever lay a hand on Lila if you don't want what I got on my backside."
I nodded and went into the washroom. I got a broom and came out. I pulled the chairs back and began sweeping.
I had nearly swept the area and had just swept it up into a big pile. Lila came up from behind me and kicked it forty ways from Sunday.
"Now sweep it up," she said.
I threw the broom at her. "Sweep it up yourself," I said. She started for me, her eyes glazed with rage, and flexing her fingers.
"You bitch," she hissed. "After I work you over, I'll have the boys take you down to the cellar. By the time they get through with you, your mother wouldn't recognize you."
She lunged for me. I ducked to one side. And she whistled by me and crashed against a chair. That tied it.
She whirled and began stalking me again. I kept backing away from her. But I couldn't go very far. We were hemmed in by the other women, who were betting whatever they had handy as to who would come out on top.
Lila rushed me. My right hand zoomed up and the heel of my hand caught her under her jaw, snapping her head back. My left hand came in and slapped the hell out of her.
Then it was a free-for-all. She grabbed my hair and yanked my head down. I saw her knee coming up and twisted my head a split second before it landed. My ear felt as if it had burst, and pain erupted all over that side of my head.
She yanked my head around and it felt as if my hair were being pulled out. There was only one thing to do. My hand shot up and grabbed her hair. I tugged her head down. And there we were, butting heads, like two made bulls.
The women were cheering us on and raising one helluva racket. I suppose that's why no one heard the hall door open.
"Break it up," a deep voice bawled. And then we were yanked apart.
He was a big fat beefy guy with a red face and a bald head. His eyes were bloodshot. He looked like he had just come off a big drunk.
"What's this all about?" he roared.
"She refused to clean up this area," Lila said.
"That's a lie," I said. "She...."
"Nobody argues with the tank captain," he told me. He grabbed my arm. "Come on. We're going to the basement."
He gave me a shove toward the door to the hall.
"Be brave," a tall lanky brunette said with a sneer as we passed her.
The door was unlocked and I was pushed into the hall. And down the hall we went to the elevator and on down to the basement.
He grabbed my arm and dragged me from the cage. It was gloomy and musty and smelled like hell down there.
He opened a door on the right and shoved me into the room. He unlocked it. He grabbed me again and dragged me to a post in the middle of the room.
"Strip," he said.
I glared at him and hesitated.
He grabbed the collar of my dress and yanked. It ripped. He shucked me like an ear of corn.
He pushed me against the post and grabbed my hands. I saw gleaming metal. And then the handcuffs clicked shut.
WHAP!
A rubber hose bit into my buttocks. It was like being branded with a hot iron. I screamed.
"Go ahead and yell," he said. "Nobody can hear you from way down here."
WHAP!
My back got it that time. It knocked the wind out of me. But I was mad by then. I bit my lower lip until it bled. But I was determined not to scream any more. And if I ever got out of there alive I'd take care of that monster, and it wouldn't be with a rubber hose.
"Had enough?" he asked.
"No," I snarled. "Lay on. MacDuff."
"Does it make you hot to get whipped?"
"Hell no. But go ahead and have your fun."
"I will."
I heard the rubber hose thud on the floor. He came around in front of me and unlocked the handcuffs. "Lay on the floor," he said. "Like hell I will," I said.
He grabbed me and threw me on the floor. For the second time in less than twelve hours I was being raped.
"Either take it on your back," he told me, "or I'll tie you over that railing over there and give it to you from the rear."
He took off his pants and shorts. He was ready for action. I let him come. At the proper moment my bare foot zoomed up. It wasn't as effective as if I was wearing a boot. But it caught him square. He howled and grabbed himself down there.
I scrambled to my feet and ran to a corner. Some lumber was stacked there. I grabbed up a heavy timber the size of a ball bat.
He charged me. I sidestepped and got back in the middle of the room. He lunged again and I gave it to him on the side of the head. He went down like a poleaxed ox.
I stared at him. And then I was really scared. What if I had killed him?
I squatted down beside him and grabbed his thick hairy wrist. My fingers clamped. I started breathing again. He was just knocked out. He would be okay-I hoped.
"Get up from there," a rough voice said.
I looked around. This cop could be a twin brother for the one on the floor.
He yanked me to my feet. "You belong in a strait jacket. This is the second one you've killed."
"And this is the second one to rape me in twelve hours," I told him.
He whirled me around and marched me to the door.
"Hey, Hal," he yelled. "Put this bitch in solitary."
A short stocky guy came up through the gloom. He clamped a muscular hand on my arm. "Okay, let's go."
It was cold down there. And I was naked. But that didn't matter. He herded me to the end of the hall and opened a door on the left. He gave me a shove and I sprawled headlong on a damp wet floor. The door slammed and I heard a key in the lock.
It was as dark as a bat cave in there. And just as cold. I was shivering. I groped my way around the room.
I bumped against cold hard metal. My hands fumbled around. It was a cot with a bare mattress on it. And it smelled moldy.
I continued exploring around. I kicked a bucket. I didn't need to see it to know what it was. It smelled worse than the washroom upstairs. But if I didn't want to use the bucket, I could squat on the floor.
My feet were cold. So I flopped on the stinking mattress. I thought of the cop I had slugged. What is he should die?
Perhaps I had beaten his head in. That wouldn't kill him on the spot. But it might later.
It was self-defense. That cop had no business hauling me down there and beating me. But what chance would I have? Nobody but the cops knew I was down there with him. They would phony up some kind of a story about me attacking him upstairs.
The key rattled in the lock again. I heard the door squeak back.
"Come on," the cop growled. "You're wanted."
I got off the cot and went to the door. He grabbed me and herded me across the hall and into an office. A tall gaunt man with his cheeks caved in sat behind an old desk. There were no chairs in the room.
"Okay, Harley, leave us alone for a while," the skeleton said.
I heard the door close. He stared at me from behind the desk for a moment.
"Jarvis ain't expected to live," he old me. "Who's he?" I asked.
"The officer you hit with that timber. So you'll have a second murder charge against you."
"He had no business dragging me down here and whipping me and raping me," I said.
"Can you prove he did that?"
I shook my head.
"Okay. Go ahead and make that statement. We'll deny it. You'll soon find out who the public believes. Now tell me about last night. Why did you kill Johnny Blake?"
"I didn't. And I'm not answering any questions without a lawyer present."
He gave a hollow laugh. "That sort of stuff may go in the big cities. But up here we don't give a damn about the Supreme Court. You'll get no lawyer. But we'll get a confession, even if we have to beat it out of you. So make it easy on yourself."
"Go to hell," I told him. "I'm not saying anything without a lawyer present."
"You're all steamed up. So we'll park you back in The Hole and give you a chance to cool off. I'll see you this afternoon. If you won't sign a confession then, we'll beat one out of you. Oh, it won't show. Alex is a genius with a rubber hose. Better than Jarvis. So you won't have a mark on you. But, by God, after Alex works you over you'll be ready to give us a confession."
He jabbed at a button. The door opened and the stocky cop came in. Once again he grabbed me and hauled me out of there. He opened the door across the hall and shoved me inside. The door slammed and the lock clicked.
I went over and slumped down on the cot. If Jarvis died, I would really be in for it. But even if he died, I still had to confess to killing Johnny Blake. So if I wasn't railroaded to the gas chamber for killing Johnny, I would be for killing Jarvis.
I was shivering and shaking. I was as cold as a penquin's foot. And it was so quiet down there, except for the drip, drip, drip of water somewhere. No wonder the floor was wet.
Try as I would, I couldn't shut out the sound of that dripping water. I now knew the agony of The Chinese Water Torture.
Drip, drip, drip. Drip, drip, drip.
I put my hands to my ears, trying to shut out the maddening sound. But my mind kept hearing it and I was tortured as much as ever.
Something scurried across my naked belly. I could feel its claws. I screamed and bounded off the cot. It was either a rat or a mouse.
I was freezing. I got off the cot and began jumping up and down. I was soon out of breath but I was warm.
I flopped on the cot, wishing I had a cigarette. But my mind kept going back to Johnny Blake and Jarvis.
So why not sign a confession? I was going to the gas chamber for killing Jarvis, anyway.
Or was I? Perhaps I was told that to scare me into signing a confession that I killed Johnny Blake.
Everything began revolving around in my head like a berserk carousel. Everything became all jumbled up. I was no longer able to try to reason things out. And then everything would straighten out and clear up for a moment. During that moment, I would wonder if I was going mad.
And then I'd get off the cot and start jumping up and down again. Winded, but warm, back onto the cot I would go once more.
My body and my mind were getting numb. Moments of clear thinking were getting farther and farther apart. I don't know how many hours that went on. But in one of my moments of clear thinking, I wondered if I would be a raving maniac before they hauled me out to sign my confession.
And that damned dripping water. That was what was driving me batty.
Drip, drip, drip. Drip, drip, drip.
If there were only some way to stop that goddamn dripping. Then, perhaps, I could pull myself together. And then the fog would roll in over me once more, and everything was all jumbled like a jigsaw puzzle in a box.
I heard a key in the lock. But I was so potted that it meant nothing to me.
"Come on out of there," a rough voice said.
I didn't respond. Oh sure, I heard him talking. But it didn't register. It was just another noise.
A hand grabbed my arm and yanked me up. I was shoved toward the door and through it.
My knees got gooey again. The pink haze was still around me. But through it I saw a freckled craggy face under a red crew cut. He was tall and broad-shouldered and his face was grim.
I tottered toward him. But my feet wouldn't track. And the last thing I remember was pitching forward headlong.
CHAPTER FOUR
The fog began to drift away. I opened my eyes. The pink haze was still around me. But it no longer smelled like a stable. There was a good clean smell, mixed with chemicals. It smelled like a drug store or a doctor's office.
I rolled my head to the right. A blonde was propped up in the bed next to me, reading a magazine.
She looked over at me. "You had quite a nap."
My throat was so dry I could hardly swallow. But I managed to whisper, "Where am I?"
"The prison ward of County General."
"How long have I been here?" I asked.
"They brought you in at dinnertime last night. It's now nearly noon."
I nodded. Through the fog, I tried to remember how long it had been since I had gone to the box supper at the Bear Creek Church. But I gave it up. It seemed as if it had been a month ago.
I turned my head to the left. A redhead lay on her bed, with her right arm bandaged, and sound asleep.
Across from me I could now make out other beds.
A muse came down the aisle, glancing at the beds on either side. She saw I was awake and came over to me.
"How do you feel?" she asked.
"My mouth and throat are so dry," I said.
She nodded. "I'll take care of that."
She went back up the aisle and soon returned. She cranked me up, poured water into a glass, and shoved a straw into it. She came over to me.
"Now sip this slowly," she said, "or it might make you sick."
How good that cold water tasted. And then I realized that I was hungry.
"Arc you hungry?" she asked. I nodded.
"The cart will be up in a few minutes. So hang on."
"Am I allowed to smoke?" I asked.
"Yes. Do you have any cigarettes?"
I shook my head. "They took my purse away from me."
She pulled a pack and some matches from her pocket. "Here. You can have these."
She put a cigarette between my lips and lit it. I took long slow drags and began to feel alive again.
"What's the matter with me?" I asked.
"Nothing much. Shock, mostly."
"Did Jarvis die?" I asked.
"I don't know. Someone will be in to see you this afternoon."
Yeah. Another cop. But at least he wouldn't be able to rape me there in the ward.
The nurse went on down to the end of the ward and came back again. She waved at me as she walked past. Then she went to the end and to the door. And I noticed a cop down there unlocking the door.
The blonde slid off her bed and came over to me. "What you need is a shot," she told me.
"Shot of what?" I asked.
She pulled a bottle of mouthwash from her bedside stand. She grinned. "Did you ever see mouthwash that looked like bourbon? And it's seven years old. Want a shot?"
I nodded.
She dug a paper cup from the drawer of her stand and poured some booze into it. She handed it to me. "Wait a minute," she said.
She rounded my bed and went to my stand. She poured some water. "Here's a chaser."
I gulped the booze. It made me gasp.
"Get some water down," she told me.
I gulped some water and put out the fire. But I felt strength fanning out through my body. I dragged on my cigarette and felt human again.
"I'm Peggy Karnowski," she said. "I know your name-Connie Stewart."
I nodded.
"They say you're in here for murder," she said.
I nodded. What was the use of talking about it?
"I am, too. My old man has been beating me up for years. He came home the other night and started slugging me, and something snapped. They say I stabbed him with a butcher knife. But I don't remember anything about it."
"Then it was self-defense, wasn't it?"
"That's what my lawyer says. The big job is to talk the judge and jury into it."
"Is that why you're in the hospital?" I asked.
"Yes. He beat my guts to a pulp. And you should have seen the shiner I had. But most of it has gone away."
She looked up the aisle. "Well, here comes the chow wagon. I'm ready for it, are you?"
"Yes," I said. "That cocktail really set me up."
She grinned and made a circle of thumb and forefinger. She went around my bed and returned to hers.
I was cranked upright and a table was shoved across my bed. And then a tray was set on it.
"You're in luck," Peggy said. "You're on special diet, too."
I had steak with baked potato and green beans. There was even a salad. And, of course, as in all hospitals, there was Jello. To top it off, there was a pot of coffee.
I made short work of that tray. I had had no solid food since the box supper. And I couldn't remember how long ago that was.
I pushed my plate back and pulled my coffee to me. I reached over and got the cigarettes and matches. And then I lay there luxuriating in that clean bed, sipping my coffee and dragging on a cigarette.
My situation didn't look so hopeless now. I was full of fight. But how I was going to fight was something else. I had very little money. But I hoped the judge would appoint an attorney for me. That might not turn out too well. I had heard many wild stories about court appointed attorneys.
I finished the pot of coffee and shoved the table away. Then I lay back and sucked on my cigarette.
I felt the cigarette being pulled from between my fingers.
"You're about to burn up the bed," Peggy told me. "I'll stub this out."
I nodded, realizing that I was sleepy. And that's the last I remember.
A hand gently clamped on my arm. I opened my eyes. I frowned up at him. I had seen him somewhere before. He had a red crew cut and freckles.
"Hi," he said.
"Hi, yourself," I said. "You don't act like these other cops."
He laughed. "I'm no cop. I'm an attorney." I stared at him. "Aren't you the one I saw when they dragged me out of The Hole?"
"Yes. I'm willing to represent you as your attorney. That is, if you want me to."
"I don't have any money," I said.
"That doesn't matter. I'll tell you why some other time. The first thing to do is to get you out of here."
"Out of here? I'm charged with two murders."
He shook his head. "You didn't kill that cop." He chuckled. "Of course, he'll be punchy for the rest of his life. He'll probably wind up selling newspapers on the street. But he asked for it and you gave it to him. So I'm shedding no tears and you shouldn't, either."
"But they say I killed Johnny Blake."
"Did you?" he asked.
"No. But nobody will believe me."
"I do. And I found some evidence to back up your claim. So I got a writ from Judge Howser this morning. You are released to me until the investigation is over."
"So that means I have to sleep with you?"
He grinned again and shook his head. "No such thing. I brought some clothes for you. I'm taking you back to Slocum."
"Slocum? You're from Slocum?"
"Originally. Years ago. I've been away for nearly fifteen years. Ever since I graduated from high school."
A nurse came down the aisle carrying a suitcase. He looked at her. "I'll wait in the hall."
I grabbed his hand. "You're one up on me. You know my name and I don't know yours."
He flashed his big grin again. "Tim Riley."
I grinned back at him. "Talk about the luck o' the Irish."
He nodded and started up the aisle. The nurse grabbed the sheets and pulled them around the rod.
She opened the suitcase. It was mine. I knew it because of a big stain on the inside of the lid. And my clothes were neatly packed in the bag.
I wondered who had picked out my traveling outfit. It was just rigiit for hot summer weather. It was a blue seersucker dress with white sandals. And of course everything to go under the dress.
A few minutes later, I was dressed. The nurse brought a wheel chair.
"I don't need that," I said. "I can walk."
"Perhaps you can. But you're riding in this to the door. We're taking no chances on you falling."
I climbed into the chair and waved to the blonde. "I hope everything comes out all right for you."
"It will. Don't worry. I'm supposed to get out of here in another week or so. Then I should be out on bail."
"Good. If you ever come up to Slocum, look me up."
"I hear you're a barber."
"Yes," I said. "But that doesn't matter. I can cut your hair, too. And all for free." She smiled. "You're a doll."
The nurse wheeled the chair around. She pushed me up the aisle. The cop unlocked the door and I was rolled into the hall. Tim stood there.
"I'll take her to the door," the nurse said.
Tim nodded.
A few minutes later I was wheeled alongside a shiny red convertible. Tim opened the door. He helped me out of the chair and into the car. He shut the door and talked to the nurse for a moment. Then he came around and got under the wheel.
It was a beautiful day. I was glad he had the top down. It seemed as if it had been years since I had seen clouds floating across the blue sky.
The wind rumpled my hair but I didn't care. I was free ... free ... free! Never again would I complain about anything. Not after what I had just been through.
We rode in silence for a while. Tim skillfully guided the big car through the heavy traffic. But we soon left that behind and were out in open country.
"Was that Broken Tree back there?" I asked. "Yes."
"They really ought to be proud of their sheriff and jail."
"Yeah. They've tried to clean that up for years. But Jim Baylor has been sheriff for about thirty years. And Hank Loveless has been D.A. for about the same length of time. They've teamed up and built a political machine. The only way to get them out of office is to dynamite them."
"It's a good thing you found me when you did," I said.
"Yeah. I had one helluva time. Jim denied that you were in jail there. I was about to give up. And then I bumped into Jack Selby. We were in high school together. He's now a deputy there. He couldn't talk, of course. We had a friendly greeting. He looked all around. Then he told me to meet him for lunch at The Green Lantern. So I did. And he told me you were in The Hole. I went to Judge Howser. He issued a writ, requiring the sheriff to let me talk to you."
"But does Judge Howser know about The Hole?" I asked.
"Yes. So does everybody. But nobody does anything about it. The sheriff and the D.A. are too strong. And if anybody squawks, they're run in on any kind of a trumped-up charge. So everybody keeps their mouths shut, so they'll stay out of trouble."
"Gutless wonders," I said.
He nodded. "But if you're a merchant or making your living in Broken Tree, you either put up with the court house gang or move out of town. There's no other way. And that isn't easy to do if you've spent years building a business. You don't just walk away from it."
I nodded and opened my purse. I pawed through it. Apparently nothing had been disturbed.
"Did you have any trouble getting my purse?"
"No. I got it this morning after I got you released. So I stuck it in the suitcase. Is everything there?"
"Yes. So far as I know."
I lit a cigarette and passed it to Tim. I lit one for myself. And then we smoked in silence, with trees and barns and houses whizzing past us.
"Am I out of business in Slocum?" I asked.
"Not unless you want to be."
"But everybody must be afraid of old man Blake," I said. "Why?"
"You should have seen that doctor that examined me. He said I wasn't raped. But he knew a damn sight better. He looked at my throat. He said he saw no finger marks. That I must have tried to hang myself."
"What did he look like?"
I told him.
He nodded. "That sounds like Carl. He was always a pompous ass in high school. I heard he went to medical school."
"Is he tied in with the sheriff and D.A.?"
"Yes. He's the coroner."
"And he's afraid of Blake?"
"Yes. Actually, the sheriff and D.A. are puppets. Blake pulls the strings."
"So no wonder I got such royal treatment."
