They made an eye-catching pair, the one of them a silver-gray blonde, the other with auburn hair which fell in a shining cascade to her shoulders. Both girls were beautiful both were models free-lance models and they worked with a variety of photographers in Hollywood. Beautiful faces and figures kept them well and their lives were comfortable and happy.
They shared another talent ... both were adept at handling men.
They smiled on and encouraged the better prospects men who could do them good but without promising anything; they were most adept at side-stepping the Handy-Andys, the Poor Boys and others of the reprehensibles.
However, they dealt fairly with both categories, never giving offense nor offering unnecessary insult They operated with an eye to dealing so that no one was hurt especially the girls, themselves.
Both were typical of the successful career girl, found in large numbers in the motion picture capital. They ate, dressed and lived well. Being hip to the picture, they could manage for themselves with a maximum of smoothness and a minimum of ill-feelings.
The two lived in an attractive two-bedroom apartment which was in the general area of Hollywood and Vine. It, more specifically, was not too far from the Capitol Records roundhouse ... a few blocks west ... and almost in the center of the Hollywood which was their life. Their apartment sported a heated swimming pool, a garage underground and an excellent coffee shop. For these advantages, they paid two hundred seventy-five dollars a month. They considered themselves lucky to have found an apartment so desirable for so reasonable a rent.
Their living quarters were on the top floor of the building, to which they walked by one flight of stairs. The apartment plan completely enclosed the patio and pool in its center, the second and top floor having a balcony gallery which circled the entire floor. The big sliding glass door in their living-room afforded an excellent view of the patio and pool and, with their drapes drawn, they had complete privacy, above the eyes of passers-by.
The Tipton Apartments were peaceful at the moment. It happened to be the twilight hour..." the period when Hollywooders took a deep breath from the rat-race of the day and began the foot-race for fun which occupied many of their nights. The pool was deserted; a few apartments showed lamps burning; everything hung in a state of suspended animation, in preparation for the coming night
Dede Willis, in a white robe of toweling, emerged from the bath, drying her silver-gray hair with all the vigor of her twenty years and a bright smile of enjoyment She gave every evidence of enjoying being a girl.
"Oh boy!" she exulted. "Now I'm my old self again."
"Hm ... looks like the same old Dede to me," her friend smiled, "and as cute and lovely as anyone could wish."
Dede sprawled, grinning at her roommate, stretching the perfection of her smooth, tanned legs before her. "Why Sandi, thank you. My! I certainly hope Al feels the same."
Sandi Hollister was occupying the sofa in a graceful profusion of feminine curves. "Oh, stop worrying Dede ... you're a living doll. If your big man doesn't go into conniptions of joy when he sees you, he's lost his mind in the year since you've seen him. I know ... he'll go ape."
"Gee, I hope so, Sandi." Dede rose, nervously, and moved into her bedroom to return with a hand hair-dryer. "We grew up together," she said.
She said it as though it were news, but her roommate had heard the story countless times. She closed her eyes, flinching inwardly as she waited for the rest of it Sure enough as Dede turned on the motor, she repeated the whole bit
"I've had a crush on him all my life," Dede said, moving the outrush of warm air against her damp curls. "He's awfully cute." She described every attractive man as 'cute.' "I believe he's got a crush on me, but it's been so long, I'm worried."
"Take my advice," Sandi said, "don't worry. With your looks, what's to worry?" She surveyed the lush body lying before her. The motions of Dede's arms had flipped the loose robe open, displaying the full, standing breasts, round thighs, flat stomach and curved calves. "You're still one of the two best pin-up models in town ... including me." Sandi grinned.
Dede's forehead creased just above her small nose. "That has me worried, Sandi ... the business. I don't think Al would care for it"
"Tell me what's wrong with it?" Sandi demanded, shooting up to a sitting position and flipping the magazine away.
"Oh ... Al's sort of straight-laced. He's from one of the old Miami families. My home town Miami," she explained again for the umpteenth time.
"I know, honey ... believe me I know," Sandi murmured.
"But, What'll I tell him?"
"Why tell him anything?"
Dede looked at Sandi uncertainly. "Wh-what?"
"Sweetie, don't tell him if you're afraid it'll shake him up;'"
"I certainly don't want to do that I wouldn't do anything to hurt Al if my life depended on it I've known him ever since we were kids...."
"Oh, Dede, baby ... I know. You've briefed me a million times. Now, look ... if he's just in town a short while, why get into it? Tell him you're a fashion model he probably won't know the difference. He'll be here a short while and gone nobody gets hurt-you both have fun."
"Oh, Sandy ... will I ever!" Dede bubbled with anticipation, a sparkle in the big, blue eyes. "Thanks, Sandi, honey ... you have the best ideas!"
This Dede was the one Hollywood knew. Wide-eyed and naive. A perfectly beautiful woman's body, seemingly guided by the mind of a child. The paradoxical coupling of mind and body offered one of her most valuable assets as a model as well as an individual.
Hollywood's weisenheimers laughed at her, but it was like water behind a duck's back to her ... as she so laughably mixed it She was never touched by unpleasantness; reacted with unvarying, bright friendliness; impervious to cutting comments; just making money like a mint and sending it home for her folks to bank for her in Miami.
Sandi knew Dede well; enjoyed her as an honest person. Dede enjoyed life and didn't worry too much about it Under the carefully kept silver-gray hair, her mind was a business machine. She did just what the man behind the camera wanted. She could hit just the right facial expression adjust her body to the most alluring and provocative attitudes she dressed and groomed herself impeccably and was an expert in making men feel they were completely fascinating to her.
Also, she was capable of projecting a child-like, innocent sexiness before the lens. This ability was as natural as her smile. It came from within ... was a straightforward ... not contrived in any way.
So, most men, avid to meet her after seeing some of the photographs made of her, were chagrined to find she was none of the things her photographer-employers made of her.
Dede's vocabulary was a thing of wonder. For the most part, it consisted of in-phrases and cliches she thought 'cute' no matter, how long they'd been dropped from popular use. She established some of her short wordage idioms which served every purpose, she wanted them to ... from confusing too-nosey employers to turning off overheated suitors up on Mulholland.
The charm of Dede was such, however, that rarely did the frustrated male feel resentful. They wondered, shaking their fuzzy heads, just what had happened. All they definitely realized was, somehow, they had been neatly de-railed but smoothly with no damage.
"By the by," was her favorite phrase for bidding a date farewell. Or "mad, mad funsies" was another shaker of a description for an evening's activity, followed by: "we did it before and we can do it again." She'd picked the sentence up somewhere, she didn't remember where. Then, bobbing her cheek forward to be kissed, she fled. Her date still sat with pursed, confused lips when she had vanished.
She also affected a few foreign phrases ... some with a twist of her own ... such as VHasta luigi" and "over the riverderchi." One of the wise guys tried to teach her the GI French voulez vouse couchez avec moi as a great goodnight line.
"Why I'd never say a thing like that!" she'd retorted, sharply.
"Why?" the guy asked, thinking she'd heard the translation.
"I'd never be able to pronounce it!" she said, indignantly. She could never understand why he choked on his drink.
Sandi couldn't help grin as she watched the seemingly scatter-brained Dede dress. Musing that none of the harshness of the people around ever penetrated the blonde's consciousness, Sandi envied her.
"Now why can't I be such a blithe spirit?" she often said to herself, wistfully. Sandi was a message center for all the innuendo, scandal, gossip, and calumny that filtered though the ears and minds of the Hollywood cliff-dwellers. "I'm a target for every nasty crack anybody makes," she reflected. "Dede couldn't care less..."
"Well, how do I look?" Dede demanded, anxiously, pirouetting for Sandi in the living room. The latter swallowed her smile, as usual. The total effect, to Sandi, was as though Rebecca of Sunnybrook farm were making up to play Bitter Rice, in party clothes. There was just a little ... not a lot, but a little ... too much of everything. Jewelry, print in the dress material, perfume ... and makeup. Yet, Sandi reflected, sobering, with Dede, somehow, it never came out too much. She might jingle and clash and look like a show-girl out for a quick cup of coffee between blackouts ... but she never offended. With Dede, miraculously, .it turned out right Sandi, to cover her confusion, exclaimed:
"Oh, angel, you look delicious! Mel will wig over you!" Dede smiled with childish delight, happy that Sandi was pleased with her. At first, Sandi had tried to steer Dede into the right path in her dress and appearance but, no matter what happened, the end result was pure, undiluted Dede Willis. Sandi gave up.
Suddenly, Sandi thought of something else, unpleasantly clear, from their early days as roommates. She tried to forget it, usually successfully, but, sometimes it snapped into focus in her mind despite her effort She couldn't really remember whether it actually happened or whether it was one of her too-real dreams. Unsure of that, she had never brought it up for discussion; was somewhat reassured by the fact that Dede had not either.
Sandi knew, definitely knew, that she was not a lesbian and would have bet her last cent that Dede wouldn't even have understood the term had it been explained to her. Yet this thing had happened, either in Sandi's dreams ... or, in reality ...