"Exactly. Probably if I hadn't found you, they'd have killed you. And Carl would have said you died from falling out of an upper bunk, and broke your neck."
"So what chance would I have in a trial?" I asked.
"Damn little. I don't think it will ever go to trial. But if it does, I'll ask for a change of venue."
"What killed Johnny Blake?" I asked.
"Somebody caved in the back of his head with a rock. Did you hear anything?"
"No. But he was choking me and I was nearly gone. So why do you think I didn't do it?"
"I was playing cribbage with Sy Perkins. He has a short-wave radio. He likes to tune in on the police broadcasts. So we heard about Johnny's death. Johnny was in my class, too. He always was a sonofabitch. And then I heard a cop saying they were bringing you in. Sy told me about you. He's all for you."
"I'm glad. They're both wonderful people."
"They sure are. When I was a kid, Sy had a big spread down the grade. I worked for him every summer."
"So after you heard the radio, what then?"
"I ran to my car and headed toward Bear Creek. When I out there, the deputies tried to stop me. I ran a bluff. I said I was representing you. So they let me through. They had run a generator truck in there and strung lights. So it was pretty easy to see what had happened. The ripped clothes were still on the ground. Johnny wore only his shirt and socks. And from the way the grass was mashed down, it was easy to see what had been going on."
"But that still doesn't explain why you think I didn't do it," I said.
"Simple. If you were under him, you couldn't have caved in the back of his head. Unless he was lying flat on you. Was he?"
"No. But almost. When he came too close, I grabbed his hair."
"They found the rock nearby. But it was the only rock around there. And it was still stained from lying in the creek. So that's where it must have come from."
"So that's how you got me released?"
"Yes. Be thankful the side of his head wasn't caved in. But you're still not out of the woods yet. You're not allowed to leave the county."
"I'm not about to. Why should I? That is, if I still have a barber shop."
"As I said, it's up to you."
"Is the town scared of Blake?"
"Some are, some aren't. But even if they're scared of Blake, they're not about to drive to Broken Tree for a haircut. So play it by ear. If they're friendly, be friendly. If they're not, stay clammed."
"That I will. Now tell me, what are you doing up in Slocum?"
"I'm an attorney in L.A. Criminal law. They thought I had cancer. But it turned out okay. Still, the doctor sent me up here for a month to recuperate. I got into town just before we heard that radio broadcast. Because as soon as I hit town I headed for Sy's place. Our place had been shut up for a year."
"Do you have a home here?" I asked.
"No. It was my folks' place. Dad died five years ago. Mother passed away a year ago. So I just shut up the place and left it."
"I understand. I know how it is."
"But yesterday morning I went up there and walked around. I thought of all the happy times I had had there as a boy. And that it was foolish to be morbid. My folks had to go sometime. So I opened up the house. Amy Blanchard came over and cleaned it from top to bottom. So I'm staying up there and batching it."
"So now what?" I asked. "Are you going to make an investigation?"
"Yes. Fortunately, I was born and raised up there. I know everybody. And they'll talk to me, even if they are afraid of Blake. But they wouldn't talk to an outsider."
"Yeah," I agreed. "I'm surprised they took me in as they did."
"It's because they needed you. Otherwise they wouldn't have given you the time of day."
We were climbing now. The road was a corkscrew. But Tim deftly swung the big car around the curves and gave it the gas.
When we were nearly to the top, Tim glanced over at me. "Want to go on up to my place? You're in no shape to work today. Of course, I'll have to bring you back at a decent hour. If I don't you'll be dead as far as being a barber there. Mamie Tilford lives across the road and down a piece. But she'll see us drive in. And she'll plant herself by the window and never leave it until I take you home. Even if it's midnight. And then she'll get on the phone."
"Why take chances?" I asked. "You'd better take me to my shop."
"Are you chicken?"
"No. But I'm in enough hot water as it is."
"You're my client. I'm taking you up there so we can plan our defense. As long as I get you out of there by ten, it will be okay. So don't worry about Mamie and some of them. In fact, Mamie thinks you made a date with Johnny to meet him in the woods."
"Why, the crazy old bat."
"Yeah. But not very many others agree with her. So I say that you can't pay any attention to Mamie."
We drove in silence. I wondered what I should do. I knew what Tim wanted. But after what I had been through, I wanted no part of that. But Tim was no doubt lonely. I was, too. I was in no shape to work. So if I went to my shop, I'd be holed up all alone in the back, with only the radio for company. Tim seemed to be a gentleman. I didn't think he would rape me. So why not go up there?
I lit a cigarette and watched the pine trees fly past. Tim was lost with his thoughts, too.
But as we reached the top he looked over at me. "Well?"
I nodded. "Okay. I'm as lonely as you. So let's go up to your place. But I'm not promising anything."
"And I'm not asking anything, either."
I smiled. "I know you're not. You're sweet. And I want you to know I appreciate all you've done for me."
"Forget it. I'm like an old fire horse when the bell rings. That's the way I was when I heard that radio broadcast. I love a mystery. They are like a puzzle. And I like to solve them."
"So that's why you're doing all this?"
He laughed. "Well, not entirely. After all, I'm a man and you're a woman. So there has to be some chemistry mixed up it somewhere."
"Not tonight there won't be," I said.
"That suits me fine. I've been divorced for five years. I've been as lonely as hell. So all I have to do is think back over my years with Patti and I'm lonesome no more."
"Then why don't you think about Patti now?" I asked.
He chuckled. "You ought to be a lawyer. Well, I'll tell you why. I'm on vacation. I'm away from L.A. I'm back in my home town. So everything seems different now."
I nodded. But, beat up as I was, I felt the first flickerings of passion beginning to rise within me. And I knew that in spite of our bold and brave protestations, we both would wind up in bed together.
I slid over closer to him. He must have taken that as a sign of surrender.
He glanced over at me and grinned. His right hand left the wheel. It patted my knee. I did not protest. So his hand got bolder.
And by the time we reached the top of the grade, his hand was way above the timber line, stroking my thighs.
CHAPTER FIVE
Slocum was drowsing in the hot afternoon sun as we drove down Main Street. Loafers, of course, were on the bench in front of the General Store. The shades on my shop windows were still down. Someone had soaped the front window and written: TRAMP..
Tim saw me looking at it. He glanced at the shop window and then at me. "I saw Sy cleaning that window this morning as I left town. I wonder who did that in broad daylight."
"Yeah. But that's just a sample of what I can expect in Solcum."
"It won't be so bad. But you're going to have to have a thick hide for a while. Just ignore it. Most of the men are behind you. Some are on the fence, of course. But they'll come over on your side in time. You always have a noisy few who try to make trouble. But if you ignore them, they shut up in time."
At the end of Main Street, where there is a sharp turn to the right, there was a narrow street turning left and up the hill. Tim turned left.
The car purred smoothly up the steep incline. My old chariot couldn't have made it in low gear.
I looked at Tim. "By the way, where is my car?"
"Sy has it. Did you know it has a cracked head?"
"No. But I know I have one."
He laughed. "If you have, you can get along with it. But your car can't."
"So I'll be walking for a while," I said.
"It's supposed to be a surprise. But Sy is fixing it for you. You'd be surprised at what good mechanics these high school kids are today. But be sure to act surprised when Sy tells you."
"I will. And thanks for the tip."
Again we were silent. We hit the top and the road meandered lazily in long looping curves across the flat land. Tim finally turned left and we began climbing again. Directly above us was a big old rambling house at the end of the short road. A veranda ran across the front of it. It had all the gingerbread or it of a hundred years ago.
"My, but that must be an old timer," I said.
"Yes. It was built just after the Civil War. Colonel Hampstead built it when he retired and went to ranching. He owned all the land around here. But his son sold it all off, even the house. From what I hear, he squandered the money in Europe and died broke."
"And where does Mamie live?"
"Back down the hill on the corner. She will have heard us. By now she's camped by the window and watching us."
The car nosed over and rolled along a driveway that curved to the right and encircled the house.
"Might as well keep Mamie guessing," Tim said, letting the car roll on. "We'll go in the back way."
There was a broad veranda across the rear of the house, too. Tim stopped at the steps and helped me out. Then we went up the steps and across the porch to an ornate door with a brass knocker on it.
"You'd never think this was a kitchen door, would you?" Tim said with a chuckle. "The old colonel believed in doing everything up brown."
He unlocked the door and waved me in. It was a big old fashioned kitchen like my grandmother had. But one concession had been made to the 20th Century. It had a modern refrigerator and range.
Tim took me on a tour of the house. The furniture looked like that which I had seen on TV in gangster movies during Prohibition Days. The couches and chairs were massive. The tables and chairs were monstrosities. But this was the home that Tim had grown up in. So I knew that they did not seem like monstrosities to him.
We were upstairs in a front bedroom. It had been his room when he was a boy. A kite still hung on the wall. On another wall hung a belt with all his Scout merit badges. There was also his tennis racket and his fishing pole. It was a room full of memories for him. And we stood there in silence as he looked around the room and let his mind drift back twenty-five or thirty years.
A car horn blared. Tim went to the window and pulled back the curtain.
"It's Pete McDonald. We were in high school together."
Tim threw up the window, planted his hands on the sill, and leaned out of it.
"Hey, Pete," he yelled.
"Hi, Tim. Come on down. We heard you were in town."
"I'll be right down," Tim called.
He pulled back into the room and shut the window. He looked at me.
"I won't be but a minute. Look around all you like."
And then he was gone. I heard him thudding down the stairs.
I went through the doorway and down the hall, glancing into the bedrooms on either side. The house was big enough to be a hotel.
I was in a back bedroom admiring a four-poster bed when I heard Tim pounding up the stairs. "Where are you?" he called.
"Right here," I said, heading down the hall. "I didn't expect you back so soon."
He mumbled something and pulled his cigarettes. He offered me one. He lit it for me and lit one for himself. And then he turned and headed toward the stairs.
He was troubled. I wondered what was wrong. He went down the stairs in silence. Gone was his gay and carefree manner.
In the foyer at the bottom of the stairs he turned to me. "Want a drink?"
"Yes. That would be fine."
He led me into a den off the living room. He went to a bar in the corner and built two drinks. He was still silent. So I matched his mood. He finally shoved a drink across the bar to me. He lifted his own.
"Here's to your freedom," he said.
We clinked glasses and sipped our drinks. I began to feel uncomfortable.
"Tim," I finally said, "what's wrong?"
"Nothing."
"I know better. You're not the same. I think it's best that you take me home."
"But I don't want you to go home," he said. "It's just that ... that...."
"Yes?"
He shrugged and sighed. He sucked on his cigarette and dribbled smoke through his nose. "Nothing."
"Tim, you're troubled. If you can't share it with me, then I think I had better be going. Because I'm depressed enough with the jam I'm in."
He tossed off his drink and went back behind the bar. Again there was silence as he built his drink.
He finally looked up.
"How broadminded are you?" he asked. I shrugged. "As broad as any, I guess."
"You've lived in Beverly Hills and Hollywood?"
"Yes. Why?"
He fell silent again. He picked up his drink and sipped it.
"Tim," I said, "what in hell is the matter? We were having so much fun before that guy came. And now it's all over. Why?"
"Okay, I'll lay it on the line," Tim said. "I'm not asking you to go. But Pete and his wife, Delia, are having a party down at their place in Racoon Hollow."
"Well, why didn't you say so?" I said. "Go on and go. You can drop me off at home on your way."
He shook his head. "I don't want to stag it. Pete saw us driving up the hill. So he knew you were here. That's why he came over to invite us. If I don't go, they'll think I'm trying to be a snob. That I've outgrown everyone around here. And that isn't so."
"But I'll be glad to go with you," I said.
Again he shook his head. He gave me a half-smile. "That's why I asked you if you were broadminded."
"Tim, what in hell are you talking about? Stop beating around the barn. Come flat out and tell me what this is all about."
"Okay, I will. Did you ever hear of swapping partners?"
I stared at him. He had jolted me.
"I thought so," Tim said with a sigh, and he began gulping his drink.
"Now just a minute. I'm no prude. But you did rock me."
"You mean you never heard of it before?"
"Of course I have. I know couples who swap all the time."
"Didn't they ever invite you to join in?"
"Yes. But, like you, I didn't want to stag it."
"Then you weren't horrified at the idea?"
"I don't know. How can you know about something until you've tried it? I'm not married. I'm not bound to any one man. But I can't see a man and wife swapping and being untrue to each other."
"Aw, for Crysake," Tim exploded. "That's as old-fashioned as the furniture around here."
"Have you ever swapped?" I asked.
"Sure. Dolly Barnes and I went steady all during high school. We used to swap all the time. Pete and Delia were going steady then, too. They got married right after they got out of high school. And all the other guys and gals, whether they went steady or not, would swap at a party. We thought nothing of it."
"But did you swap after you were married?"
"Yes. Patti thought it was great. But, at first, she held back like you."
"So who's going to be at the party?" I asked. "Just those you were in school with?"
"Who else?"
"In L.A., I'm told, they had all ages at a swap party."
"Not here. Hell, the old folks would have a convulsion if they knew what was going on. That's why Pete built his house down in Racoon Hollow. There's only one way in and the same way out. He's all alone down there. Once he locks the gate, nobody can crash the party."
"You mean they've been swapping all these years?"
"Sure. Why not? Everybody knows everybody else." I nodded and stubbed out my cigarette. I knew Tim wanted to go. He had bailed me out. I owed him a lot. But I wondered if I owed him that much-to go to a swap party with him. But, on the other hand, what was so horrible about it? I wasn't married. I liked variety. And, with the right man, I liked sex.
"Is there any rough stuff?" I asked. "What do you mean?"
"You know. Whips and all that sort of thine."
"Hell no. No woman is mistreated. Hell, if she was, all of the men would beat him to a pulp. But, no, there's none of that rough stuff. And you would like all the fellows."
"Okay," I said. "I'm game. But I want to ask one favor."
"What's that?"
"If the party gets too rough, or if everybody gets drunk, that you'll bring me home when I ask you to."
"That's fair enough. But nobody gets drunk. I'm sure you'll have a good time."
He took my arm and steered me through the living room and on through the kitchen and out the back door. He locked it. And then he helped me into the car.
He was his boyish self again. He was no longer pouting. But, as the car rolled down the hill, I realized it was more than all that. This was part of his boyhood. It would be like Old Home Week to get back with his gang again.
"Tim," I said.
"Yes?"
"I'm in business here. I don't want to jeopardize that business."
"How will you?"
"I don't know. But I'm an outsider. I wasn't born and raised here. They may accept me as a barber. But will they accept me as a swapper?"
"Why not? In fact, since you were with me today, it put you on the spot. If you hadn't gone, they would have thought you were a snob."
"But it wouldn't have been that way at all," I protested.
"That's right. And it's the same with me. If I didn't show up today, they'd think I had outgrown them. So, through me, you'll get to them and be accepted. They're the ones for you to cultivate. The older folks will die off. It's the younger ones that will take over and have kids and more customers for you."
"I suppose that's right."
When we reached the bottom of the hill Tim turned left and went around the corner on Main Street. We dropped down a steep grade that was a corkscrew like the road coming up through Slocum on the other side of the town. The pine trees were shoulder to shoulder. The birds were singing. The squirrels were chattering. It was cool and calm and peaceful. How beautiful it was.
Tim suddenly stood on the brake. I wondered what was wrong. He turned right and eased the car into a narrow road that rambled across an open field.
"Where in hell are you going?" I asked.
"To Racoon Hollow."
The road turned left and then went straight down. Below us I could see a long low rambling house with smoke curling up from a huge chimney at the end of it. Beyond the house was a barn lot.
"Pete really got away from it all," Tim said. "I understand he has a big spread back here. Sy says he's running two-thousand head of cattle below here."
We turned right and then left in an S turn. We could now see the end of the house opposite the smoking chimney. The yard was full of cars.
"Looks like we're the last ones to get here," Tim said.
We hit the bottom and Tim angled into a slot. He came around and helped me out. We headed toward the door.
My knees were knocking. I was scared. I must have been trembling. Because Tim noticed it.
"There's nothing to be afraid of," he said. "But if you're chicken, I'll take you home now."
"Nobody calls me chicken," I told him. "So let's go on in."
We went up two steps to a concrete stoop. Tim jabbed at a button beside a white slab door. And from the way he was jittering around, I knew that he had the shakes, too.
The door opened. A tall gangling guy with a mop of tousled blond hair stood in the opening.
"Tim," he cried. "We wondered if you'd come down."
Tim put an arm around my waist. "Have you met Connie yet?"
"Yes. I was up there for a haircut a while back. Best haircut I ever had, in fact. So come on in."
We entered a long living room. The air was so smoky you could have sawed it into chunks. And the room was jumping with the sounds of laughter and everybody talking at once. The party was apparently just getting under way. Laughing men and women, with drinks in their hands, were standing around and gabbling like geese. Some were on the couch. All the chairs were taken. But the thing I noticed most was that all the women were wearing dresses. And I noticed something else, too. Not one of the women looked as though she were wearing a bra.
I clung to Tim and looked around the noisy room. If it hadn't been for Tim, I would have broken and run.
"Hey, everybody," Pete yelled. "Knock it off for a minute."
The room was silent. Everyone peered through the smoke at us.
"All of you know Tim Riley," Pete said. There were lusty cheers.
"And," Pete went on, "some of you may have gone to Connie for a haircut, or bumped into her around town."
There were a few cheers. But nothing like for Tim. I was an outsider. And they were letting me know it.
Pete grabbed Tim's arm. "Come on, you two. I've set up a bar in the kitchen."
We followed Pete through a doorway and into a big kitchen. It looked almost like the one at Tim's house. There was even a big butcher block standing in the middle of the room. And on that block Pete had set up his bar, with booze and mix and glasses and a bucket of ice.
"What's your poison?" Pete asked me.
"Bourbon on the rocks," I told him.
Pete looked at Tim. "That's good enough for me."
Pete nodded and went to work. He handed us two drinks.
"Come on, now," Pete said, "this thing has been a drag so far. I'm going to make it roll."
We trailed Pete into the living room. He climbed on a chair.
"Okay, what did we come here for? To talk? Let's get the show on the road. The barrel's over there in the corner. Roll it out."
Two men went over into the corner and wheeled out a barrel mounted on a frame.
"Okay, you know how it's done. You spin the barrel, Jerry."
A short muscular guy with a black crew cut went over to the barrel and spun it around. He finally stopped it and opened the door.
"Okay, girls, reach inside and pull a slip. We're going to have a fashion parade."
Tim gave me a gentle push. "That goes for you, too."
I gave him a frightened look. He gave me a reassuring smile and patted me on the back.
Pete saw what was going on. He turned and yelled, "Say, one of you girls come over here and be a buddy to Connie. She's new to all this. But from the way she's stacked, she'll make a wonderful addition to the gang."
A little brunette with a pug nose and laughing eyes came over to me. "Hi, I'm Polly." She took my arm and gave me a reassuring smile. "Come on, honey. This is fun."
The women were all ganged around the barrel. A tall willowy gal with blonde hair tumbling over her shoulders reached into the barrel. She pulled out a slip of paper.
"Read it," Pete yelled.
"Panties," she read.
There was a cheer. I wondered what was coming next. I soon found out.
There was a long table at the end of the room with a chair at either end of it. The blonde walked over to one chair, climbed on it, and stepped onto the table.