Sandi had come home, reeling from more than her usual quota of vodka stingers. Fighting a successful rear-guard action against her alcohol and desire-inflamed date, she was painfully mauled, collapsing over her bed to cry in pain and disgust at his manhandling her bosom.
When she'd calmed, somewhat, she undressed and took a shower, hot as she could stand it, trying to be quiet and not wake Dede. So worn out, she practically collapsed on the cool sheet, not even taking time to put on sleepers, the cool bed felt so good ...
The next thing she knew, she felt the soothing comfort of arms and body cradling her closely and a loving voice which softly whispered comfort into her ears.
"It's alright, angel ... just don't cry any more. Rest ... and let mother take care of you ... don't cry, baby...."
Gentle hands drew her head downward to rest on the inviting softness of a bare breast, while a hand caressed the back of her head, tenderly stroking her hair. Sandi felt like a little girl again, turning her face toward the soft warmth, nuzzling it while another hand softly caressed her back, working its way downward to pat her buttocks, gently. And, all the while, the words of sympathy and comfort continued, whispering close to her ear.
Her recollection was that her lips closed, seemingly of their own accord, over the inviting softness as her arms tightened about the figure of her consoling angel. Then, she remember, the quality of the whispering voice had changed; die words had changed and the subtly caressing hand moved to cover her own bosom as her head was eased back onto the pillow. The whispers ceased as the lips captured her own nipples, in turn, easing the hurt ...
But she knew that it couldn't be mama ... mama hadn't been with her for several years ... and Sandi tried to push the loving mystery away to find out who she was ... It was a weak effort, though, and Sandi's hand was gently put away as soft lips covered her own with a kiss, tender and soft. Then a rising excitement began to lay hold of her emotions and she forgot all else in the magical whirlpool of sensations in which she was caught
Her pain her disgust all the unpleasantness of the evening was gone. All that mattered were the delights of the loving hands, the exciting, wandering lips, and her surrender to the magic ...
Suddenly as mysteriously as it had begun the dream was ended. "When Sandi woke the next morning, only fleetingly did the memory of her dream if dream it were remained, at first Then as full wakefulness possessed her, the dream became clear as pieces of it fit together in her recollection. Who had it been? Mama-Dede ... ?
Sandi watched Dede carefully during breakfast, trying to detect in her manner or words some indication that the realistic memory might not be a dream ... but there was nothing. When they'd separated to pursue their diverse pattern for the day, Sandi realized she'd never speak of it Dede continued being Dede ... with never a variation from her own, natural, inimitable self ...
Now Dede's exclamation snatched her suddenly back to the present
"It's almost time!" she smiled, delightedly, "Al should be here in the flesh in a flash!"
Sandi rose from the sofa "I'll go into the bedroom."
"Oh, please, Sandi ... I'd like you to meet AL He's ... cute."
"I'm sure he is, baby ... but I don't want to meet anyone as sloppily dressed as I...." She broke off short as Dede uttered a small scream. "What is it?' she demanded, spinning back to face her.
"Oh, my addled head ... Sandi I forgot ... I have an appointment!"
"A work appointment or did you make another date ... ? "
"Oh, fiddlebows ... a modeling date, Sandi ... oh! What'll I do ... ? "
"Call and cancel it...."
"He was going to do some night scenes around town," Dede was thinking aloud, a vexed expression on her features. Sandi knew it was important to Dede not to miss a business appointment Her devotion to Al and excitement at his visit were the things which threw her, Sandi reflected.
"Well, look ... when he arrives, I'll apologize for you and have him call for another appointment OK?"
"Oh, Sandi! ... you're just wonderful, the way you think of the right thing to do...."
"Nothing to it," Sandi laughed, wondering, as always, at her friend. But she laughingly refused to stay and meet Al ... not looking as she did ...
While the top of the Strip, just before Sunset meanders into the more refined and subdued street light of Beverly Hills, is a garish display, not all of Hollywood is brightly lit Across from the Tipton Apartments, a man was sitting in a car, parked in the dim glow of the street lamp at the corner. It was an old Cadillac, a relic of better days and more affluent owners. The man sat quietly, waiting out the clock.
Occasionally he glanced at his watch and across at the apartment entrance, which was well-illuminated. He made no note, in his mind, of the comparatively small attire of the occupants in contrast to his own shabbiness.
The autumn in Southern California differed greatly from the fall weather he had experienced in Detroit The onset of harsh weather had always irked him. Here, there was not the miserable discomfort to clog his secret dark thoughts..