I saw one of the men turn on a record player. Brassy music blared. And the blonde marched around on the table like a stripper in burlesque. She was wearing a sweater and skirt. And from the way she jiggled and bounced I knew she had nothing on underneath.
"Come on, Marge," one of the men yelled. "Get with it."
She crossed her arms and grabbed the bottom of her sweater. She slowly tugged the sweater up. And then with a flourish she yanked it over her head and tossed it out on the crowd.
She kept parading around on the table, with her firm upthrust breasts bouncing. Her belly was flat. Her tanned arms were lean and muscular. And she walked with the tawny grace of a jungle cat.
"Come on, Marge. This isn't burlesque," Pete yelled.
I turned to one of the girls. "I thought she was to take off her panties."
"She does. But she has to take off the top layer first."
Her skirt was the next to go. I was surprised. She was wearing a pair of black net panties trimmed with black lace. Her thighs were lean and lithe. She had beautiful legs.
"Get the panties off," one of the men yelled.
The panties were the next to go. She waved them with a flourish and a big grin. Then she tossed them to the crowd. She went to the end of the table and stepped down onto the chair and to the floor.
"Who's next?" Jerry yelled.
"Let's initiate Connie," one of the women said.
I was terrified. I was no stripper. The hell with it.
I turned and saw Tim staring at me. I had never seen eyes so expressive. They were urging me on. And he was mouthing the word, "chicken".
I gave him a grin. Like Hell I was chicken.
I marched up to the barrel and reached inside I pulled a slip.
"What does it say?" Pete asked.
I stared at the slip of paper. I was too stunned to say anything.
"Well, what does it say?" Pete asked.
I tried to talk. But it came out as a whisper. "It says The Works."
There was a cheer. I looked at Tim. And again he was mouthing the word, "chicken".
If I get mad enough, I'll do anything. And Tim calling me chicken made me boil over.
I shoved through the women and stepped onto the chair and then onto the table. The record player was turned on.
"Give us a dance," one of the men yelled.
There was clapping and cheers. As I looked out over the crowd I saw happy faces full of anticipation. They were having fun. I saw no lust on any face. They weren't being vulgar. To them, this was fun. So I decided that I had better join into the spirit of the party.
I had done some tap dancing as a kid. And, for the fun of it, I occasionally went into some of my routines if the music on the radio or TV was right. But, of course, I was rusty.
I had steel taps on my sandals. If I didn't, they didn't last a month.
I hesitated a moment, to get with the beat. Then my arms went out and my heels and toes beat a rhythmic tattoo on the table.
They applauded and yelled. Their faces were happy. I was happy, too. And I tapped routines I hadn't done for years. And I was surprised that I didn't miss a beat.
"Take it off, take it off," one of the men yelled.
This was all new to me. I had never even been to burlesque. But, without missing a step, my hands went behind me and to the nape of my neck. I pulled a zipper tab. Then I shrugged from my dress and let it fall. I stepped from it, kicked it away, and resumed tapping.
There were more cheers. I was wearing only panties and bra with my sandals. And I knew that I was as stacked as any woman there.
I reached between my shoulders blades. I freed my bra and tossed it away. My breasts were as big as the blonde's, and just as firm. And they began bouncing to the tempo of my dancing feet.
I pulled down my panties. They fell. I kicked them away. And I tapped my way to the end of the table and stepped down.
There were cheers and more applause. I waved and blew everybody a kiss. I was surprised at myself. I was having fun.
There were eight couples there. Each woman pulled a slip of paper. Some women had to make two or three trips to the top of the table before they were stripped. Because if the slip said sweater, that's all they took off.
Pete took charge again.
"And now we'll choose partners," he said. "Throw all the panties into the barrel."
The panties were gathered up and dumped into the barrel.
"Okay, men, reach into the barrel. But if you get your wife's panties, you have to draw again."
The men lined up and took turns at the barrel. When a pair of panties was drawn, the man would hold them high above his head and wave them with a big grin. I wondered who would get my panties. Although Tim and I weren't married, I knew I couldn't have him on the first round.
I suddenly saw my panties being waved in the air. They were held by a big strapping guy with a jut jaw and a mop of black curly hair.
"Whose are those?" Pete yelled.
I shoved forward. "They're mine," I said.
He gave me a big grin. "I was born in a field of four-leaf clovers. Thai's why I'm always lucky." He took my arm and grinned down at me. "I'm Freddie."
I gave him my best smile. Again I was surprised at myself. No longer was I terrified.
"Where do we go?" I asked.
"We stay right here. We'll wait for the others to draw."
The couples were paired off. Tim had a short chunky dishwater blonde with drooping breasts and a bulging belly. But he was chattering away with her as if she were Venus.
"Okay," Pete yelled, "drag out the mattresses."
Mattresses? What the hell were they going to do?
The men went into the next room. They came back dragging mattresses. They scattered them around all over the floor.
"Okay, take your pick," Pete yelled.
"Come on," Freddie told me.
He dragged me over to a mattress. The other women were flopping on them all around me. I had heard of a community sing. But I had never heard of a community screw.
Once more terror rose up within me. I glanced over at Tim. He and the blonde were already rolling around on their mattress. The other men were already loving up their women.
I dropped onto the mattress and Freddie joined me. "Why don't we go up in the middle of Main Street and do it there?" I asked. "It would probably be more private."
CHAPTER SIX
Have you ever heard a chorus of gasps and moans and screams of eight women in ecstasy?
Well, that gives you a rough idea of what it was like that afternoon.
Freddie was a good lover. But at first I couldn't respond to him because I was so busy looking at the other couples around us and listening to the gasps and the sighs and the moans.
The blonde who was the first to strip was on my left. She was getting it Chinese. A thick muscular hairy guy was leaning forward on his hands, shoving her long slim legs back almost to her torso. Her face was twisted by passion unfulfilled. Her fists were beating on the mattress. And she was gasping and moaning, "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God," as he rammed her faster and faster. And on my right was a buxom brunette up on her knees with her pendulous breasts hanging down and swinging. They were having 69. Her butt was down on his face. But I could see a shock of sandy hair and a thick muscular body. And when she raised her head briefly, I wondered how she would ever be able to take all of that. He had one bigger than Man O' War.
And just below our feet I got a side view of a skinny redhead up on her knees playing lion and a fat guy with six chins and very little hair was throwing the meat to her. She was clawing at the mattress and ramming back against him as hard as he was ramming her. And she was moaning and screaming louder than any of them.
"Are you frigid?" Freddie asked me.
I pulled my gaze away from the gal playing lion and looked at Freddie. "No. But I'm not used to doing it out in the middle of the street."
"You'll get used to it."
"I hope so. But I'm making no promises. Why don't we go off into a bedroom?"
"No. That's against the rules. We've been doing it this way for over fifteen years. And we like it this way."
I reached and rubbed his big prong. I began getting hot.
"Why don't we have 69?" I asked.
"Okay by me," Freddie said. "Who gets on top?"
"I do. That way I don't get it rammed down my neck."
Freddie got on his back. I straddled him and slowly lowered my butt. His hands pressed against it and then I felt his tongue. I exploded. My belly was in knots and passion was churning within me. So I went down on him. And, locked together, we rolled and flopped all over that mattress and onto the floor.
He finally broke free and pulled me back onto the mattress. Just then the blonde next to me let out a long shrieking wail. That chilled it for me. But he shoved my legs up and wide. And he gave me a wash job like I had never had before. And I began popping like a string of firecrackers.
He didn't give me a chance to cool off. He grabbed my ankles and held my legs straight up and wide apart. He got on his knees and WHAM! He was in.
He began with long slow strokes. And I began gasping and moaning as loud as the blonde next to me. And the sounds of ecstasy all around me now charged me even more and drove me to even greater fury. I know saw why they were all together. They were like a school of fish, flopping and thrashing around. And the grunts and screams and moans and gasps provided the perfect backdrop to make one's passion boil.
Freddie fell forward against his hands. My knees were jammed against my breasts. I didn't know until then that I was so double-jointed.
We were headed for the wire together. I reached up and grabbed the hair on his head and tugged. The tidal wave of passion within me suddenly boiled over as he gave me his load. And I let out a long banshee scream louder than the blonde's.
And then we rolled apart, panting and gasping and fighting for breath.
In time, I got up on one elbow. It looked like a battlefield after the battle was over, with corpses sprawled all over the place. And then I understood something else. In a group like this, nearly everyone's passion mounted at the same pace, since all were equally stimulated by what was going on around them. And I dimly remembered the tumult and screaming at the time that I had been torn apart.
I saw Pete wobbling to his feet.
"No bed service," he yelled. "The bar is open if you can make it."
One by one the couples staggered to their feet and headed for the kitchen.
"Do you want a drink?" Freddie asked me. "Yes."
"Lie still. I'll bring it to you."
"You're sweet," I told him.
I looked around me. All the other women were going to the kitchen.
I got to my feet. "It looks like all the other squaws have to get their own drinks. So I might as well do as they do."
Freddie grinned. "This is rough country. You have to light for a living up here. The men are away a lot. So the women have to stand on their own two feet. It's not that the women are squaws. The way we live up here has to be different than in the city."
I nodded. Tim came over to me. He looked at Freddie.
"I'm jealous," Tim said.
"You needn't be," I told him. "You're next if you want to be."
He was long and lean and muscular. He was really hung. He put an arm around me and we headed for the kitchen.
I looked around. Freddie was right behind us.
"You were great," I told Freddie. "And thanks."
"I thought you'd never get cranked up," he told me. "And every time you had a flameout, I thought I'd never get you started again."
I laughed and looked up at Tim. "He must be a flyboy."
"Yeah. Korea. He graduated from high school the year the rest of us went in. That's why we call him Pappy."
"Pappy?"
"Yes. Pappy Boyles. I think his first name is Steve."
"He told me it was Freddie."
"Yeah, that's right. There used to be a gag about Freddie Boyles. And the other guy would say when or why or how often."
We pushed into the kitchen. But we were stopped by the crowd.
"Let's go get a cigarette," Tim said.
He wheeled me around and let me to a coffee table. He plucked two cigarettes from a box and picked up a book of matches. He stuck one cigarette between my lips and lit it. Then he got his going.
"What was all this about you getting cranked up and having flameouts?" Tim asked.
I laughed. "I told him that I wasn't accustomed to doing it out in the middle of the street."
Tim laughed. "You'll get used to it."
"I did, finally. In fact, after I got the hang of it, it made me hotter than I've ever been before."
"That it will. These squares that go off and hide in bedrooms don't know what they're missing."
They began drifting in from the kitchen, clutching a drink and laughing and chattering. It's funny what a difference clothes make. When you're naked, it's damned hard to be pompous and conceited and egotistical. When you're stripped of your clothes you're also stripped of the mask you usually hide behind. More than your body is bare. So are your emotions. And, after you get used to it, you enjoy people better when their bodies and masks are stripped off. You see them as they really are, not as they wish the world to think of them.
"Who's that guy with the scar on his cheek?" I asked.
"Sammy Longdon. He got that in a car wreck when we were in high school. He started out as a livestock truck driver. Sy told me the other night he now has two trucks and rents a third when he's busy. Sy says he's doing okay."
"Yes. But notice him. And notice his eyes. He acts as if he was expecting to be jumped."
"Yeah. I hadn't noticed that. I naturally think of him as he was fifteen years ago."
"I wonder what's making him so jumpy," I said.
"I dunno. I'll try to find out. But you're a pretty good judge of human nature. Who else has a problem?"
"That brunette over there alone in the corner. She was off in that corner while the rest of us were drawing slips from the barrel. She acts as if she felt unclean being here."
"That's Millie Padgett. She married Jeff Haydon shortly after they got out of high school. I'm told they got on a religious kick. They were real nuts, I guess. They didn't have any kids. About five years ago Jeff got killed in an accident at the sawmill. Millie went all to pieces and wound up as an alcoholic. Dick Padgett, who was in my high school class, made his career in the Army. He came down with something they couldn't cure. So they gave him a medical discharge. And Dick came back here to settle down. That was about the time that Jeff died. In a few months Dick and Millie were going together. They were married about a year after Jeff died."
"Is she still a religious nut?" I asked.
"No. She considers herself a fallen woman."
"There's more to it than that," I said.
"What do you mean?" Tim asked.
"I dunno. But she's got more than a guilt complex. What does this Dick Padgett do?"
"Sy says he doesn't know. He and Millie stay pretty much to themselves on a ranch down on Deer Flat. He's been run in a few times for hunting deer out of season. And nobody knows how he makes a living."
"Then that's your answer," I said. "Millie knows something and she's ashamed of it. I'll make book on it."
"I won't argue with you. But why all this psychoanalysis?"
"I'm looking for the answer to who killed Johnny Blake. It had to be someone living up here."
"I think you're way out in left field now," Tim said. He looked toward the kitchen. "Well, it's cleared out now. Let's go get a drink."
As we went into the kitchen a tall lanky guy with high cheekbones and straight black hair passed us. He nodded but said nothing.
"That's Dick Padgett," Tim said in a low voice.
"He looks as creepy as Millie," I told him.
Tim laughed and led me into the kitchen.
"Have you got any booze left?" Tim asked.
"Sure. There's another case of bourbon back there. Will that be enough for you?"
"It ought to be," Tim told him. Tim looked at me. "The usual?"
"Yes," I said.
"Two bourbon on the rocks," Tim told Pete. Pete reached for two glasses and grabbed up a jug. "Say, what's with Dick Padgett?" Tim asked. "I dunno. Why?"
"He and Millie are acting awful funny. Hell, years ago, Dick was a happy-go-lucky guy."
"Yeah. But not since he came back from the Army."
"And is Millie still on the sauce?"
Pete shook his head. "No, Dick got her straightened out. Oh, they have a drink. I just fixed one for both of them a few minutes ago. But, no, Millie's okay now."
Pete dropped some ice into the glasses. He handed them to us.
"Now don't get swacked on that," Pete said with a grin.
"We'll try not to," Tim promised.
He grabbed my arm and led me back into the living room. It was now as it had been when we first walked in. Smoke filled the room. There was laughter and chatter and everybody was happy. Everybody, that is, but Millie. She was still off in the corner and sucking on a cigarette. I finally located Dick Padgett. He was over in another corner talking to the fat guy who had been throwing the meat to the gal below us.
"Who's that fat guy?" I asked.
"Hank Clemens," Tim said.
"They look pretty serious over there," I said.
"Yeah."
"What does Hank do?" I asked. "I dunno."
"I'd suggest you find out," I said. "You're sure weaving cloth with thin air," Tim told me. "Maybe I am. But let's just say that I have a long nose, and it tickles sometimes when things aren't right."
"Is it tickling now?"
"Yes. Do you know whether Millie had anybody on the last go-round?"
"Yes. Fred Carter. But it didn't last long. They were right next to me. And then Millie took off for her corner."
A skinny guy with arms like Popeye and with his nose off center walked up.
"Hi, Lem," Tim greeted.
Lem nodded.
"Have you met Connie Stewart?" Tim asked. "Yep." He looked at me and nodded. "Was into her place a while back for a haircut. Does good work." 'Thanks," I said.
Lem looked up at Tim. "Can I see you a few minutes alone?"
"Sure." Tim looked at me. "Will you excuse me a few minutes?"
"Sure."
"I'll be right back," Tim promised.
Lem led Tim out on the porch and they walked to the far end of it. I could see them through the front window. Lem looked worried. I wondered what was up.
I went back into the kitchen. It was deserted. So I helped myself and built another drink. Then I stood there a few minutes by the open window. How good it seemed to get some fresh air. And then I wandered out through another doorway. I was in a hall. I ambled down it.
I suddenly heard gasping and moaning. I frowned. It was a man.
As I passed the open doorway I glanced in. I stared.
There were two naked men on the bed. They were belly to belly. But each had a hand busy down below. And then their lips mashed together.
I glanced behind me down the hall. Nobody was coming. The hall was deserted. So I stood there.
They rolled apart. One of them got on his knees and straddled the other one. He slowly lowered his butt. And then they had 69.
I was fascinated. I had heard of such things. And it made me hot to watch them, locked together, and rolling all over the bed.
I went on down the hall. Just before I reached the next doorway I heard women gasping and moaning. And there were two of them on the bed, with one woman on her back and .with a blonde up on her elbow caressing the other woman's breasts.
I stood there, fascinated again. I was really getting an education at this party.
The blonde leaned over and her lips clamped on a hard erect nipple while her hand caressed the breast. And the other woman gasped and moaned.
The blonde then went to work on the other nipple and her hand rambled down over the other woman's belly and began stroking her inner thighs. They were shoved apart. The blonde's finger probed the joy box and slipped inside.
The redhead screamed as she exploded. She grabbed the blonde around the neck and pulled her face down. Their lips mashed together. And their faces squirmed around as the blonde's finger danced inside the redhead.
The blonde finally pulled away. She wheeled around. And then they had 69.
I turned around and headed back to the kitchen. Tim was standing by the butcher block, building a drink.
"I wondered what had happened to you," Tim told me.
"I've been increasing my education," I said with a grin.
"How?"
"Two guys are going at it down there on the bed. In the next room there are two women."
Tim laughed. "Seems they've gotten more worldly ways since high school days. Who is it?"
"I don't know. I don't know all their names."
We went back into the living room. Three couples were wrestling on the mattresses. Everyone else stood around laughing and talking and ignoring them. The spell was now broken. The three couples looked ludicrous instead of exciting.
Pete came in. "Hey, everybody. Knock it off for a minute, will you?"
Everyone stopped talking and stared at him. Everyone, that is, except the three couples on the mattresses. They were too far gone.
"We've got to get this thing cranked up again," Pete said. "We got a new reel last week. You've never seen it. How about some movies?"
There were cheers and applause.
"Okay, movies it is," Pete said. "Let's get things shoved around here and pull the drapes. I'll go get the machine."
I had heard of such things. But I had never seen such a movie. So I was curious.
Pete came back lugging a big black case. He swung it up onto a table. He left the room and came back with a long black tube. It turned out to be a screen that he hung from a metal folding rack. He then went back to the case on the table and set up the projector. The drapes were drawn.
Pete snapped on the projector. "Douse the lights," he called.
Tim and I were sitting side by side on two straight chairs. It wasn't very comfortable.
The projector whirred for a moment. Then music blared. And then on the white screen there appeared the title: Sex Is Where You Find It.
"Yeah," Tim grunted.
It opened with a long shot of a rural scene. The trees were swaying in the breeze. Cows grazed in a pasture. And away up on a hill was a house.
And then the camera closed on the house. The house came nearer and nearer. It was an old-fashioned farmhouse with a big front porch and with chickens clucking and pecking in the yard around it.
And then the camera focused on an upstairs window, the window grew nearer and nearer. And then, suddenly, we were in a bedroom.
Two girls lay on a big old-fashioned bed with a carved headboard. Each was wearing a simple print dress. They were barefoot. And they were chattering about the dance they were going to that night, and how they had to get a nap that afternoon. There was also the usual girl talk about what they were going to wear. They chattered on and on for a few minutes until you began to wonder where and when they were going to get some sex.
And then they started griping about the hot weather. From the conversation you found out that the girl with the earrings lived in the city and was visiting in the country. The other girl was her cousin.
The city girl said they'd be cooler if they took off their dresses. The country girl was too bashful.
But finally the city girl arched her back and pulled up her dress. She was nearest to the camera. Her legs were long and slim. It made you want to see more.
She sat up and crossed her arms and grabbed the hem of her dress. She pulled it up and over her head. She tossed it aside and lay back.