His was a mind filled with, to him, beautiful images. They had to be secret other people didn't react to them as beauty. The man was contemptuous, now, of other humans. No real ideas, imagination ... no beautiful secrets of the mind for them. Same old treadmill, day after day; with no soaring excitements no climaxing emotions to penetrate to the very core of life within and burst with glory and sensation.
The man smiled at his watch. Just thirty minutes and he'd make his call. Since six, he'd been sitting there, in his car, relishing the wait, licking his mental chops over his plan. He savored it over and over. The wait was a pleasure ... an attenuation of inner excitement which washed over him, from time to time, in waves.
Suddenly he started upright, staring with disbelieving eyes at the laughing girl, who, accompanied by a male companion, had just left the Tipton Apartments to enter a cab. The taxi pulled away, at once, heading for the turn to Vine.
"She ... she ... why didn't she wait?' he mumbled to himself as the tail-lights of the cab vanished at the corner. "Why ... she had an appointment to meet me. Why didn't she wait?" He looked at his watch again, angrily. Jt wasn't nine, yet It wasn't right ... not when he had a definite appointment. She shouldn't go off with someone ... not wait It scrambled the beautiful order of the thoughts in the dark mind. As his white-knuckled hands suddenly gripped the steering-wheel, his lips parted and curled in a snarl of insensate rage.
The nondescript features suddenly became menacing in the sudden seizure, as the opened lips revealed the wide gap between the man's front teteth ...
CHAPTER TWO
The incandescent sun poured onto the desert sands like a cascade of pure calescence. Dotted irregularly over the expanse of arid space, the struggling shrubbery looked gray in its coat of dust and in the haze of heat.
In all the tremendous expanse of sucking, draining heat, only one sign of life could be seen. A battered pickup truck moved slowly along the dim, wheel-tracked trail, steam blowing from the radiator overflow pipe beneath the engine. Slowly as it went, the wheels still kicked up a trail of the dry, volatile desert dust in the vehicle's wake.
Two men rode inside the cab. One of them ... the driver ... was Cosmo Jenkins, a man who lived close to the desert He was in his sixties, with the leathery, wrinkled face of a desert rat He narrowed his eyes, instinctively, against the onslaught of the merciless sun as he worried aloud.
"Sure hope we can make a gas station. We're usin' water like it was goin' out of style. Hottest I've seen fer many a year...."
The man beside him turned his face from the vista outside the open window. "I like it" he said, musingly, his motions seemingly dazed by the spectacle.
The driver snorted in disgusts "What's there to like, I'd give a purty to know? Just this damn desert ... and the month o' August to boot ... jes' hell on earth, that's what it is..."
His passenger's eyes had gone back, hungrily to the sere landscape, eyes probing it excitedly.
"It ... it's so ... so empty!" He finally got the words out as though in the grip of strong emotion.
Cosmo hawked and spit and snorted again.
"Brother, you said the right words it's empty, alright It's jes' a whole world of nothin'. . . "
"That's it...." the man's excitement suddenly showed in the tremor of his voice ". . . a whole world empty! There's nobody in the whole world but us!"
Cosmo Jenkins shook his head. "This your first time in the desert?" he inquired. The man's lips barely moved, as though he were praying responsively.
"The first time!" he breathed, savoring something sensual inside.
"Well, it's no wonder it seems something great I crisscrossed this hell-sink fer over half my life an' never did get to like it But ever'body to his own taste, I say..."
"I'm ... I came from a big city," the passenger explained, slowly turning his head to the driver. "In a big city, you can never be alone, like this. In a big city, anyway you turn, anywhere you look, it's full of people ... full of eyes, watching everything you do." The expression on his face became almost blissful as it turned back to the grim vista. "I ... I can't believe it Here, there's nobody to watch you ... it's wonderful ... nobody..."
Cosmo Jenkins grunted, inaudibly, squinting and listening. You couldn't figure city people. like this queer fish.
Shaking his head, he mentally thanked God for his son, Lasker, wasn't like a damn tourist shooting pictures in all directions, not knowing what they were about Now Lasker made pictures, sure ... but he knew what he was doing and never wasted an inch of film with some fool notion. He shot people and he shot landscapes and he shot both. And every picture was nice ... just right ... pulling your eye right to what Lasker wanted you to okay at in his pictures.
Lasker made good money with his camera equipment and Cosmo grinned at the prospect of seeing his son again. The case of equipment Lasker left behind at the cabin when he moved to Hollywood was in the back of Cosmo's truck and he was taking it to Lasker, now.
The hitchhiker Cosmo had taken aboard outside Barstow, was glad for some company on the lonely drive. Cosmo's truck wasn't fast enough for the highways, so he used the desert trails he knew so well, which cut across the geometric spaces bounded by the paved roads.