She was stacked. She was all curves and in the right places. She had massive breasts that stood up like twin peaks. And she lay there and closed her eyes as though trying to go to sleep.
You should have seen the gradual change on the country girl's face. At first she registered shock and dismay. But, in time, that faded and admiration took over. And the country girl remarked about what a beautiful body the city girl had.
The city girl was aloof and acted as if she were trying to go to sleep. But she finally opened her eyes and asked her cousin why she didn't take off her dress, too. She might as well get comfortable.
The country girl sat up and got rid of her dress. She had a beautiful body, too. But it was not as lush and she did not have the curves. She was built more like a greyhound.
The country girl fell back and they lay there side by side for a moment. And then the city girl's hand crept out and began stroking her cousin's belly. Her hand soon got bolder and crept up onto her breasts. It then began plucking the nipples.
The city girl got up on an elbow and her lips clamped on a nipple. It was just as I had seen it in the back bedroom.
I glanced around the room. Everyone was staring at the screen. There were low gasps and you could sense the excitement in the room.
I glanced back into the corner. Millie wasn't there. I leaned toward Tim and told him.
"So what? She's probably moved."
I nodded. But I wondered why she would have moved. She had been glued to that corner all afternoon.
The city girl was now planting kisses all over her cousin's belly and working down and down and down. She spread her cousin's legs and threw her leg up and over. It was just as I had seen it in the back bedroom. So again I looked away. I glanced over at the corner where Millie had been. There was something on the floor.
I leaned toward Tim. "Something's on the floor over there in that corner," I said.
"Where?"
"Where Millie was."
He frowned and stared over at the corner. He stood up. "Down in front," someone yelled. Tim ignored it. I got up and followed him. Everyone was yelling at us.
It was dark back there in that corner. Tim went to a window and yanked back the drapes.
Everyone started yelling at him. But again Tim paid no attention to them. And he had good reason as he stood there staring at the floor.
Millie lay there on her back with one leg doubled under her. Her face was twisted out of shape. And she stared up at us with eyes that did not see.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The women started screaming. The men crowded in around Tim and me. The movie was forgotten.
"Stand back," Tim ordered, squatting down. He reached for a wrist. He shook his head. He stood up again. "Okay," Tim yelled, "open all the drapes. We're going to have a head count."
"What do you mean?" Pete asked.
"Just that. Is everybody here? So each of you couples get together and all of you line up over there along that wall."
There was a lot of mumbling and grumbling. But each man found his wife and the couples lined up along the wall.
Tim nodded. "Okay, we're all here. But that's not the half of it. We're going to stay here until we get some answers."
"You're not the law," Dick Padgett said. "You certainly look like a bereaved husband," Tim told him. "What do you know about this?"
"Nothing."
"What was Millie sulking in the corner about all afternoon?" Tim asked Dick.
"She wasn't sulking. Doc Crocker in Broken Tree says it's depression." , "What was she depressed about?" Tim asked.
Dick shook his head. "Damfino. It's been coming on for nearly a year."
"Are you trying to say that Millie committed suicide?"
"It could be," Dick said. "She's talked about it lots of times."
"Why couldn't Millie have died from natural causes?" Pete asked.
"She could have," Tim admitted. "Or it could have been poison. We've got a problem. We've got to get that body dressed. And that could be a job. Because we've got to get the law out here."
That set off a hubbub. Tim held up his hand for silence.
"I'm an attorney. I know the law. I know what has to be done. And I know what will happen to all of us if we don't report it."
"Why can't we call Doc Crocker and tell him Millie fell out of her chair while we were having a movie, and after the movie was over we found her dead?"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," everyone chorused.
Tim hesitated. "Okay, we might get away with that."
"Sure," Pete said, "why jump to the conclusion that she was poisoned? Maybe it was something else. But if you call the cops and say that Millie has been murdered, they'll ask you how you know that. And if it turns out that she died of natural causes...."
Tim nodded. "Okay, let's round up her clothes. You women get out of here. We'll get her dressed."
"I'm not leaving," I said. "You men don't know how to dress a woman. I do."
"Yeah, and you'll conk out in the middle of it," Tim said.
"No I won't," I told him. "Let's get going."
I went over to the corner of the room where the women had piled their clothes. I turned around. "Okay, all you women, come over and claim your clothes. What's left should be Millie's. But Dick, you know what is hers."
"I think so," Dick said. "But I'm not sure."
The women came over and pawed at the clothing as if it were a rummage sale. Panties and bras and skirts and blouses and dresses were flying in the air and being grabbed by some woman. Then all the women left the room, followed by the men. Only Tim and I were left.
It was a gruesome job. But ten minutes later we had the body clothed. It was beginning to stiffen.
"We've got to hurry," Tim said. "We want the body back in the same position we found it."
A few minutes later we back away and Tim looked down at the body. He nodded.
"Isn't it possible for the doctor to set the time of death?" I asked.
He nodded.
"Well, we've wasted a half-hour now. It'll be another hour or more before the doctor can get out here."
"We'll just say we had a long movie," Tim said.
Tim went to the doorway and into the kitchen. Pete was building drinks for everyone. They were gulping them down and asking for refills.
"Now don't get drunk," Tim warned. "That's the worst possible thing. So shut down the bar, Pete. Get out the coffeepot. We've got to have everybody sober. Where's the phone?"
Pete pointed. "Over there on the wall. There's another one in the last bedroom."
"This will do," Tim said. "Where's the directory?"
"There on the counter somewhere," Pete told him.
Tim went to the counter and found the directory. He dialed. He apparently was talking to the doctor. He finally hung up and turned around.
"Where's Dick?" Tim asked. "Around here somewhere," Pete said. "Then find him," Tim said.
He came over to the butcher block. "I'D have one and only one," he told Pete. He looked at me. "Want one?" I nodded.
Pete fixed two drinks for us. He handed them to Tim and me.
"Put on the coffeepot, Delia," Pete said.
Delia was a slat-thin brunette with a pug nose. I hadn't even noticed her before. But she filled the coffeepot and put it on the range'.
"Will you get me a sheet, Delia?" Tim asked.
Delia nodded and went down the hall. She soon came back and handed Tim a sheet. I trailed Tim into the living room and he covered the body. Then Tim got a cigarette going for both of us. He stood there staring out the front window, dragging on his cigarette, and sipping his drink. We were alone in the room.
"What do you think?" I asked. "Was she murdered?"
"Who knows? I saw a guy with his face screwed up like that after dying of a heart attack."
"I wonder where Dick Padgett is," I said.
"Good question," Tim said. "Let's go look for him."
We scouted the house. He wasn't there. We returned to the kitchen.
"What kind of a car or truck does Dick drive?" Tim asked Pete.
"An old blue pickup." He went to the window and leaned out. "It's gone."
"Goddamn him," Tim said. "Why did he shove off like that? I'm going after him."
Tim strode through the living room and out the front door. I was at his heels.
"Want me to go along?" I asked.
"Yes. It'll be more pleasant for you."
We climbed into his convertible. Tim gunned it out of the lot and up the hill. He was grim and silent. He was staring straight ahead and fighting the curves. So I retreated back into my corner of the seat and stayed clammed.
When we hit the top of the hill and the main road, Tim turned right, away from town. The big car roared down the grade, stood on its nose, and skidded around every curve. I was scared. So I finally said, "Perhaps he didn't go home."
Tim nodded and said nothing. His jaw jutted forward. His eyes were brooding. I didn't like to see him that way.
The road finally leveled off and ran straight as a ribbon. Tim shoved his foot to the floor. The car roared and everything around us was a blur. He suddenly hit the brake and the tires screamed. He leaned on the wheel and the car jolted over a bumpy road. He was forced to go slower now.
The road turned left and down a slight hill. Ahead was a ramshackle house. Beside it was a blue pickup.
Tim stopped near the truck. "Stay here," he said.
Tim started toward the house. A rifle cracked. Tim ducked. He ran and crouched behind the pickup.
"What's the matter with you, Dick?" Tim yelled.
"You ain't goin' to take me in," Dick called.
"Nobody's trying to take you in," Tim said. "You're her husband. You're the only one with authority to call anyone. And if you didn't kill her, what are you scared of?"
"Everyone will say I killed her," Dick said. "Everyone knows we haven't gotten along. Everyone knows she was threatenin' to leave me."
"So what? Let people talk. I'm an attorney. I deal with facts, not with rumors. If you say you didn't kill her, I believe you. It won't cost you a cent and I'll be your attorney."
"Do you really mean that?"
"Sure," Tim said. "Put down that rifle and come on out. Doc Crocker says for you to call a mortuary in Broken Tree. They'll call him. He'll examine the body."
There was a long silence. There was only the wind rustling the trees to break the stillness.
Dick finally appeared in the doorway. Tim stayed down behind the truck.
"If you've got a revolver on you," Tim said, "forget it. You say you have not committed murder. So you're in the clear. But if you kill both of us, you'll really go to the gas chamber. So be smart and get smart."
Dick hesitated for a moment. Then he pulled a revolver from his trouser pocket.
I shuddered. Tim was smart. If Tim hadn't said that, we both might have been dead.
Dick turned and tossed the revolver back into the house. Then he came on out to the pickup. Tim stood up.
"What mortuary do you want?" Tim asked.
"I don't know. I ain't got no money to bury her."
"Don't worry about that now," Tim said. "We used to hunt rabbits with Fred Newhall. I hear he's now running the family funeral home. Want to call him?"
Dick nodded.
"Okay," Tim said, "get in your truck and head back up to Pete's. We'll tail you. We'll call from there."
Dick climbed into his truck and started it. The truck bounced around in a wide arc and headed back up the hill. We followed. But we went back much slower than we had come down.
Dick stopped his truck near Pete's house. He climbed out as we parked.
Tim got out and went over to Dick. "Now say nothing in there. It's none of their business why you left."
Dick nodded and started for the door. We followed him inside.
The living room was deserted. Everybody was crowded into the kitchen or standing around in the hall.
Tim went to the counter and picked up the directory again. He turned and dialed. He soon hung up.
"Okay," Tim called, "let's go back into the living room. I want to talk to all of you."
They slowly filed into the living room. They were certainly a somber quiet bunch.
"Okay, now, listen to me," Tim said, standing in the middle of the room. "I'm willing to be attorney for all of you. But each of you will have to do as I say. If you don't I don't represent you. Is that clear?"
Everybody nodded.
"Okay. First of all, you go ahead and act perfectly natural and follow your usual routine. Tomorrow's Sunday. If you usually go to church, to to church. If you don't go to church, then don't show up in church. If you usually go fishing on Sunday, go fishing. See what I mean?"
Again everybody nodded.
"And the same goes for Monday," Tim went on. "If you have to go into Broken Tree for something, go into Broken Tree. Be natural. But for Crysake, don't any of you suddenly take off for L.A. or San Francisco. That's the worst goddamn thing you could do. Are any of you planning on such a trip next week?"
Everybody shook their heads.
"Okay. It's settled. Go about your business, but don't take off. And that goes for you, too, Dick. I know you're broken up. But we've all got to be handy, in case it was not a natural death. Now if the cops try to talk to you, tell them you're saying nothing unless I am with you. It's now the law that staying silent is not an admission of guilt. Oh, I know they'll try to bully you around. But just get on the phone to me. My phone is to be installed Monday morning. But you can always call Sy Perkins. He or his wife are always home. They'll get hold of me. Is all this clear?"
Everybody nodded again.
"Okay," Tim said. "Now everybody except Dick and Pete and Delia get out of here. Connie and I will stay with you, too, Dick. It's okay for you to act broken up over Millie. That's normal. But don't any of you start saying that you think she was poisoned. You have no reason to think that. Got it?"
Again they nodded.
They all trooped out the door. They didn't even take the time to tell Pete and Delia that they had had a good time. But, under the circumstances, that was natural.
The cars in the yard whirred and roared. One by one they wheeled around and started up the hill. The yard was soon empty, except for Dick's pickup and Tim's car and two that belonged to Pete.
Pete put away the movie projector and the screen. He and Delia began to tidy up the house. Nobody said anything.
Tim was sitting in a big chair, chain smoking, and staring straight ahead. I didn't bother him.
It seemed like a century, but it was probably only an hour or so, before the hearse arrived.
A big broad-shouldered guy with blonde curls came to the door, followed by a short stocky man with a black crew cut.
Pete went to the door. "Hi, Fred," Pete said. "Come on in."
He shoved the screen open. The two men came in. Tim got up and came over.
"Hi, Fred," Tim said. They shook hands. "What happened?" Fred asked. Tim told him.
Fred frowned and lit a cigarette. "You mean you found her there on the floor like that after the movie?"
"Yes," Tim said.
Fred turned to the shorter man. "Will you wait in the hearse, Tom?"
The shorter man nodded and went out the door. We stood there watching him go and climb into the hearse.
Fred turned back. "Okay. Now what was going on? Swapping?"
Pete and Tim nodded.
"Just like when we were in high school," Pete said.
"Yeah. I wish I could get away long enough to join you sometime. Ten years in the same hole is too long. I need some strange stuff, too. But now go on. Was it a French movie?"
Pete nodded. "And when it was over, we found Millie lying there on the floor."
Fred went over, squatted down, and pulled back the sheet. He stared at the contorted face. "She was in agony when she died."
"Yeah," Pete said.
Fred stood up. "Could she have been poisoned?"
"I doubt it," Tim said. "Hell, why would you think that?"
Fred shrugged. "Look at that face."
"Yeah," Tim agreed. "But I saw one like that after a heart attack."
Fred nodded. "Could be. But I'll have to get hold of the coroner."
"Doc Crocker said for you to call him as soon as you got the body back to town." Fred frowned. "Why?"
"Because he's been treating Millie."
"What for?"
"Dick says for depression," Tim said.
"Was she acting strange this afternoon?" Fred asked.
"She was withdrawn," Tim said. "But I wouldn't say that she was acting strange. She just stayed to herself in the corner."
"Did she join in?" Fred asked.
"Yes. One go-round," Tim told him. "Then she went back to her corner."
"I think I'd better call the coroner " Fred said....
"You call Doc Crocker," Tim said. "Leave Carl Reiner out of this. You know what a sonofabitch he is. If it's poison, Doc Crocker will know it. But I don't trust Carl."
"Okay," Fred said. "I'll play it your way."
"It's perfectly legal," Tim told him. "Doc Crocker is the family physician. He was treating her. Why shouldn't he be called in? But if you get any static, call Sy Perkins. He'll get hold of me. I'll straighten it out."
"You mean you'll take the heat?" Fred asked.
"Right. There's no reason to call in the coroner. Not unless Doc Crocker thinks something was wrong."
Fred nodded and went to the door. He whistled. The other man climbed out of the hearse and came in.
"Come on," Tim said, heading into the kitchen.
We followed him.
"Let's have a drink apiece," Tim said. "We need it."
Pete built the drinks and we stood there sipping them. Fred came to the doorway.
"Will you come down in the morning, Dick?" Fred asked.
Dick nodded. But he said nothing.
Fred turned and disappeared. We heard the screen slam. We went back into the living room. We saw the hearse pulling away.
"I think we'd better be going, too," Tim said, taking my arm.
I nodded and we started for the door.
Tim turned. "Now don't put on an act, Dick. If you and Millie had trouble and she was going to leave you, and you didn't care, then don't put on an act that you're sorry she's dead. By that I don't mean jump up and down for joy. But act natural about it. If everybody knows you didn't give a damn for Millie, don't try to put on a show now."
Dick nodded. "Millie and I had our fights. But, believe me, I'm sorry she's dead."
"That's the ticket," Tim said. "Be sincere. Play it square.
Don't play it phony?' He turned to Pete and Delia. "Thanks for having us down. I'm sorry it turned out this way."
"We are, too," Delia said. "I wonder now if we'll ever get together again."
"Oh, sure we will," Pete said. "But it may be a month or so."
Tim waved and I followed him out the door and to the car. He helped me in, then gunned it out of the lot.
We climbed up the grade in silence. His face was still grim and brooding. I left him alone with his thoughts.
"Fred's in a tight spot," Tim finally said. "If Doc Crocker finds poison, Carl Reiner will raise hell with him for not telling him first."
I let it hang. He suddenly shoved his foot to the floor.
"Want to go to Broken Tree with me?" he asked.
"Sure," I said. "I always like to go where the action is."
He nodded. "We'll probably see plenty of action."
At the top of the grade he turned left and we rolled down Main Street. He wheeled into the filling station. Sy came out.
Tim climbed out. "Hi," he greeted. "Fill it up. I've got to go to Broken Tree." Sy frowned. "What for?" Tim told him.
"Do you think she was poisoned?" Sy asked. "Who knows?" Tim said. "It could have been a natural death."
Sy shook his head. "I don't think so. They haven't been gettin' along."
"Dick says Doc Crocker was treating her for depression."
Sy nodded. "She's been threatenin' to kill herself for a long time now."
"Then if it was poison," Tim said, "it could have been suicide. But she had no purse. I found no bottle in her pocket. I didn't find any bottle anywhere around."
"Maybe itwas a powder," Sy said. "If she was determined to die, she could've chewed up the paper envelope."
Tim nodded. "There'll have to be an autopsy. We won't know until then. But I don't trust Carl Reiner down there."
"Me neither," Sy said. "I think you're smart in going down." Sy looked at me. "Are you going, too?"
"Yes," I said. "I don't want to go over there and sit all alone."
"Don't blame you," Sy said. "Especially the way the town is now. Some are for you, and some are against you. I'm doin' all I can for you."
"Thanks," I said.
Tim slid under the wheel and started the motor. We glided away from the pumps. Then we headed down the other side.
Again Tim drove silently and his face was once more grim. I knew he was trying to figure every angle.
Once more he shoved the car down the grade, standing it on its nose, and ripping it around each curve. I hung on, hoping we wouldn't land in a canyon.
We screeched around a hairpin turn. The hearse was pulled off to the right, damn near scraping the rock wall that went straight up. A police car teetered on the brink, headed uphill, with its left wheels on the road. There was barely ten feet between the police car and the hearse. Two cops and Fred were standing just behind the hearse.
There was nothing to do but go through. Tim gripped the wheel and he leaned forward. Metal clinked as we went through.
"That will be a ticket for you," I said, as Tim fought the car around a curve.
Tim nodded but said nothing. He hit the brake. He wheeled into a side road. He got turned around and headed back up the hill. He parked behind the police car.
The cops came over. "Where the hell do you think you're going?" the taller cop asked.
"To Broken Tree. Why did you stop that hearse?"
"What's it to you?"
"I'm an attorney," Tim said. "Hey, Fred, what's the problem?"
Fred came over. "Somebody must have called in. These cops want to take charge of the body."
CHAPTER EIGHT
"What's the problem?" Tim asked the cops.
"No problem," the taller cop said. "We got tipped that a woman was murdered at Pete McDonald's place and the body was being brought in. We're claiming it."
"And I am the attorney for that woman's husband, Dick Padgett. I therefore shall be present until you release the body to me."
"You can't do that," the shorter cop said.
"Like hell I can't," Tim said. "I'll dig up a judge and get a court order. Just try me."
Tim sat there staring up at the two cops. I wondered who was going to be chicken. It turned out to be the cops.
"Okay," the taller cop said, "have it your way. Follow us to town."
The cops climbed into their car. Tim started his car and followed them up the grade. In time, they were able to turn around at a crossroad.