Cosmo, when he saw the lifted hand, sized the hiker up quickly and slowed for him. He looked average ... except he was small and thin with a head that looked too big for his body. His chin was pointed and his eyebrows heavy, his nose without a bridge where it left the forehead. Cosmo chided himself for thinking the face, somehow, resembled a rat's. Ain't so beautiful myself I should criticize another man's face, he reflected; besides, the man looked so lost and friendless, standing beside the road ... and he was so polite when Cosmo picked him up ...
They hadn't exchanged names when the hiker stepped up to seat himself beside Cosmo at the wheel of the panting pickup. The old man read this with relief, assessing the passenger as a shy, withdrawn individual who wouldn't offend Cosmo with his tales lies, he always thought of them-about the whores and the whiskey and the money they'd had. These blabber-mouths disgusted Cosmo. This one was a silent man.
He first spoke when Cosmo worried aloud about the high rate of radiator water consumption. Cosmo noticed his preoccupation with the desert scenery which bored the old man and couldn't see what got him so het up about it
"Yep," he said, barely moving his lips as he talked to himself, "it takes all kinds to make a world...."
He figured the guy for a loner, from his remark about the city's prying eyes. Cosmo reflected that was probably why the desert solitude affected him The hissing from the truck radiator suddenly concerned Cosmo and he cocked his ear, then muttered a curse.
"Looks like I'm gonna hafta use my reserve water," he complained aloud, slowing for a stop.
The stranger looked at him questioningly.
"Yep ... don't wanta do it, but I gotta. Over twenty miles to the next road," he explained, opening the door and stepping down.
"Any help I can be?" the stranger stepped out, too.
"Why, thankee," Cosmo returned. "Y'might swing up on the bed and hand me down the water can, T you've a mind to. Right under that loose corner of tarp ... my back ain't so stout...." he concluded.
The hiker lifted himself over the tailgate, not moving at once to get the water can, but turning slowly to survey the lifeless expanse of sand. Not a thing moved in the vast bowl that ran out to meet the mountains or the sky, full circle. Dragging his eyes downward, the man stood, frozen, hands clenched at his sides, the knuckles white
"Yep ... right there," Cosmo said, unaware of the sudden tension in his passenger. "Jes' loosen that knot in the rope that's got it snugged down...."
"...the rope!"
The hitchhiker's eyes found the arc of small rope peeking from beneath the tarp as his eyes widened, wildly, and the pupils enlarged. Sweat suddenly beaded his forehead, and he mopped at it impatiently with his forearm, his mouth opening to gulp for air. Cosmo noted the gap between the front teeth.
"What's wrong, mister?' the old man inquired, 'heat gettin' yuh down?'
The stranger didn't answer, straining to swallow a great lump, dry in his throat Cosmo's words sent him bending, slowly, trembling hands outstretched toward the rope ... the rope...
"That's right" the old man said, approvingly. "Jus' take it easy. No sense in rushin' in this heat...."
No! the words blazed in the stranger's mind. No sense in rushing. You've wanted this all your life ... now enjoy it ... all of it Such a chance may never come again, while you live. Taste it ... enjoy it ... every last bit of it And, take your time ...
By the time his fingers brushed the hairy strand of rope, his whole body trembled. But he forced himself through the motions of freeing the water can, and his heart leaped again. There was a shovel, too and his motions became less as one hypnotized, beginning to take on a new sureness.
"Yeh ... jes' push th' shovel outa th' way," Cosmo mumbled, wiping the sweat from his hat and forehead with a soggy red bandanna. He stood at the tail-gate, inattentive now that the water can was freed. " Use that shovel, sometimes, when I get stuck 'n this damn sand. Gets worse'n a snowdrift..." Cosmo broke off as the shovel scraped instead of rattling as it was tossed aside. His mouth gaped open as the stranger rose with the shovel gripped in his hands, turning to face the old man, his expression that of a madman, his mouth dribbling saliva at its corners.
Cosmo was paralyzed. And then the shovel swung in a swift, tight arc, smashing into the side of the old man's face and knocking him off his feet. The hitchhiker was out of the truck like a snake, snatching up the rope end, trailing it after him.
Dazed, Cosmo struggled into a sitting position and the shovel smashed into his face, again, the flat of the blade pulping the features, rocking the old man onto his back, flat, unconscious.
The stranger stepped to stand over the still figure, legs a-straddle, bracing himself against the surge of weak dizziness which flooded him. His eyes darted along the road, before and behind but the emptiness was still his, alone, now.