The police car was just ahead of us. Tim hung on like a terrier chasing a rat. He was still silent and grim and chain smoking.
"Mind if I butt into your thoughts?" I finally asked. "No," he said, still staring straight ahead. "What's on your mind?"
"There's a missing link somewhere."
"What do you mean?"
"Just this. Somehow, someway, Millie's death is tied to the death of Johnny Blake."
"But we don't know yet if Millie was murdered."
"Doesn't matter. Even if she committed suicide, she's still tied to Johnny Blake's murder."
"How do you figure that?"
"Because Millie knew something or was terrified by knowing something. It was more than depression. That was just an easy way out for the doctor. So we have to find out how long she has been depressed. That will give us the time when something happened."
"You talk like you're high on marijuana," Tim said.
"Maybe so. But if we ever get to the bottom of this, you'll find out that I'm right."
"But you have nothing to go on," Tim said.
"Oh, don't I? Well, try this on for size. Johnny Blake was a playboy. He roamed the world. He had plenty of money. But from what Sy and others have told me, there was no love lost between Johnny and his father. Oh sure, the old man gave him plenty of money. But I was told that the old man did that to keep Johnny away from home."
"But why?" Tim asked.
"Because they were always fighting. I never met old man Blake. But from what I hear, he's a domineering old buccaneer."
"That he is," Tim said, nodding.
"And I also hear that Johnny was made from the same mold. The old man had the younger sister and older brother cowed. But not Johnny."
Again Tim nodded. "That's right. Who's been telling you all these things?"
"Doesn't matter. When Johnny was chasing mc, I did some nosing around."
"So what's your theory?"
"I don't have any theory. But when Johnny first showed up in my shop late that afternoon, it was said he had come back to see his father. And then I found out he had been coming back every month or so for the last year or two."
"Well, what's so wrong about that?"
"Because up until a year ago, Johnny hadn't been home for five years. And then all of a sudden he starts coming home nearly every month."
"And Sy said that when he started chasing you, he was up here every week or so."
"That's right. But did it ever occur to you that I might be just a good excuse?"
Tim turned and stared at me.
"Watch out!" I yelled. "There's a turn."
Tim stood on the brake. He damn near ran over into the canyon. I blew out my breath and tried to relax.
"Will you please keep your eyes on the goddamn road?" I asked.
"You rocked me," Tim said. "Do you mean he wasn't coming back here every week just to see you?"
"I don't know. Sure, he was rushing me. But if we're going to get to the bottom of things, we can't believe everything we see."
"But why would he be coming back here every week?"
"For the same reason that he came back here every month for the last year and yet he hadn't been home for five years before he started coming back every month."
Tim dumped his cigarette and lit another one. He smoked in silence for a while.
"Well," he finally said, "you're trying to make this out to be a cloak and dagger affair."
"Who knows? Maybe it is."
Tim shook his head. "Not way up there in Slocum."
"Okay, what's your theory?"
"My theory is there was no tie-in between the two kills."
"But how do you explain Johnny Blake's sudden attack of homesickness?" I asked.
"I don't. Perhaps he thought the old man was near the end of the road. So he came home frequently to keep an eye on things. Because he didn't want to be beat out of his inheritance."
"That might be," I said. "In fact, that might be just what he was telling around. I heard that he had been telling just that. At the time, I bought it. But I don't know now."
As we hit the bottom of the grade, and the road straightened out, I said, "Who do you suppose tipped the cops about Millie?"
"That's what I'm going to find out."
"How?"
He shrugged, dragging on his cigarette, but he said nothing.
"I didn't get introduced to everybody up there at Pete's," I said. "Were all of them in high school with you?"
"Yes. Either in my class or just ahead or just behind. But we were in high school together at some time or other."
"So then what do you know about all of them now?"
"I don't. But I'm going to find out."
"Did it ever occur to you that Dick Padgett might have called the cops?" I asked.
Again he turned to stare at me.
"Watch the road," I yelled.
He stared at the road and we drove in silence. He finally said, "Why would Dick have called the cops?"
"Damfino. But when you read a murder mystery, you always keep your eye on the one who is least suspected. But someone wanted to cops to know damned fast that it was poison. Well, if it was poison, Doc Crocker would have found it. So why short-circuit him? Why tip the cops and have the coroner waiting?"
Tim sighed. "You come up with the damndest questions."
"Yeah, don't I? What's the matter, don't you want to face facts?"
"Yes. But with all these questions swirling around, it's like being caught out in a blizzard. It's overwhelming."
"Yeah, isn't it? And I have something else to add to your blizzard-they're still going to try to railroad me for Johnny Blake's death. That way there will be no chance that an inquiry will bring out the real reason why he was killed."
"But Blake was hit on the back of the head. That rock was wet, and hadn't been out of the creek bed very long."
"So what? They could say that I heard someone following me. I picked up the rock and kept on going. Then I was jumped. And while I was being raped my hand stumbled on the rock. He was lying flat to hold me down. So I smashed his head in."
"Yeah. But that's all pure conjecture."
"Yeah," I agreed. "But how about fingerprints? Could they find fingerprints on such a rock?"
"I doubt it."
"So that makes their case all the better," I said. "Then you think they're going to arrest you again?" Tim asked.
"I know it. Particularly since Millie died. Because it's possible that some of the facts in Millie's death could lead to Johnny Blake's killing."
"You're really reaching for that one," Tim said.
"Okay, so I'm reaching. When you're staring at the gas chamber, you start having hallucinations. But if they grab me again, just remember what I told you."
"I will. But I don't think they'll grab you."
"Will you make book on it?" I asked.
"No. Not with the crooked gang that's running the court house."
We drove in silence again. But as we hit the city limits Tim said, "Why do you think Dick Padgett would have called the cops?"
"I told you before I didn't know why. Or there was no reason for him to. The important thing is that someone wanted the cops to find out fast. So watch your step. More is involved than Millie's death. And it's entirely possible that others will die, too."
"My, but you're morbid," Tim said, trying to laugh. But there was no mirth in it.
We trailed the police car and the hearse to the mortuary. We swung up into a long curving drive. Tim set the brake and climbed out.
The two cops were out before us. As Fred and his assistant came around to open the rear door, the cops rushed up.
"We're taking charge," the taller one said. "Now get that body out of there and clear out."
I looked at Tim. He frowned. Fred turned and glanced at Tim.
Tim went forward.
"What's the meaning of this?"
"We're making sure this body isn't tampered with," the shorter cop said.
"Tampered with?" Tim asked. "How could the body be tampered with?"
"That's what we're making sure of," the taller cop said. "Now stand back. We're staying with this body."
"And so am I," Tim said. "Nobody's going to inject it and then yell Foul later on."
"You're not going in with us," the taller cop said.
"Like hell I'm not," Tim said. "I represent the husband. You can't keep me out."
They stood and glared at each other for a moment. Then both cops shrugged.
The cops looked at Fred. "Here, help us get the body inside."
They rolled the body to the door and on inside. Tim was beside it. The cops brought up the rear. And I trailed the cops. But when I got to the door, the shorter one turned.
"You're not coming in here," he told me.
He slammed the door and I heard the lock click. Damn!
As I turned and started toward Tim's car I saw another convertible pulling in behind it and stopping.
A tall willowy woman about my age, with raven hair cascading over her shoulders, slid out of the car and came toward me. .
"Hi," she greeted.
I nodded and said nothing. I opened the door of Tim's car and slid under the wheel.
"Did they lock you out?" she asked. "Yes. But what's it to you?"
She opened her purse and dug around in it. She finally held up a press card. "I'm Sharon Michaels, with The Blade."
"So what?" I said. "If there's any talking done, Tim will do it."
She looked surprised for a moment. "You mean Tim Riley?"
"Yes. Why?"
"I lived in Slocum until I was sixteen. Tim was a year ahead of me in high school. But I used to date him some." I grinned and then tried to suppress it. "What's so funny?"
"From what I hear," I said, "the boys and girls had a pretty wild time."
She grinned, too. "Yeah, we sure did."
"Were you in on the swapping?" I asked.
"Yeah. Tim was a real stud in those days."
I opened my purse and fished for my cigarettes. It gave me a chance to stall. First of all, why was she here so fast? Who tipped her? Maybe, somehow, she had heard about the swapping parties. It would be up to Tim to identify her and say that she had been there.
I lit a cigarette and stared straight ahead. "What's the matter?" she asked. "Nothing."
"What's that all about in there?" she asked. "I told you Tim would have to tell you."
"But why are you so hostile?"
I stared up at her. "Because I'm wondering how the hell you got here so fast. Who tipped her?"
She laughed. "I'll be glad to tell you. Pete McDonald called me. I knew Millie. Pete didn't let on that anything was wrong. He merely said Fred was bringing Millie's body down. That I should come over and talk to Fred, since Millie and I had been good friends in high school."
"It all seems so innocent," I said.
"Say, what's eating on you?"
"Nothing."
"Yes, there is. Now out with it."
"I'm not talking to anyone unless Tim is here."
"Then let's ask him," Sharon said. "Here he comes now."
I turned and looked over my shoulder. Tim was coming around from the other side of the building.
"Hi, Tim," Sharon called, and ran to him.
She hugged him to her, as if she were his long-lost wife. And Tim was hugging her, too. This was quite a reunion.
Then Tim broke free and his knees buckled. He kissed her lightly on the lips.
"Sharon," he said. "I didn't expect to see you."
"And I didn't expect to see you, either."
Tim led her over to the car. "Have you two met?"
"Yes," I said. "And she's trying to pump me."
Tim frowned and looked at Sharon. Again she opened her purse and dug out her press card. Tim took it and glanced at it.
"Oh, so you're a reporter now?" he asked.
"Yes. Pete McDonald called me and said Millie had died at his place. That Fred was bringing the body down. He asked me to come over and talk to Fred. As I drove up, I saw the cops shut the door in her face. So I asked her what it was all about. She said she wasn't about to talk until you came out."
Tim laughed. "I don't blame her."
"Why? What's going on?"
Tim shook his head. "I don't know. I wish I did."
"You mean something's wrong?"
"Yes. Somebody called the sheriff after Fred left town with the body. I was afraid Carl Reiner would horn in. So I started down the grade pell-mell. I damn near crashed into the hearse and a sheriffs car. Then I tailed both of them down here."
"Did they kick you out?" I asked.
"No. They're waiting for Carl Reiner."
"But you said you were going to make sure they didn't inject the body with something," I said.
"I did. Fred and his man are sitting in there with shotguns. Those deputies aren't even going to get close."
"But did you call Doc Crocker?"
"Yes. He's coming right over. So it ought to be a real donnybrook."
"How long will you be?" Sharon asked him.
"Damfino. Why?"
"What's your friend going to do while you're holed up in there?" Sharon asked him.
"Yeah. I hadn't thought of that."
"I've got a suggestion," Sharon said. "Let her go with me. You'll be tied up for at least two hours. We'll go get something to eat and then go to my apartment. Here...."
Sharon opened her purse again and pulled a pen and a scratch pad. "Here's my number. It's unlisted. Don't lose it. But when you're through, call me."
Tim nodded. He looked at me. "Want to go with her?"
"The only reason she wants me," I said, "is that she wants to pump me."
Tim grinned. He looked at Sharon. "Are you willing to sit on everything until this thing is over?"
"Sure. But I want a scoop after it's over."
"That you will get." He looked at me. "Go ahead and tell her everything. The Blade has tried for years to clean out the court house." He looked back at Sharon. "Are you still trying to do it?"
"Sure. This is Connie Stewart, isn't it?"
"Yes," Tim said. "Why?"
"Because we've got some pipelines into the court house. I heard what a rough time they gave her. I want to find out about that, too." She looked at me. "Oh, it's not going to be published. It just goes into our secret file. When the day of reckoning comes, it will be part of the ammunition we throw at them."
"But I don't want to get involved," I said.
"Oh, you won't be. But it will give the investigators a line of questioning."
I turned to Tim. "Am I to tell her everything?"
"Yes." He turned to Sharon. "But if you violate my confidence...."
"Don't worry. I won't." She turned back to me. "Come on, you can go in my car."
I climbed out and walked back to her car. Tim walked over with Sharon and helped her in. He planted his big hands on the top of the front door and leaned forward against them. "Now you girls be good."
"What the hell could we do in Broken Tree?" Sharon asked. "When I went with The Blade, I said for only five years, just to get experience. Then it was the big city for me. Yet here I am-stuck."
"But why?" Tim asked.
"Let's say I got homesick after three months in San Francisco."
Tim nodded. "I know. After fifteen years away, I still feel a twinge now and then."
Tim stood up and Sharon started the motor. He waved and the car backed slowly away. Then she gunned it forward and I looked back, waving. And Tim was standing there, grinning.
"Tim's quite a guy," Sharon said, as she guided the car out of the drive and into the street.
"Yeah," I agreed.
"Were you out at Pete's this afternoon with Tim?"
"Yes."
"Have you ever swapped before?"
"Who said we were swapping?"
She laughed. "Pete did. Why not? I go up there once in a while for swapping parties. He said that he had a new stag movie. When it was over, you found Millie on the floor. Is that right?"
I hesitated for a moment. Why argue with that? So I merely said, "Yes."
"Did the girls get together, too?" she asked. "Two of them."
"All of them probably would have if you hadn't found Millie dead."
"Say, what kind of a bunch is that up there?" I asked. "Why?"
"You mean the women get together and the men get together?"
"Sure. Why not? Sex is sex. There's all kinds of ways of having sex. It's fun with a woman. Haven't you ever had it that way?"
"No."
"And you're not about to?" she asked. I shrugged. "Depends. I never thought much about it." She laughed. "That isn't the way I heard it. You wouldn't go to bed with Lila, would you?"
"That was different."
"Yeah. I agree."
We drove in silence through the traffic for a few minutes. "There's a place out on the edge of town called The Hut. It looks like one, too. But inside, it's real nice. They have a bar and good food. Will that be okay?"
"Sure," I said.
"Okay, then," Sharon said, "let's go."
She turned left at the next stoplight. She gave it the gun. And the car shot forward. The traffic thinned out. I stared out the side, watching the buildings and houses fly by.
Suddenly I felt her hand on my thigh. My first reaction was to yank my leg away. I don't know why I didn't. Perhaps because I was curious. In fact, it had made me hot to watch those two women on the bed at Pete's place. But I knew I couldn't ignore the hand. I had to do something.
So my left hand crept down and landed on top of hers. It squeezed her hand.
I looked over at her. "I'm making no promises."
"I don't want you to. What happens, happens."
I nodded. "So let's just say I'm willing to be shown. But if I don't want to go any farther, I want you to stop."
"That's far enough."
I started staring out the side of the car again. Her hand got bolder. It gently caressed and kneaded my thigh through my dress. How good it felt. So I reached down and patted her hand again.
That made her even bolder. Her hand went down to my knee and then crept up under my skirt. Her hand traced erotic patterns on the inner side of my thigh. I exploded. It damn near scared me to death.
I looked over and smiled at her. She smiled back. I lay back on the seat and spread my legs wide. She got the message.
Her fingers found my panties and explored. One finger went on inside. I yelped. And then I gave a low scream as I exploded again and again.
Her hand was pulled away. She wheeled right into a parking lot. She found a slot and pulled into it.
I was churning with passion unfulfilled. But I knew that it would not be that way for long.
I shoved open the car door and bounded out. Yes indeedy, this was going to be a most interesting evening.
CHAPTER NINE
On the outside, the hut looked like it had been built with driftwood by some castaways on a desert island. As we approached the front entrance, I wondered if it was safe to go inside. Because every board was nailed on cockeyed. The roof was swaybacked. And one end of the roof had already collapsed.
But inside, it was better. Sure, it looked like they had used driftwood in there, too. Nothing was straight with the world. The posts supporting the ceiling were cockeyed and not straight. Even the bar was higher on one end than on the other.
A tall gaunt maitre d' with a blad head and deep-set eyes came up with a big smile. He led us to a booth in a far corner. It was quiet and secluded there.
Sharon looked at me. "Do you like martinis?"
"Yes. Sometimes."
"Then let's have a martini," Sharon said. A waiter in a monkey suit came up. Sharon ordered. He nodded and handed each of us a menu and withdrew. "Hmmm, the prime rib looks good," Sharon said. "What are you having?"
"I'll have the prime rib, too, if it's rare," I said. "But I don't want the whole dinner. Just the baked potato and salad and coffee."
She nodded and opened her purse. She offered me a cigarette and I leaned toward her lighter. She got one going for herself.
"So Johnny Blake had the back of his head smashed in," she began.
I nodded. "That's what Tim says."
"And you didn't do it?"
"Hell, I was half dead. He was choking me."
"Yeah, but if your hand found that rock...."
"Now don't you start that," I said. "As far gone as I was, I wasn't thinking. My hands weren't out searching for something to hit him with. I knew I was at the end of the line. But, strangely enough, I didn't care."
"But why?"
I shrugged. "Perhaps it's part of the death throes. When you're that far gone, you accept your fate."-
"And you didn't hear anything?"
"No. I was beyond hearing or being aware of anything."
"But why did he do that to you?"
"Because I clawed his face. If I got out of there alive, I could have identified him the next day. He knew it. So I had to die."
She nodded, was silent, and dragged on her cigarette. The drinks were served. She picked hers up, pensively, and sipped it.
"So what do you think about Millie?"
"I dunno."
"Know what I think?" I shook my head.
"I think those two deaths are tied together."
I struggled to keep my face blank. "Why?" I asked.
She looked around her. Then she leaned forward toward me. "Have you heard of the military recreation center near Slocum?"
I nodded. "Some of the guys have been into my shop."
She looked around again. Then she looked back at me. "It's more than a recreation center," she whispered.
I stared at her for a moment. "What do you mean?"
"I'm not free to say. Let's just say that national security is involved."
"Talk sense, will you?"
"Sure. When you have something like that up there, you're bound to have termites trying to burrow into it."
"You think that Johnny Blake and Millie were involved?"
She shrugged. "I knew Johnny pretty well. I dated him some in high school. He was a wild one, even then."
"So why would he be tied to anything like that?" I asked.
"For kicks. He's had everything, been everywhere, seen everything, had every kind of woman, and had everything else. The idle rich are bored. So was Johnny. I bumped into him about two years ago. He was completely blase. Then I bumped into him about six or eight months ago. What a change. He was a different person."
"But that still doesn't tie him to anything," I said.
"I know. But until a year ago, when he came home, he hadn't been home for five years. During the last year he's been home at least once a month. And another thing-the old man always had to send the chauffeur in for Johnny. But not during the last year. He always drove up there. Why?"
"I think you're trying to make something out of thin air," I told her.
"Perhaps I am. But I've had my eye on Johnny for the last year. And I'm not the only one."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm not at liberty to say. So let's just say that he's been under surveillance."
I nodded. This was beginning to jibe with what I had thought, but without any fact or reason. I still kept my face blank and played dumb.
Again we smoked and sipped our drinks in silence. I wondered how much she was going to tell me.
"What about Millie?" she finally asked.
"What about Millie?"
"Was she the life of the party this afternoon? Was she gay and carefree like she used to be?"
I shook my head. "No. She stayed in her corner and kept to herself."
"Did she join in?"
"Yes. One go-round. But Tim said it was short."
She nodded. "I met Millie two or three months ago. She was in town to see Dr. Crocker. She said that Crocker told her it was depression. But it didn't look like depression to me."
"What do you mean?"
"Oh, I don't know. We had lunch together. She acted more worried than depressed. Was she that way today?"
"I don't know," I said. "I've never seen her before. So I have no way to judge."
"I don't mean to alarm you," she went on. "But I've been tipped. The D.A.'s going before the Grand Jury Monday morning. He's going to get an indictment against you for murdering Johnny Blake."
I stared at her. "But why?"
"Because you're one fish that got away, so far. The D.A. doesn't like that. He never loses."
"Tim says that the D.A. and the sheriff are puppets and old man Blake pulls the strings."
She nodded.
"So that's why I'm being arrested again?"
"Could be."
"What do you mean by that?"
"I don't know. But something stinks. If they railroad you, everybody will forget about Johnny's death. And I think that's the way they want it."
"But why?"
"As I say, I have nothing to go on. But they're sure in a sweat to close the case on Johnny's death. I know that. Why, I don't know."
"Could it be because Johnny Blake was tied to the wrong crowd?"
"Could be. By closing the case, they can hush it up. Then, perhaps, it won't come out about Johnny's unknown friends."
"So what am I supposed to do-just sit around and wait for them to railroad me?"
The waiter came up, pushing a cart. He served the dinner.
"Coffee now or later?" he asked.
"Later for me," Sharon said. She looked at me.
I nodded. The waiter withdrew.
"There's something you might do," she said. "But it could be dangerous. You might even wind up dead."
"What?" I asked.
She unfolded her napkin and laid it across her lap. She picked up her fork and dabbled with her baked potato.
She finally looked back at me. "I shouldn't be telling you this. I could be the cause of your death. Perhaps you're better off to sit tight and leave everything to Tim."
"There's a limit to what Tim can do. If there's anything I can do, I want to do it. What do you have in mind?"
"Ever hear of The Hideaway?"
I shook my head.
"You know where you turn off to Pete McDonald's?"
"No. But I know it's down the grade."
"Okay. You go about another mile."
"Before you turn off to Dear Flat?"
"Yes. The Hideaway is on the left about a mile below where you turn off to Pete's place."
"And what about it?"
"The recreation camp is about a mile or so back in from The Hideaway. You go down the grade about a half-mile and turn left. I was there once. I did a story on the camp two or three months ago. Well, anyway, that's where the servicemen hang out at night."
I cut off a piece of prime rib and stuck it in my mouth. I frowned and chewed on it for a moment.
"What are you trying to tell me?" I asked.
"Just this. If the servicemen are drinking in there, you can bet that others are there, too."
"You're talking in riddles," I told her.
"Well, I happened to stumble on this other thing. And a tall guy in a dark suit called on me one night. He showed me his ID. It damn near scared me to death. He had found out about what I had stumbled onto. He threatened me with everything if I talked. So I'm taking a big chance telling you as much as I have."
"I won't say anything," I told her.
"Okay. So because of what's over there in the hills, you can bet on it that others are hanging around The Hideaway every night, hoping to overhear something, or to get someone drunk so he will talk."
"But surely the military have spies in there, too."
"That's right. That's why I can't go up there. I'm known. But you're single and you're lonely. The servicemen come into your shop. You happened to overhear about The Hideaway, or you found out about it somehow. So you go down there some night and play it cool. I don't know whether you'll be approached. I don't know what will happen. But I know this much, sitting in your back room every night won't get you in touch with anything. I can also tell you this-if someone is trying to burrow in up there, they play rough. So what will probably happen is that they'll want you to join them. Then you'll have to sit around The Hideaway every night and let the servicemen buy drinks for you. You'll keep your ears open."
"I wouldn't do such a thing," I said.
"If you're offered such a chance, it's a helluva big chance you'll come out of it alive. But, if you're lucky, you may be able to find out what's going on. And, whatever's going on, caused Johnny's and Millie's deaths. I'll make book on it."
"Isn't it possible that Millie committed suicide?"
"Yes. Dick Padgett may be mixed up somehow. Because Millie told me that this depression started about a year ago. Well, that's about the time that Johnny started getting homesick every month. So perhaps Johnny and Dick were into it together. Or separately."
My head was spinning. I am no Mata Hari. So we ate our dinner in silence.
As we pushed back our plates and reached for our coffee, I said, "I'm not chicken. But all this doesn't appeal to me. I think I'd better talk it over with Tim."
"Tim would never let you go down there alone."
"I know it. But I think Tim should know what's back there in the hills."
"Tell him, by all means. If he comes up to the apartment tonight, I'll tell him. I think that's the missing link connecting the two deaths."
"That's what I thought all along," I blurted.
"What do you mean?"
"I told Tim there was a missing link. I didn't know what it was. But I thought the two deaths were connected. Tim laughed at me."
"He would. But he won't after I get through talking with him."
"Are you going to suggest to Tim that I play Mata Hari?" I asked.
"No. He'd blow his stack and be mad at me. Perhaps I was nuts to suggest it to you. Perhaps you're better off to let Tim handle it and you play it safe."
"But if I am indicted?"
"Then they'll arrest you."
"That isn't what I mean," I said. "I'm not about to go back to that jail again. Is there any way you can tip me off before the cops can get to me?"
"Yes. But it's dangerous for me."
"It's dangerous for me, too," I reminded her. "So are you willing to tip me off?"
"Yes. Have you got a phone?"
"No. But you can call Sy Perkins. He'll keep his mouth shut. He's for me."
"Okay, here's what I'll tell Sy. I'll have him tell you that I didn't buy that stock we talked about. It suddenly went down."
I nodded. "You can say that again."
She grinned. "So then what are you going to do? Run?"
"What else?"
"Where to?"
"I don't know. But I have a damn good idea."
"What?"
"If there's hanky-panky going on out there, you can make book on it that the bartender is in on it."
"You've just lost me."
"Listen, if the bartender's in on it, and I'm on the run...."
She nodded. "Yeah, I see what you mean. But you still might wind up with your head under your arm."
"So what? While they're looking for me, Tim can try to straighten the thing out. And while he's trying to straighten it out, I will, too."
She shook her head. "You've got more guts than I have. I'd rather go to jail and wait for Tim to get me out."
"Have you ever seen the inside of that jail?"
"Once. That was enough."
"Okay, so would you want to sit there for six months until a trial?"
"It wouldn't be that long. The D.A. would rush it through."
"Okay, so it would be one week. That's one week too long for me. No thanks. If you'll tip me, I'll take to the hills."
"Okay, that I will."
"And don't you let on to Tim what I plan to do," I said.
"I won't." She gave me a big wink and reached over and patted my hand. "After all, we women have to hang together."
The lights were low, the music was soft and sweet, and Sharon kicked off her shoes and began whirling and dancing around her living room.
"I took dancing lessons when I was a kid," Sharon said, trying to stand on her toes. "So sometimes I still put on a stack of records like these and get it out of my system."
I nodded and dragged on my cigarette, and sipped my drink. I said nothing.
"Do you like to dance?"
"Just ballroom," I told her. "I'm a square. I've never gone in for the Frug or the Watusi or any of that kind of stuff."
"This is a waltz," she told me. "So how about that?" I nodded.
"Put up your drink and cigarette and join me," she said.
I stood up and went over to her.
"Mind if I lead?" she asked.
I shook my head and went into her arms.
"Put your right hand on my shoulder," she said.
I did. And she put her left hand on my right shoulder. And our other hands were clasped and held to the side.
The music seemed to flow through her. She glided around the floor and swept me around with her. She reminded me of thistledown in a breeze.
"How about cheek to cheek?" she asked. I nodded.
Her left hand dropped off my shoulder and encircled my waist. She clamped me to her. She pressed her cheek against mine. How fragrant she smelled. How thrilling it was to be pressed against her slim body while whirling round and round.
"Do you mind if I kiss you?" she finally whispered.
"No," I said, knowing full well where it would wind up. But by then I was so charged I did not care.
She pulled her face away and stared into my eyes for a moment. I could see the first flickering flames of passion rising deep within hers.
Her lips mashed against mine. At first it was a dry kiss. Then her tongue slithered between my lips and began to tease my tongue.
I exploded. I was surprised that such a contact could make me go. My body stiffened. I hugged her to me as I went again and again. And she pressed me to her even tighter.
Again she pulled her face away and gave me a Mona Lisa smile. She kissed me on the tip of my nose and softly laughed.
This was beautiful. This was delightful. This was far more wonderful than I had ever imagined it could be. With Sharon, that is. But with Lila ... I shuddered and shut it out of my mind.
Her left hand loosened its clamp against my back. Her right hand freed my left and came between us, to gently caress my breast. Shock waves of passion crashed through me. I moaned and once more my body stiffened. Her lips again found mine and her tongue bored in. No longer was it cautious. It was a whirling dervish inside my mouth. It flogged my tongue and charged me even more.
Her right hand left my breast, went behind me, and grabbed the zipper tab at the back of my neck. It yanked.
She pulled her face away and her two hands pulled my dress down off my shoulders. My arms struggled up and were free. We stood still for a moment and she shucked me. My dress and panties fell to the floor. I kicked them away. Her hands returned behind me and freed my bra. It was cast aside.
Again her left hand clamped against my back. Her right hand found my breast and tenderly massaged it and plucked the nipple. Her lips zeroed in on mine and her tongue came out to play.
And then she swung me around and we glided across the floor. But all the while her tongue and hands were busy. I arched my back. The muscles in my belly knotted. The tidal wave of passion within me demanded release.
I pulled my face free. "Take me," I whispered, "take me."
She whirled me around once more and swept me onto the couch. She stood beside me a moment. And then she was as naked as a plum.
She lay prone on me and her soft hand slid under my shoulders. Her lips came down to join mine. Once again her tongue dived in. And then she began grinding her bone in a circular motion against mine.
She suddenly grabbed me to her. Her body stiffened as did mine. Together we blew and blew and blew, with our tongues savagely duelling. How wonderful it was.
She finally pulled her face away, gasping for breath.
"Like it?" she whispered.
"Yes, oh yes. Love me more."
"There's lots of ways to go," she said.
She slid downward and sat on my thighs. She began planting sucking kisses on my throat and on my chest. She wiggled down lower. Her lips kissed my breasts while her hands gently milked them. Again my body stiffened. Once more I began popping like a string of firecrackers.
Her sucking kisses moved downward, starting their southward trek. They were planted all over my belly. They stopped momentarily at my navel while her tongue dived in to explore. I yelped. And that really blew me again.
Her kisses moved down and down and down. Her warm moist lips found my inner thighs and showered them with kisses, too.
Reality began to take flight. I closed my eyes and threw back my head as my scrabbling fingers clawed at the couch.
I felt her shifting around. My legs were suddenly shoved up and apart. My feet were on her shoulders. Her nibbling kisses worked down one thigh and her lips brushed my curls before working their way up the other thigh. I was wild. I arched my back and raised my butt about a foot off the couch.
I felt her soft fingers parting the curtains to my joybox. And then her warm tongue caressed and slipped inside.
I screamed as I exploded. I arched my back even higher until I was supported by my shoulders with my feet on her shoulders.
But that was only the beginning. Tremendous depth charges exploded again and again and again within me. I finally collapsed and lay flat on the couch, fighting for breath.
Again she crawled up and lay prone on me, shoving her hands under my back, and cuddling me to her. Her nibbling lips gently kissed my cheeks and forehead. Passion began to rise within me once more. My body began to stiffen.
Once more her bone was grinding into mine. Passion flared again within me.
Bui it was noi io be the same this time. She slid off the couch and got wheeled around. She straddled mc and her butt slowly lowered to my face. My hands came up to support her. How pungent she smelled. And then my lips made contact as her lips made contact with me. Our tongues danced in unison. We grabbed each other around the hips and began rocking up and down.
It was a good thing she had pulled the coffee table away before she started dancing. Because we were thrashing around so violently that we rolled off the couch.
How rough the carpet felt. But it did not matter. I was far out in space and nothing else mattered.
Locked together, we rolled and flopped all over the floor. I was like an exploding ammunition dump that couldn't quit. And she was even more violent. And then, with me on my back, she released me. My arms relaxed and she raised up slightly.
How beautiful and crimson and glistening it was, with the lips hard and erect. I tugged her down again and my tongue once more made contact. How thrilling it was, with my tongue gliding around and darting inside, and hearing her moan and scream.
She grabbed me again. Once more we started rolling. But it couldn't last long. We were too beat.
We finally fell apart and lay there fighting for breath. She presently lurched to her feet and went into the kitchen. I heard her clattering around.
She soon came back, carrying two drinks. She handed one to me. I managed to get up on one elbow and take it and sip it. She stuck two cigarettes between her lips and lit them. She handed one to me.
And then we lay there side by side, working on our drinks and cigarettes. She finally crawled over closer to me and her lips lightly brushed mine.
"You are a wonderful lover," she whispered.
"So are you," I told her. "Now I realize what I've been missing all these years."
A chime sounded. Sharon frowned.
"What the hell," she muttered.
She set her drink on the coffee table and padded over to the hall door. "Who is it?"
"Tim."
"You were supposed to call first."
"Why?"
Sharon unbolted the door. She got behind it and pulled it back the length of the chain. She peered out. "What's going on in there?" Tim asked. "Nothing. Just a minute."
She shut the door and unchained it. She swung it back a little. Tim strode in.
He looked at me sprawled on the floor and turned to look at Sharon, who was closing and bolting and chaining the door.
"Did you bring her out?" Tim asked. "Yes. And she loved it." Tim looked around at me. "You okay?"
"Sure. I had a ball."
He shook his head. "I always get here too late."
"Not at all," Sharon told him. "The night is young and the party is just starting. So out of your clothes. I'll build you a drink."
Sharon fled into the kitchen. Again she was clattering around. She came back with a drink.
Tim was shrugging out of his shirt. He was bare to the waist. His slacks were next to go. Nude, he took the drink from Sharon.
He went over to the coffee table and got a cigarette and lit it. Sharon and I climbed on the couch.
"Well, what's the latest?" Sharon asked. "Was it suicide?"
"Yes," Tim said. "Some kind of a corrosive poison. They'll have to make an analysis to find out what."
"How do they know it was suicide?" I asked.
"Simple. Her fingertips were burned from opening the bottle."
"What a helluva way to die," Sharon muttered.
Tim nodded.
"But why?" I asked.
"Who knows?" Tim said.
"Sharon doesn't think it was depression, either," I said.
"No?" Tim looked at Sharon. "Why?"
"She was scared stiff of something or worried. Perhaps we'll never find out what it was."
"But," I said., "I wonder why she did it there at Pete's place."
"I'll hazard a guess," Sharon said, "that it was because she had to face something after the party was over. It was too much. Perhaps she had carried that poison for months, to be taken whenever she had to face that situation."
"You're way out in left field," Tim said.
"Am I?" Sharon asked. "Connie has been telling me her theory about the missing link. Well, she's right."
"How?" Tim asked.
Sharon told him.
Tim frowned and his face became dark and brooding.
"Intelligence is swarming around out there if what you say is true. Nobody would have a chance to worm their way in out there."
"Oh, no?" Sharon asked. "Remember the security on the atom bomb? They had the best security in the world, and the Commies walked away with all the marbles."
Tim nodded. "But I think you're blowing this up out of all proportion. You're going in for cloak and dagger like Connie did."
"Have it your way," Sharon said, standing up. "Well, let's get the party going."
She walked over to a tape recorder. She picked up a tape and threaded it. Then she pressed a button.
She came back over to the couch and sat down beside me. "This is my own private collection from tapings I've made at parties."
It started with a squeaking bed. And there were gasps and moans and low screams. The tempo of the bed got faster and faster. The gasps and moans speeded up, too.
"He's really giving it to her," Tim said with a grin.
Sharon nodded. "That's me doing all the gasping and moaning. That was my first try at taping. And did he have a big one."
There was a long wail and a scream. Then a grunt. And you could hear the panting and the gasping for breath. Then there was silence, broken only by the crackling of the tape.
"End of Round I," Sharon said. "There'll be more in a moment."
There was. Everything in the book. Women together, screeching and moaning and gasping, with the bed bouncing.
This went on for nearly a half-hour. Tim had a hard on. And we girls were hotter than a stove lid.
"There's just one more," Sharon said. "It's really way out. I hid a mike under the bed. They'd probably kill me if they knew I had it on tape."
It started with a man's voice. "There's nothing like a swim to cool you off."
Another man said, "Yeah. I can't wait to get out of this wet suit."
There was silence a moment. Then the first voice said, "Here's a towel."
"Thanks."
Again there was silence for a moment. Once more the first man's voice. "Hey, you've got a big one."
"Yeah. Too big. I have trouble getting into some women."
Silence.
"Oooooooh!"
"Feel good?"
"Yes. But you'd better knock it off. You're giving me a hard on."
"So what? I can take care of that."
"I've never had it with a man before."
"Want to?"
"I dunno. Oooooooh!"
"Get on the bed."
There was the sound of the bed squeaking. "Fell good when I rub it this way?"
"Yes. Goddamn."
"If you think it feels good now, wait till I go down on it."
"Oooooooh!"
The bed was protesting again. I glanced over at Tim. His face was flushed and he was breathing heavily. I looked at Sharon and winked.
"Give it to me, too."
The bed squeaked again. And then began a rhythmic motion, faster and faster and faster.
And then all was still for a moment. Then heavy breathing. And then the tape started crackling again.
Sharon went over and turned off the tape recorder. She turned around, grinning.
"I had a cottage on the lake last summer. Had a gang over one Sunday afternoon. Carl said he was going to try to take Harry. So while everyone was swimming, I fixed up the room where they had left their clothes. But I never told them that I had done it. They would have raised holy hell."
"Yeah," Tim agreed, standing up. "So what am I supposed to do, take both of you?"
"Why not?" Sharon asked. "Come on into the bedroom."
We trailed her into the bedroom. She grabbed the spread and pulled the bedding back. She sprawled on the sheet and looked at me. "Have you ever had Tim before?"
"No."
"Well then, you're first. I haven't had him for years. But I still remember."
She turned to Tim. "We'll put her in the middle. We'll both work on her."
Tim pushed me onto the bed on my back. Sharon cuddled up to one side. Tim lay down on the other side.
I was steaming. I didn't need any buildup. But I got one anyway.
Each of them went to work on a breast and nipple. Their free hands roamed around all over my belly and down onto my thighs. Sharon's finger slipped inside.
I exploded with a low scream. And Sharon wheeled around, pulled my legs apart, and her tongue dived in. And all the while Tim was busily at work on my breasts.
Tim raised his head. "Let's have a daisy chain."
Sharon's head came up. "Sure. That's fun."
"What's fun?" I asked.
"We'll show you," Sharon told me.
Sharon rolled me on my side on the edge of the bed. She swung around and lay across the bed with her head between my legs. I saw Tim moving around. He lay down parallel to me, and shoved his head between Sharon's legs. And then Sharon's tongue bored in again. I was having ecstasy such as I had never known.
Tim scooted around. I then saw what he wanted. So I wiggled around, too. I grabbed his massive dong and flicked it with my tongue. And then I slowly went down on it.
How thrilling it was. Each was charging the other. But Tim would only go so far, and then jerk away.
I was limp. I had had it by the time we fell apart. I had seen nothing yet.
Tim dragged me over on the edge of the bed and rolled me on my back. He pulled up my legs and spread them wide. Sharon went to work on my breasts and nipples. I gasped and went into orbit again.
He slid into me with one long slow stroke. I had the most violent eruption I had ever known in my life. And all the while Sharon was kissing me or suckling my breasts. What a double charge.