"No eyes watching you," he panted, hoarsely, "nobody is looking at you. Alone ... all alone ... a world alone..."
He bent over the old man.
"I hope he's alive," he continued mumbling, kneeling to listen for sounds of a heartbeat in the oldster's chest. "Please ... not dead ... there's nothing for me this way ... it's my very first time and I ... I want to enjoy it, all ... don't die, please ... ? "
He almost whined the question. His own agitation prevented his hearing any sign of life in the old man's body and, with an effort, he calmed himself before bending, again, to listen. Then, he leaped to his feet, gloating.
"That's wonderful. Just god almighty wonderful!" He looked around, the insane joy shining out of his animal's face at the faint heartbeat he had detected. He became completely animated, now, working feverishly. Lift-bed, then turned to the tarp and covered the still form. Kicking sand over the bloodstains, he cleaned the shovel with a few jabs into the soft surface. When he tossed the shovel into the back of the pickup, the road looked as it had before.
Grabbing the water-can, he loped to the front of the vehicle and, opening the hood, tentatively touched the radiator cap, snatching his hand away angrily. He scrambled to the back of the truck, getting the old man's bandanna and returned to free the sizzling cap, stepping back as it flew over his head in the resulting geyser.
Then he poured in the water, very carefully, not worrying about the block. The water was hot, despite the tarp cover the can had had.
Then he started the engine, threw the water can back into the truck bed and got it in gear, driving until he found a turn-off; a vague direction of tire tracks. They led back and back into the shrubbery and, the farther he went, the. better his screening from the road. When he was about two miles from the road, he could no longer distinguish the declivity through which it led.
"Oh, this is so very good!" he gloated, his whisper harsh, his eyes glittering. He drove into a small depression which would give the impression of the vehicle sinking out of sight, if there were anyone watching from the road, but he knew he was alone. As the man swung out of the cab, excitement again surged through him in a flood as he got the rope, the surges concentrating in his stomach and loins. Easily he lifted Cosmo out of the truck, placing him" gently on the sand to bind ankles and wrists and then snugged them together, pulling the old bouy into an agonizing arc.
Then, his eyes glazed in pleasure, he sank onto the hot sand, gazing at the helpless figure before him, avidly, noting the bite of the tightly-tied ropes into the withered flesh. He leaned against the burning heat of the truck wheel without noticing it, humming a tuneless air.
"Now die, old man," he crooned, "die while I can sit here in safety and watch you..."
He began to tremble, his eyes riveted to the helpless figure of Cosmo Jenkins. The shaking increased to recurring spasms which shook and paralyzed him with each onset. His arms went around his own chest, to better feel the paroxysms which wracked his slight body.
As the time went on, the violence of his seizures rose; the spindly legs kicked; the shaking torso writhed at Cosmo's fight to breathe.
"Old man," he screeched, harshly, between convulsions, "are you dying? Do you enjoy the dying as I enjoy looking at you die...? " He babbled, drooling at both corners of his mouth, his emotions caught in a bewildering whirl. Higher and higher the sensations rose, sweeping over him, devastatingly. Panting and crying, now, he tried to struggle to his knees, eyes still locked to the dying man. When one last struggle for breath was lost by the straining, bound body, his feelings burst apart inside him, suffusing his being in an agony of sensation too keen to resist. He fell backward against the truck fender, caromed on to his side in the hot, bright sunlight, his body jerking and twitching spasmodically as he lost consciousness.
Cosmo Jenkins' eyes, half open, stared straight ahead at the rise of a thick cactus nearby. Overhead, high in the air, two black specks began to circle as death arrived on the desert to watch the killer with invisible eyes ...
CHAPTER THREE
When consciousness returned to the now-quiet killer, he pushed himself up, refreshed, on capably strong arms. Squinting against the sun, he felt strong and full. Power seemed to well in his frame, making him feel like a stripling.
The old man, his feeble frame pulled almost into a circle, lay, dead, before him. With the life gone, the body was nothing in his eyes. Even the rope had lost its deadly fascination since it no longer functioned.
He looked up at a shadow which swept across him, to see three big, black birds circling deliberately above. He knew they were buzzards, the old man having explained that they preyed on dead carcasses and kept the desert clean.
It sounded a note of alarm. They would attract attention from cars ... he seized the shovel and started digging. It didn't take long ... the sand was deep and soft and he kept at it until he had a sizeable grave emptied. Then he went through Cosmo's pockets and rifled them, stuffing the oldster's wallet into his own pocket as he tumbled the unresisting body into the hole and scooped sand into the grave to fill it ...