I was only dimly aware of what was going on. But I finally felt him withdraw.
I opened my eyes. Sharon was lying beside me. He was in her now. But his fingers came over to slip inside me. And then Sharon and I were racing for the wire, flopping and moaning and gasping.
In a few moments he shifted again. I was getting it and Sharon had his fingers. Back and forth he went. I wondered how long he could hold out.
He shifted over to me again.
"You take his load, baby," Sharon told me, squeezing my nipples.
He could hold out no longer. He grabbed me and I grabbed him. The bed was rocking like a boat during a storm. And then I screamed as he let out a long grunt and grabbed me and kept on moaning and rolling around on me. I thought he would never quit.
He finally rolled off beside me and lay on his back. Sharon got up on one elbow and plucked my nipple. I turned and looked at her.
She gave me a big grin. "That will teach him to fool around with us."
I nodded and grinned, too.
"I should have known better," Tim gasped. "I've said it before but I'll say it again-never again with two hot women."
The phone rang.
"Damn," Sharon muttered, reaching for a bedside phone.
"Yes?" Sharon said.
The receiver rattled and squawked.
"They've got no leads, eh?"
More rattling and squawking of the phone.
"Okay," Sharon finally said. "It'll take me a little while to dress. But I'll be right down."
She hung up the phone and looked at Tim. "Sammy Longdon was shot tonight."
I frowned. "Who's he?"
Tim turned to me. "Don't you remember him up at Pete's? The guy with the darting eyes?"
"Oh," I said. "And remember what I also told you?"
"No, what?"
"That before this thing was over," I told him, "someone else might die."
CHAPTER TEN
You should have seen my shop and living quarters after being gone three days. Dust was thick on everything. I wondered how it could gather so fast.
So I kept the shades down in the front and spent the morning cleaning up. Let the town simmer. If they were divided about me, why should I open? My living expenses were low. Sy Perkins had told me that morning, when he brought my car to me, that I should stay closed for a week. Let everyone go to Broken Tree for a haircut for a while and it would cool everybody off.
By noon I was hungry. So I fixed a salad and had a cheese sandwich with a can of beer. And I was just drying the last dishes when Sy came to the kitchen door.
I glanced at the clock as I unlocked the door. It was nearly one.
"Hi," I greeted, as Sy walked in. "I've been trying to clean up around here."
Sy nodded. "Since when did you start playing the stock market."
Panic hit me. I fought to keep my face blank. "Why?" I asked.
"Sharon Michaels just called. She said to tell you she wasn't going to buy that stock for you. It had just fallen."
I nodded. My belly was in knots. I had to get the hell out of there.
"Thanks, Sy," I said, trying to appear nonchalant. "I saw Sharon yesterday afternoon. She told me about her hobby of playing the stock market. She said that for ten dollars she could get me started on some mining stock. That it would be a good hobby for me. So I told her to go ahead."
Sy nodded and squinted at me.
I laughed. "Oh, I know it's silly. But all I've got is a radio here. She says it's fun to read the stock quotations every day. It's like playing the horses."
"Yeah. And it's a good way to lose your shirt. I'm glad you didn't get started. If you're smart, you won't."
"I probably won't," I told him. "But when you're all alone and lonely, you sometimes do silly things."
"Yeah." He headed for the door and opened it. He looked back. "Tim's looking after you, isn't he?"
"Yes. I'm to see him tonight."
"Well, you won't be lonesome as long as he's here."
"Yeah. I'll miss him when he goes back."
Sy went out the door and I closed it and locked it. I planted my back against it and ran my fingers through my hair.
So I had been indicted for murder. I had forgotten to ask Sy if Tim knew about it. But I was sure that Sharon would get to him somehow. But Tim had told me I couldn't get out on bail on a murder charge. So there was nothing he could do for me until the trial.
Fortunately my car was out back. I started toward the bedroom. Then I stopped. No, I couldn't take a bag with me. Someone might see me and tell the cops. They'd put out an alarm. I'd be a fugitive.
So, I had to go out with the clothes on my back, as though I were going for a drive or for a short run. I had to play it cool. I had to act as if I didn't have a care in the world.
I went to my closet. I had another seersucker dress. It was green. That should be casual enough.
Ten minutes later I was dressed and heading out the back door. I hadn't had time to shower or clean up much. But it was possible that a cop would be there any minute.
I locked the back door and sauntered casually to my car. I climbed in.
I backed slowly into the alley and curved left. Clem Purtle was coming down the alley toward me. I put it into low and started forward. He waved.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
I hit the brake. "I've got to go see about my laundry."
He cackled and turned his head to spit a stream of tobacco juice. He looked back at me. "Thought you was goin' up to see that Riley feller."
I shook my head and started slowly forward. "Not today," I told him
"When are you openin' up again?"
"I don't know. Mr. Riley said he would tell me when to."
He nodded. "Seems like he's runnin' things for you."
"He's my attorney," I told him. "So I have to do what he says."
Clem nodded as I pulled away. I drove slowly. Clem was probably watching me. I glanced into my mirror. He was.
I hit the cross street and turned right. I stopped at Main Street and looked both ways. There was no traffic. But Lon Hodges was coming down the walk on my right. He waved. I waved back.
Lon would remember seeing me. So I pulled slowly into the street and left and drove slowly to the next turn. But after the turn I stepped on it.
My old car didn't have the brakes that Tim's car had. So I had to take it easy. But I soon passed the turnoff where we had gone to Pete's place. I remembered it because of an old tree at the turnoff that had been split by lightning.
I glanced into the mirror. Nothing. I stepped down on the gas, since the road was straight ahead for a stretch.
Just before the next turn I saw the sign: The Hideaway.
Again I glanced into my mirror. Nothing. I wheeled left, hoping nobody would come roaring around the turn just below me.
I bounced across an unpaved parking lot and stopped near the front entrance. I climbed out and went inside. As I opened the door the smell of stale beer and sweat rushed out to greet me. I went on inside. It was dark as a bat cave. So I stood just inside the door, getting accustomed to the gloom.
I finally saw a scarred and battered bar running down the wall to my left. Beat-up stools, held together by wire, marched down the room in front of the bar. There was a big juke box at the rear. And there were booths on the right.
The bartender was a big brute with a bald head and a red face and cleft chin. He was heading toward the rear.
I stood there for a moment, wondering if I should take a stool. But I decided against it. Ladies are served in a booth.
So I headed for a booth halfway back, and sat down facing the door. I felt like a damn fool. What was I going to say? That I had heard the place was full of spies, and I wanted to join up?
The bartender came lumbering up from the rear. I glanced up at him as I opened my purse.
"Hi," I greeted.
He nodded and said nothing. His face was as grim as a prison wall.
I tried to play it cool. I pulled a cigarette and put it to my lips, wondering if he would light it. He didn't. He just kept standing there staring at me. J had to do something.
So I said, "You sure look cheerful. Did your mother-in-law move in this morning?"
He broke into a grin and shook his head. "Sorry. I didn't mean to be rude."
He pulled a book of matches from his shirt pocket and struck one. He held it to my cigarette.
"Thanks," I murmured.
"You're new around here, aren't you?"
"Yes and no. I've been in Slocum for a little over a month. I'm surprised you haven't been up to see me."
He grinned again. "Say, aren't you the barber up there?"
I nodded and blew smoke at him.
"They've sure given you a rough time, from what I hear."
"Yeah," I agreed. "Damn rough. And now the D.A. is chasing me again."
"What do you mean?"
"You might say I'm running for my life," I told him. He nodded. "Want something to drink?"
"Yes. A martini, very dry."
He turned and went back behind the bar and went to work. I forced myself to stare straight ahead. But I knew he was watching me.
I finally turned and looked over at him. "Where does this road go to?"
"Depends on where you want to go," he told me.
"No place in particular. I just want to put as much mileage between me and this county as I can and as soon as I can."
"What are you driving?"
"Not much. It's ten years old. It won't do over fifty wide open."
"You got a lawyer?"
"Yes."
"Does he know you're running?"
"No."
He came around the bar with my drink. He set it on the table.
"You're a damn fool to run without telling your lawyer. Hell, you won't get a hundred miles before they nab you. Then you'll get an even rougher ride for running."
I nodded and picked up my drink.
"Did anyone see you leave up there?"
"Yes."
"Did they see which way you were going?"
"Yes. But I told one of them I was going to get my laundry. That was just down the grade. So I did nothing suspicious."
"Yeah.. But if you don't show up, the cops will come roaring down the grade here after you. Is your car out front?"
"Yes."
He shoved out a big hand. "Give me your keys. I'll put it out behind."
"Why?"
"Don't argue. Give me your keys. Quick."
I opened my purse and fished out my keys. He grabbed them and half-ran to the door.
I worked on my drink and cigarette and stared at the front door. I wondered why he had offered to hide my car.
I heard my car's engine roar. Then all was still again except for some machinery chugging away behind the bar.
I heard a screen door slam out back. I heard his heavy footsteps. He came up to me and dropped my keys on the table.
"What should I do?" I asked. "Call my lawyer?"
"Who you got?"
"Tim Riley."
He nodded. "Heard he was in town. Good lawyer, I hear, too."
"He specializes in criminal law."
"Yeah. He got a friend of mine off a few years back."
"So should I call him?"
He shook his head. "You can't get bail on a murder rap.
"So what should I do? Yon say I shouldn't ran."
"I dunno. We'll figure something out." Tires screeched outside. There was a flash of Mack as a car pulled in.
He grabbed my arm with one hand and the drink with the other. "Get your purse. Hurry."
He hustled me through a doorway and kicked it shut. You couldn't see a foot ahead of you. He shoved me to the left and I put out my hand. I was going through a doorway.
"Stay quiet," he ordered.
I heard a door click shut. Then I heard glass clinking together. I wondered what he was doing.
I heard his footsteps. A door squeaked back. "Hi," he yelled.
I put my ear to the door and stood there shaking. "Hi, Adolph," another voice said. "What are you boys having?" Adolph asked. "Nothing. We're looking for a woman."
"In broad daylight? Hell, you must have hot rocks."
"We're not going to lay her," Another voice said. "If we find her, we'll throw her butt in jail."
"What for?"
"Murder. She killed Johnny Blake. The Grand Jury just indicted her this morning."
"Have you seen her?" the other voice asked.
"No," Adolph said. "Nobody's been in here since before noon. You know how it is-starvation all day and run my legs off all night."
"Yeah. But if you see anything of her, will you let us know?"
"Sure," Adolph said. "But why would she come in here?"
"She took off down the grade this way about a half-hour or so ago. She can't be very far ahead of us. We'll catch her."
"Thanks," the other voice said.
I heard the screen slam. A car's engine roared and then purred. Then all was quiet.
I finally heard the door squeak back. I pulled my door open a little.
"It's okay now," he told me. "Come on out. I'll fix you a fresh drink."
I went back to my booth and sat down. My cigarette was burning my fingers. I stubbed it out and lit another one.
He brought another drink over to me.
"That was close," I said.
"Yeah. But it's what I expected. You were seen heading down this way. They'll have roadblocks thrown up everywhere. Hell, you're boxed."
I nodded and dragged on my cigarette. I tried to look worried. But I said nothing. I knew the wheels were going around in his head. So I stayed clammed.
He turned and went back behind the bar. He began washing glasses. Again I forced myself to stare at the door. It might take a little time for something to trickle down through his thick head.
"Say," he finally said, "I've got an idea. I've got a friend who might hide you out."
I shook my head. "That's against the law. He could wind up in jail or worse for doing that."
He laughed. "He ain't worrying about the law any. But I don't know whether he'll take you in. I can call him if you want me to."
I bit my tongue and made myself stay silent for a moment. I glanced over at him and then stared again at the front door. I frowned and acted as if I were trying to decide what to do.
"Hell, you ain't got no choice," he finally exploded. "If the cops don't find you at the foot of the grade, they'll come on back up here. They'll probably be in here again in a half-hour or so."
"Well, you can hide me again, can't you?"
He shook his head. "I've got a license to protect. If they search the place and find you here, I'm out of business. You've got to get out of here and fast."
"Well then, why don't you turn me out into the brush?" I asked.
"Don't be cute. But you're puttin' me on the spot. Either you let me call Eddie, or I'm callin' the cops. I can tell them you just walked in."
Again I hesitated. I wanted to get him into a sweat.
"Well, what'll it be-Eddie or the cops?"
I looked over at him and let smoke dribble from my nose. I didn't know whether I looked like Mata Hari, but I was trying to do a damn good imitation of it.
"Okay, call your friend," I said, pitching my voice low. "But if he can't offer me anything better than the cops then I'll take the cops."
He nodded. "That's fair enough, I guess."
He headed toward the rear and opened a door and closed it behind him. I was tempted to go over and eavesdrop. But if he caught me doing that....
I was dumping my cigarette and lighting another when he came thudding over to me.
"Eddie will be here in a few minutes. But I can't have you sittin' out here. Come on. And bring your drink."
I slid from the booth and followed him through the rear doorway again. This time he turned on a light before kicking the door shut. He led me to the rear and opened the door on the right. He reached inside and there was a click.
"Downstairs," he told me.
I followed him down the stairs into musty gloom. Rats scurried around somewhere in the darkness.
"If you think I'm going to stay down here alone, you're nuts," I told him.
"Bon't get your butt boiling. It'll be okay."
I heard a door open. Again there was a click. Through the doorway I saw a lamp en a table.
"ta here and qakk," he said, "f've got to get back upstairs."
I went inside and he foHowed. It was a smaH living room.
"These are some rooms I use during the winter, if I get snowbound here. You'H be safe and comfortable here. There's a kitchen and a bedroom back there. So make yourself at home."
He turned and went out the door. He opened it again.
"I might be searched. So I've got to take precautions. But don't be scared. You'll be okay."
He closed the door again. I heard a rumbling sound. I wondered what it was.
I turned and went to the rear and through a doorway. I was in a short hall. To the left was a bath. To the right was a small kitchen. And straight ahead was a small bedroom.
I went into the kitchen and started opening doors and drawers. Hell, that place was stocked like a grocery store with a liquor department. There was every kind of booze imaginable. I turned to the refrigerator. It was a combo. I opened the freezer drawer below. It was full of steaks and frozen goods and ice cubes. Enough to keep you going for a month. I opened the refrigerator. There was every kind of mix on the top shelf. Below was Oleo and beer.
I looked up at the ceiling, wondering where a whirring sound was coming from. Then I realized the place was air conditioned.
I went back into the living room. I looked around. It was nothing fancy. But there was a couch along one wall and a massive chair in one corner. Also a table with a radio on it.
I went over to the radio and glanced at the dial. I did a double-take. It had a police band on it and a short wave band.
I looked around the room again. What a hideaway this would make. Maybe that's why the saloon was called that.
I went to the front door and opened it. I stared at a blank wall or wood. He had shoved a cabinet or something across the door to hide it. I shoved against it. I'd have more chance if I shoved against the building.
I was trapped. I was a prisoner. I wondered, what now?
Panic hit me for a moment. But I fought it down. By now, probably, Tim would know that I was missing. So he'd organize a search party. And when he told Sharon I was missing, she might tell him where I had gone.
And then another thought hit me. Adolph didn't want to hide me there in case the place was searched. And then he put me up down in the basement and pulled a cabinet in front of the door. No cops would find me. So why had he called Eddie in?
I went into the kitchen and built a drink. I carried it back into the living room and sat down.
There was only one answer to it. He was holding me for Eddie, so Eddie could recruit me. For what, I didn't know. Adolph had said Eddie was not worrying about the law. That meant he was in something illegal. And Eddie wouldn't hide me just out of the goodness of his heart. He would expect something from me in return. The question was, what?
I got up and went over to turn on the radio. I jabbed at the button for the police band. And there it was. Cars were calling back and forth to each other, and reporting in, that they had found no trace of me yet. And I had to laugh at one cop who said it was damn funny how I could have evaporated so fast.
Their next step would be to search every building down the grade and on beyond. But that would take time. In time, however, they would come back to search The Hideaway.
I was so wrapped up listening to the police broadcast that I didn't notice the front door opening. So when I glanced toward the front, I jumped.
A small thin man in a dark suit stood there. His black hair looked like it had been painted on his head. He had a toothbrush mustache. And he had the hooded eyes of a lizard.
I noticed the wood wall behind him. We were both prisoners there.
He closed the door and went to the radio and turned it off. He looked at me.
"So what are you going to do now?"
Again I tried to play Mata Hari. So I merely shrugged and blew smoke at him.
"You haven't got a chance, you know," he told me.
I nodded but said nothing.
"Old man Blake has turned on the heat. That's why they're chasing you again. So you haven't got the chance of a popsicle in Hell."
I managed to stay cold and aloof. "So what's your pitch?" I asked.
"I don't have any. But the boss might have."
"Okay, so what do I have to do to see your boss? Put out?"
"Want to?"
"Try it," I told him, "and I'll slit you low down."
He nodded. "You look the type. What are you, a goddamn dyke?"
"That's none of your business," I said. "So what do I have to do to see your boss?"
"Just stay here and keep your mouth shut. There's plenty of food back there for you. You can have the radio if you keep it low. When you get sleepy, go on to bed. Can't get you out of here until after they close. So it may be three or four in the morning before I get you out of here."
"So where are you taking me?"
"That's none of your business."
"So you're going to haul me out of here to God knows where, and until I get there I won't know what I have to do to be hidden out."
"That's just about it. You don't have any choice."
I stood up. "I have a message for your boss. Tell him to go to hell."
He stared at me. "So what are you going to do?"
"Damfino. But I don't play that kind of odds. When you go back up, tell Adolph to call the cops to come and get me.
He nodded and headed toward the door. He opened it and turned to look back. "You mean that?"
"Damn right I do. Tell me where I'm going and what I have to do. Then I'll decide what I want to do."
He sneered. "Again I say you have no choice. You're going to be railroaded to the gas chamber. So you might as well throw in with us."
"Not until I know what I have to do."
He stared at me for a moment, looking even more like a sleepy lizard.
"Okay, I'll tell you," he finally said.
He hesitated and continued staring at me.
"Okay," I said, "what will I have to do?"
"Kill a man," he told me.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I opened my eyes and blearily stared around me. I wasn't in the bedroom under The Hideaway. I felt as if I had been on a big drunk. I tried to get off the bed. The room spun around. The last thing I remember was crashing on the floor.
The wind was roaring around me. Leaves of every color swirling around me. And there was a blue mist everywhere.
For a moment the wind died down and the blue mist faded. I felt a sharp jab.
"She'll be okay in a little while," someone said.
And then black fog floated in over me.
Once more I opened my eyes. I sat up. I felt like I did the time that a truck driver gave me one of the pills he took to keep awake. Everything was too bright and too sharp. Even the light in the room seemed to glare.
I was in a huge bedroom. The bed was a four-poster with a canopy over it. For a moment I thought I had been transported back to Colonial days.
I slid from the bed and stood up. I started forward. It felt as if I were ten feet tall. But otherwise I felt fine.
And then I realized something else. I was as naked as the day I was born.
I went over to the window framed by heavy brocade drapes. I stared out into the blackness.
I heard a door open. I turned around. Eddie stood there in the opening.
He slowly closed the door and stood there staring at me. I stared back.
"Welcome to Valhalla," he said.
"Yeah, I'll bet it is."
"I told you, you had no choice."
"You'll find out," I told him.
"You either do as we say, or you'll die. And I don't mean the clean fast kind, either. The boss has many ways for one to die. And all of them are long and slow and you will finally beg us to kill you."
When a rat is cornered it turns and fights against any odds. But I was no rat. I was a human being with a brain. And, if I wanted to live, I had better use that brain and use it well.
So as I stood there staring at him, I quickly figured my odds. They were a million to one against me, possibly more. If I wanted to live, I had better go along with them and wait my chance. To paraphrase the old saying, it is better to live and to have lost than never to have lived at all. I might lose. But I would die trying to live.
"Have you got a cigarette?" I asked.
He nodded and came over to me. He shook one up from his pack and I took it. I leaned toward his lighter and blew smoke in his face.
"So what do you want from me?"
"The boss will tell you."
"When?"
"I don't know. He's a busy man. But you're not going anywhere."
I glanced toward the window. He laughed.
"You're four floors up. This side of the house is built on the edge of a cliff. It's at least five-hundred feet down from this window. So you won't do much running if you jump out of there."
I sucked on my cigarette, trying to look like Mata Hari just before her execution. But it is damned hard to stay cold and aloof on the outside when you're shaking on the inside.
He turned and started toward the door.
"How about leaving me your pack of cigarettes?" I said.
He opened the door and looked back. "Sure, if you want to chew them. But if you think I'm leaving any matches for you...."
He went out and closed the door. I heard the lock click. He was a damn fool. I still had a lighted cigarette.
I looked around the room. If I set the room afire, what would it buy me? The walls and floor might be fireproof. And they would leave me in there to fry.
So it was best that I nurse my cigarette and make it last as long as possible. I again went over to the window and stared out of it. Although I could see nothing, at least I was looking beyond the walls of my prison.
This was a nightmare. It had to be. I would probably wake up shaking and screaming in my bedroom, with all the bedding on the floor.
And then I realized that the first thing I had to face was that this was for real. It might be a nightmare, but I was not asleep.
But how had I gotten into this mess?
Sharon Michaels. She had told me about The Hideaway. She had given me the idea of going there and trying to get in touch with foreign agents.
Why?
And why had I listened to her? Hell, I would have been better off in jail, sleeping with Lila. At least I would have a fighting chance of coming out of it alive after my trial. But this way....
Was Sharon tied in with these foreign agents or whoever they were? How had she known I might find them at The Hideaway?
Sharon was one of them. It had to be that way.
I wondered where Tim was and what he was doing. Probably out looking for me.
The door opened again. I whirled around. Eddie stood there.
"The boss wants to see you," he said. "Come on."
I started toward him. He shoved his hand under the left lapel of his jacket. It came out gripping a revolver.
He aimed it at me. He thumbed back the hammer with an ominous click.
"Try anything funny," he warned me, "and you'll have lead poisoning."
He slowly backed away from the doorway. He waved the revolver toward it.
"Get going. Turn to the right."
I padded into the hall and to the right.
"I'm right behind you. There's an elevator on your right just down the hall. That's as far as you go."
I reached the elevator and stood still.
"Push the button," he ordered.
I did.
We stood there in the silence, and I stared at the elevator door. It soon slid back. I stepped into the cage. He sidled in around me and went to the rear.
"Push I," he said.
I did.
Again we stood there in the silence, as the cage swiftly dropped. The door rolled back.
"Out and to your left," he told me.
I went down the deserted hall, wondering where we were headed.
"Hold it right there."
I stopped. He went to a door on the right and opened it. "Inside."
A short fat Buddha of a man sat behind a desk. His head was as bald as an egg. He had bushy black eyebrows and the eyes of a pig. His lips were puffy and his mouth was cruel.
I was shoved up to the desk. He stared at me and I stared back.
"Why do you make trouble for us?" he asked. "I've made no trouble. I didn't ask to be brought here."
"But we need you. We need you desperately."
"Why?" I asked.
He reached into a box and pulled out a cigar. He unwrapped it and held it to his nose and sniffed it. Satisfied, he stuck it in his mouth and rolled it around between his thick lips. Then he reached for a lighter.
"Let's just say we have an important assignment. All our other personnel are busy."
"Even Sharon Michaels?"
He chuckled. "I wondered if you'd ask that. Yes, she's very busy. She's one of our most valuable key persons. She called me this morning and said to be on the lookout for you."
"Just who are you, anyway?"
He gave me a grin. It looked like a gasping fish.
"Let's just say that I am part of an important organization. We're always in need of new recruits. That's why Sharon sent you to me."
"So if I'm to be a recruit, why am I treated like this? Why can't I sit down and have a cigarette and be treated decently?"
He stared at me for a moment. "You are quite right. Please forgive my rudeness. Eddie, push up a chair."
A chair was shoved up in front of the desk. I sat down. Eddie offered me a cigarette and lit it. He went back over to the door.
"So what's your proposition?"
He began rocking back and forth and lit his cigar. From the depths of a cloud of gray smoke he said, "We have many activities. We try to place a person in the activity that suits them best. But all our personnel have one quality in common-they have no emotion. That way they don't panic or run. They keep their heads. So they are better able to carry out an assignment."
He continued rocking back and forth. I said nothing and let the silence hang.
"So every new recruit has the same assignment. They have to kill cold-bloodedly and without flinching. If they can't, they are of no value to us."
I stared at him, trying to keep my face passive. I wondered if he was mad or if he were an inhuman monster.
"Most of our personnel are like you. They had no choice but to join us. But after indoctrination, they always see the value of our work and gladly help us carry it on. And I'm sure that you will, too."
Don't make book on it, Buster, I thought.
"After your indoctrination," he went on, "we have a very important assignment for you. It has to be a woman. And you are ideally suited for it, since you are a barber. We will get you into a certain shop. Nobody will know of your affiliation with us. This man loves beautiful women. You'll give him the Big Hello smile. He'll soon be coming to you. And while you have him laid back, under a hot towel, you'll jab a needle into his neck. It's perfectly painless. He won't suffer. And every doctor will swear he had a heart attack."
"But why do it that way?" I asked.
"Simple. While he's in your chair, he'll have two bodyguards sitting a few feet away. So that's the only way I know to get to him."
I nodded, and sat there dragging on my cigarette as though pondering his offer.
"And another thing. We'll get you cleared of murdering Johnny Blake."
"How?" I asked.
"Simple. Because you didn't do it."
"I know that. But no one will believe me." He pulled up to the desk and opened a drawer. He pulled out a paper.
"Here's a statement by Sammy Longdon just before he died. He and Millie Padgett were having an affair. She was waiting for him in the woods. She heard your screams and moans. Like a typical woman, she tried to break it up. She grabbed a rock and hit him in the head." He slapped a fat hand on the paper. "It's all there."
"So why did he have to die?"
"Because he was going to the police. If he had, you wouldn't have come to us. So, just for insurance, we made him give a statement. And after you finish your assignment, we will see to it that it reaches the state authorities. And we'll see to it that you are cleared."
"I may be clear with the law," I told him, "but you'H still have me hooked after killing that man in the chair."
He gave me his gasping fish grin again. "Exactly. But you won't mind. By then you'll see it our way."
I nodded and said nothing. I wanted to heave.
"Okay," I finally said, "I guess I have no choice."
"Oh, it's not so bad," he told me. "You can go right on living your life as you had before. And you won't have to worry about finances. Your first assignment will pay you ten-thousand dollars. Future assignments will pay according to how important they are. So you'll have a good life."
"So what's next?" I asked.
He shoved back from the desk and stood up. He was barely five feet tall. He waddled around the desk and toward the door.
"Come on," he told me. "You'll start your indoctrination." He looked at Eddie. "Keep your gun on her. We're going down to the courtroom."
Eddie nodded. Fatso went out the door and turned right. I was sandwiched between him and Eddie.
We went down a flight of stairs to a landing and then left. There was another flight of stairs to the basement floor.
It was gloomy and damp down there. Our footsteps echoed as if we were in a tomb.
Eddie suddenly ran up beside me. He was holding his revolver by the barrel. His hand went up and over. The butt of the gun smashed down on Fatso's head. Eddie caught him as he fell.
"Quick," Eddie told me, "get that window open over there."
I ran to the window and yanked. It was locked. I had to jump to unlock it. "Hurry."
I got the window up. I turned and saw him dragging Fatso over to it.
"Help me," he panted.
I grabbed Fatso's feet and lifted them. Together we struggled over to the window. Eddie gave him a shove.
He teetered for a moment on the window sill. Then he tilted forward and downward and disappeared into the blackness of the night.
Eddie reached up to close the window. The hall exploded and Eddie grabbed his middle. His revolver clattered to the floor.
I grabbed it up and whirled. A tall swarthy guy with his left eye glued shut stood there, and I was staring down the barrel of his revolver.
"Put down the gun," he ordered.
There was a racket at the far end of the hall. He glanced toward it. That was good enough for me.
My finger clamped. The roar bounced back and forth between the walls. He suddenly sprouted a third eye and a waterfall of blood tumbled down over his face. He stood there for a moment at a crazy angle and then fell flat on his face.
I got my hands under Eddie's arms, I tried to lift him. "I can't carry you," I teW Mm. "You'we got to help me."
Me wobbled to Ins feet. I got an arm around him. I knew we couldn't go for any hike.
"Where can we hide?" I asked.
"We've got to make it to that door down there."
I half-dragged him down the hall. I grabbed the doorknob and swung the door back. We staggered through the opening and I closed it behind me. We were in anothher hall.
"Through that first door on the right," he gasped. We zig-zagged toward it. I threw it back and we went through it. He reached out and flipped a switch. "Close the door," he said. I did.
We were in a small room.
"We'll be trapped in here," I said.
"Keep on going," he said.
We went to the end of the room. He staggered over to the corner on the right. And then we stood there, clinging together.
"Now what?" I asked.
Just then we slowly began to sink through the floor. I felt like Alice in Wonderland.
We suddenly stopped with a jolt. Eddie reached out and fumbled around. A light came on. He stepped off the platform, still hanging onto me.
The platform snapped back up again. We were in an underground room.
"I won't be leaving here," he gasped. He pointed to two switches on the wall. "The one on the left turns on the lights. The one of the right will bring that platform down."
"Don't they know about it?"
"No. And when the platform snaps back up, the light goes off upstairs."
"Clever. How did you find it?"
"I haven't got time to tell you. Get me over there on that cot."
I practically had to carry him. Red froth was beginning to bubble from his lips.
I set him down on the cot and he lay back with a sigh. I grabbed his feet and put them on the cot.
"There's a loose brick over there in that wall. Find it."
I went over to where he was pointing. I fumbled around.
"More to your left," he said.
My scrabbling fingers found the brick and pulled it out. "Reach in and get my diary. Bring it to me." I reached in and pulled out a small book. I took it over to him.
"Somehow, you've got to get this out of here."
"But who do I give it to?"
"It's written on the last page. And now get out my billfold. I want you to take it, too."
I reached into his hip pocket. But there was more than a billfold.
There was a leather folder. I opened it. It was an ID. He was a Fed.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Blood was now running from his mouth. His eyes were beginning to glaze.
"It's getting dark in here," he whispered. "I can hardly see you. But I've got a lot to tell you. You've got to get that diary out of here."
"I will," I promised.
"First of all, about Johnny Blake. He was their courier. We've had our eye on him for a long time, but we left him alone until we were ready to close in. He was one of their key men. So when he was killed, all hell broke loose around here."
"Do you believe Fatso's story about Millie Padgett killing Johnny?" I asked.
"Yes. That's what happened. I was there when Sammy put it all down."
"But couldn't they have threatened him so he wouldn't go to the cops?"
"They couldn't take that chance. After you were grabbed, they dreamed up how they could use you. So they didn't want you to get off the hook."
"But why did Millie Padgett kill herself?"
"Nobody will ever know. But Sammy was part of the organization. Millie must have known it. Sammy said that after the party Saturday afternoon he and Millie were going to get together. That's all I know. But I suspect Millie was afraid Sammy was going to bring her here. Because Sammy had orders to do that. They weren't about to let Millie get away with killing Johnny Blake."
"But why would Sammy tell them Millie did it?"
"That's the way you go up with this gang. Sammy was an eager beaver."
"I doubt if I can get my hands on that confession Sammy wrote."
"You won't have to. It's all in my diary. That will clear you."
"Thanks," I said. "But how am I going to get out of here?"
"I've got some sketches in my diary. They show the layout of the house. Down the hall you'll find a door on the right. Follow the sketches. You'll get into a tunnel and get out of here."
"What kind of an outfit is this? Commies?"
"Worse than that. It's an international ring of spies and killers. They hire out to the highest bidder. We've been watching this place for a long time. But couldn't nail them. That's why we put out the phony story about the secret work being done with the recreation camp as a front. Sure enough, they called in their top men. That's why Johnny Blake kept shuttling in and out of here. I was just about to blow the whistle on them. Then this had to happen."
"And all because of me," I said.
He reached out and squeezed my hand. "Don't worry. Just get that diary...."
His head flopped over. His grasp loosened on my hand.
I stood up. I wondered what to do next. Perhaps I should take his gun and try to get back to Fatso's office.
There would be plenty of stuff there.
But then I decided not to play hero. The important thing was to get that diary out of there.
I picked up the revolver and the diary. I headed toward the other end of the room. I flipped the switch on the right. The platform came down and I climbed on it.
I slowly opened the door to the hall and stuck my head out. Two lanky characters were walking by.
"Well," the older one said, "look who's here."
I pulled back and slammed the door. I tried to lock it. But they lunged against it and shoved me back. They rushed in and one of them grabbed the revolver and the diary. The other one pinned my arms back and marched me into the hall.
The guy with the diary riffled through it. He looked up and grinned at the other one. "Wait till Igor gets a load of this."
"What is it?"
"Eddie was a fink and a Fed. It's all here." He looked at me. "Where is he?"
"He's dead."
"And you wtlf be, too."
I was shoved down the hall and into a room on the left. There was a desk and three chairs in it.
The older goon went to the desk and picked up the phone. "Put Ignor on."
He dug a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. He stood there scowling and spewing smoke.
"Igor? Swartz. We've got the gal down here. Yeah, we're next to the courtroom. Okay ... Okay...."
He hung up and looked at me. "Where's Rocco?"
"Who?" I asked.
"Rocco. Eddie took you to his office. We found Ploski on the floor near the stairs. But the three of you had disappeared."
If they didn't know where Rocco was, I wasn't about to tell them.
"As we reached the bottom of the stairs," I said, "he suddenly started firing at the three of us. Eddie fired back. Eddie and Rocco were hit. Eddie and I ran. I don't know what happened to Rocco."
"Then he's probably around here somewhere," the younger gorilla said.
The door opened. A tall man with a hawk face under a thatch of gray hair came in. He stared at me.
"Look at this," the older goon said, handing over the diary. "Eddie was a Fed. She says he's dead."
Igor looked at me. "Where's his body?"
"Down the hall," I told him. "Why?"
"Because we want to make sure he's dead. So what were you going to do, take this to the Feds?"
I said nothing. I just glared at him.
"You had your chance," Igor told me. "Rocco made you a fair offer. But, say, where is Rocco?"
He looked at the two apes. The older one said, "She claims that Ploski started shooting at the three of them as they came down the stairs to the basement. Eddie fired back. Eddie and Rocco were hit. Ploski wound up dead. So Rocco must be around here somewhere."
Igor nodded. "Okay, give her to Zubu."
The two goons grabbed me and dragged me to a closed door. They threw it back and snapped on a switch.
It smelled like a zoo in there. It should.
Because along one wall was a cage from floor to ceiling with thick steel bars. And it looked like King Kong in there.
They dragged me over to a door. I screamed and fought and kicked. But I didn't have a chance.
They opened a barred door and shoved me inside. I was in a smaller cage. And Zubu came lumbering over to stare at me.
They went over to the wall and pushed a button. One side of my cage slowly lifted.
Zubu came bounding around to that end. I jumped and grabbed the gate and rode up with it. I looked down. Zubu was standing below me and glaring up at me. If he ever got his hands on me....
Zubu turned and grabbed the bars on the side. He started climbing. I watched him, waiting for the right moment. Then I dropped and my feet were running as soon as they hit the floor.
Zubu let out a roar. But I didn't look back. I was running pell-mell toward the other end of the cage.
It was only a question of time until Zubu would get me. But I was faster than he. So as long as I had any strength, I was going to stay away from him.
There was an iron ladder at the far end of the cage. It went straight up to a wide shelf. I glanced over my shoulder. Zubu was loping after me.
I hit the ladder and kept right on going. I climbed onto the shelf and looked down. Zubu was starting up.
And then I realized why the ladder and the shelf. There was a trapeze hanging about ten feet away. The bar was just above the level of the shelf.
I looked at the trapeze and down the ladder. I could take my choice-Zubu or jumping for the trapeze. Because if I could get on the trapeze, I could climb a rope to the overhead beam. Perhaps he couldn't get up there.
I squatted down and tried to judge my distance. I leaped. My hands caught the bar and then slid off. I quickly grabbed with one hand and hung on. Then I clamped with the other hand.
Zubu was roaring from the shelf. He would be jumping any second.
I must have been charged with adrenalin. I pulled myself up and managed to get a leg over the bar. I grabbed the robes and pulled myself up again. I was standing on the bar.
I glanced over my shoulder. Zubu was ready to jump.
I went up one rope hand over hand. Just as I got hold of the beam, Zubu landed on the bar below. I pulled myself up and lay on the beam. He glared up at me as I lay there panting. He grabbed a rope and started climbing.
I looked down at the floor far below. My insides did flip-flops. I shut my eyes for a moment and opened them again. But I didn't look down a second time.
I inched myself toward the end of the beam. I wondered if Zubu would be able to follow me.
I reached the end and glanced over my shoulder. Here came Zubu down the beam.
I grabbed a bar of the cage and slid down it. It burned my hands. As soon as my feet hit the floor I was running.
I was exhausted. My lungs were screaming. I was puffing and panting and fighting for breath.
I looked over my shoulder. There was Zubu just above me, hanging onto the bars of the cage. He dropped. He slammed me to the floor.
I was half-out. I felt him rolling me on my back. My legs were yanked up and spread wide apart.
I opened my eyes. And there he was hovering above me, glaring down at me. I screamed. But it was no use. I tried to break free. But he clamped all the tighter on my legs.
He let out a roar and tried to ram me. My hips reared up. He didn't get the job done.
That made him mad. He let go of my legs and jumped on me. I was buried under his stinking fur. And then his hands found my throat.
Once more I was being raped and choked. And once more I felt myself slipping away.
From far away I heard firecrackers going off. As I drifted away, I wondered why they were celebrating the Fourth of July so early.
Suddenly I realized that Zubu was no longer crushing me. I could breathe once more. I opened my eyes.
Adolph and Sharon stood there, gripping rifles.
Sharon squatted down beside me. "I thought you were a goner."
"Me, too," I rasped. "I thought you were one of the gang."
She shook her head. "I hope you'll forgive me. Eddie needed help. I couldn't come in. So I sent you."
"Thanks a lot," I whispered. "I knew Eddie would take care of you," she told me. "The diary...." I said. "It's safe. Everybody's dead or rounded up."
"And so is Eddie," I said.
She nodded. "That's what I figured. But I was scared to death when Adolph called me and told me he had you in the basement and that Eddie was coming in."
"Why?"
She laughed and patted my arm. "Let's just say that you'll live longer if you stick to being a barber instead of trying to play Mata Hari."