As the man with the gap between his front teeth drove along the road again, he examined the contents of the wallet he'd taken from Cosmo's body. Nothing of interest to him was in it, save the green bills ... amounting to over two hundred dollars. A broad smile overspread the rat-like face as he jounced slowly along the trail.
It was the first time, he exulted, but he'd dreamed about it for all his life. Many times, the terrible, paralyzing excitement had seized him, just thinking about it; stirring his being so that he was completely taken out of himself; it was a release he could secure in no other way. The unbearable delight of watching a human die, helpless, for him, under his eyes, for his own delight ... he shuddered at the recollection.
There were some men, he knew, who went out with girls and women and they spent their time drinking and then taking them to apartments where they could be alone with them. Often he had wondered why ... what they did together that made the fellows he knew so avid for it. Girls, as such, meant nothing to him. Only the visions of a bound, helpless body sexless for all he cared made any sense or communicated any desire to him.
Only then was he the repository for power and glory. The excitement of conquering the world of standing in the stars of falling through eons of time across endless space as his body spasmed and jerked with the ecstasies which seized him and held him powerless in the violence of their possession of him. Man or woman ... he cared not.
Just so long as it was a living body he watched, trapped by the rope ... dying while .his eyes, almost all pupil, gazed hungrily...
As he drove the laboring pickup through the wastes of the desert, he recalled the time some of the guys from the garage had pushed him into going with them to a house where you could buy a girl. He felt he had to go ... he'd never gone out with the guys and they were kidding him ...
"What'sa matter ... yuh a queer, or some-thin'? " a big Polish mechanic joshed him.
"Like hell I am!" he retorted, hotly. He knew he was different but never thought of himself as 'queer', in any case.
"Then, go with us. On'y costcha ten bucks an' man, these broads is worth a sawbuck."
He went It made him sick, his lips drawing back from the gapped teeth in distaste his companions thought was a grin of lust. Me tried to avert his eyes, but everywhere he looked, he could see his fellow-workers' hands, lewedly caressing the coarse-mouthed and unattractive women. One by one they vanished until there was left only a scrawny red-head who took his hand, as he held back, saying:
"Le's go, baby. We're on a tight schedule here. Ain't got all night ... they's customers waiting." She revolted him with her flabby breasts and skinny legs but he let her pull him down the corridor to her door. He reflected, he'd have taken some of that confident behavior out of her with a rope and some time alone ...
But when she started to fumble with his pants, he panicked. "Wait! Don't!. . . "
"Whassa mattah ... you a pansy?" He shook his head.
"I ... I'm sick ... I don't think I could . , . "
"Whaddaya mean, ya sick!" The woman's suspicions focused into her hard black eyes as she stepped away from him, pulling her hands off him as though he were poison...
He nodded, to confirm her suspicions and she took another step back from him.
"L-look," he strangled, " I-I'll pay yuh the saw buck, huh?" He fumbled the bill out and pushed it at her. She took it with her finger tips.
"It that ain't a hell of a thing!" she started, indignation in every line of her worn body." He cut her off.
"Look, the guys ... they kidded me ... I had to come...."
Understanding spread over her face and she grinned.
"So, yuh wanned ta to be one-uh the boys, ha?" She laughed. "You was ashamed tuh tell-um yuh gotta dose?" She threw back her head and laughed and he, relief flooding through him smiled back at her, "Th-that's right. Y-you'll ... you won't tell 'em different, will you?" His eyes were pleading.
She lifted her scrawny shoulders uncaringly.
"Why should I give those bums the time-uh day?" she asked, scornfully, folding the bill and putting it in an opaque jar on the rickety table. "Tell 'em anything you like ... I'll back yuh up. Hey! tell 'em yuh jazzed me five times, and I wuz yellin' for, more! I don't give a damn what you tell them greasy bastards!" She laughed, delighted with the hoax.
"G-got time for a cigarette?" he asked, sweat beading his forehead, hands trembling.
"Make it half a cigarette, brother. like I said, I got a tight schedule. They's..."
"I know," he assented, gratefully, "customers waiting..." she nodded, pulling the wrapper around her ...
He saw her tied hand and foot, helpless; her body twisting vainly on the dirty bed. Suddenly his lips were dry and his eyes began to water as he quickly fought back the images.
He didn't want to profane his thoughts by thinking them ... here. He just wanted out ...
"Time!" the scrawny woman said, abruptly.
"Oh! Oh, yes!" he said, stumbling to his feet
"You oughta see a sawbones, chum," she advised as she opened the door.
"Wh-what for?" he asked, rising.
"Fer whatever ya got," she said, matter-of-factly. "It ain't good fer ya an' it spoils yer fun, don't it?" He nodded, dumbly.
"I-I'll see a doc. Th-thanks...."
He slipped out without seeing his friends, taking a bus to his room. He lived near the garage with just a bed and a dresser, a table and two chairs. Under the bed, he kept his belongings ... his most precious ones ... in a cardboard box. Dragging the carton out, he picked up a handful of magazines and sat down on the bed with them.
They were almost worn out from handling. He touched them gently, lovingly as he carefully turned the-pages, slowly feeding his eyes.
All were pictures of men and women, bound in various attitudes. Most were fully dressed; some stripped to a minimum of clothing. He rejoiced that none were naked. Naked things were ugly ... like the woman he'd just left. He shuddered at the recollection. "Ibis was the way people were, in the pictures ... decent and clean. Not naked.
But, he worried, troubled, why didn't he see such people in real life? Why just in magazines. In Detroit, he never did see ... and besides, if you talked about it to somebody (as he had) the next thing you knew, they were calling you 'funny' and telling you the police were looking for people who did that and would put you in jail. In jail! For what? Why jail for something which was sheer pleasure.
Even if it did mean hurting people ...
Even now, with the distasteful odor of the prostitute still in his nostrils, he trembled with the urge to go away, to find the place where people might understand beauty; could comprehend that pain and passion were one and the same thing ...
Maybe ... a surge of hope leaped in him ... maybe where the magazines were published would be...! Quickly he moved to the table with one, flattening it out to leaf through carefully. Then, he happened to catch it" at the bottom of a page. "Published by Bondage Press, Inc., Hollywood, California." No address ... a post office box was all. But ... a place! Hollywood!
He checked six or seven. All but one were from the same place. Southern California ... Hollywood ... the promised land! People there were free ... they dressed and talked and did as they pleased, and no one but no one threatened to put them in jail for their thoughts.
A light went on in his mind. Why was he here when Hollywood was the place he really wanted to be? He dismissed everything else. He was sure that, there, he would find people like himself: good, honest, clean, decent people who followed a decent way of life. No whorehouses, no getting drunk ... no such vileness for them. Just the power and the glory of seeing a body, bound and helpless before them; a body unable to resist ... able to do only what the watcher, the master wanted to do ... , Perhaps, in this promised land of Hollywood, he would find the ultimate in his pure desire ... the indescribably pleasure of watching a bound victim die before his eyes!
His pulses leaped with the thought and, suddenly, he was impatient to be gone; to flee this Michigan motor city suburb and launch out for the pleasures and the ecstasies which beckoned him ...
His journey across country was hard. Long spells of walking, when he couldn't stop a ride; hunger and thirst when he was caught between towns, rideless; and nights of sleeping in the open.
At times, he was sorry he'd begun it ... wished he were back in River Kouge. Then, he'd calculate the distance he'd come and he refused to go back. As the days progressed, he lost sight of his goal; just pushed on in his journey to the west, mindlessly. He yielded under the discomfort of his journey, finally concluding that what he wanted from life was nowhere to be found ... even in Hollywood. No ecstasies for him ... no supreme fulfillment ... it was all in his mind, like a beautiful fairy-story his mother had told him ...
Even when, in rare moments of relaxation, he'd ease one of the magazines out of his pack-sack and look at the pictures, all he did was, once more, yearn for the dean, uncluttered pleasures they symbolized. One miserable evening, pursuing the pages, he suddenly asked why he carried the weight of these pages with him? Why didn't he just abandon them and be free of the burden ... ?
The answer seeped slowly through his weary mind. These faces ... these bodies in these strained postures ... they were the only friends he had. He knew them by heart; could recall them to his mind's eye, simply by wanting to. He sat a little straighter, excited by the thought. You wouldn't throw your friends away! he mused, indignantly. They're all you have ... He carefully replaced the books in the pack.
Then, when he was driving through the desert with the old man, he suddenly felt his senses tingle with some awareness of beauty. It was the barrenness of the lonely desert which recalled his mission and his joy in life. The sensation shook and fevered his body.
Then he saw the rope! The rope to bind ... the shovel to stun ... the old man to die! Perfect! The ultimate! Now! And so, he killed...
It couldn't have been easier ... and from now on, it would be just as easy, he decided. The desert was the perfect place. It was big and it was lonely. Besides, it was close to Hollywood. Excited, now by the imminence of his goal, all the desires rose to tug at him and hasten him on. He knew the camera equipment would be perfect for his purposes and, well outside the San Bernardino-Riverside area, he stopped and searched the box in the back, some instinct telling him the heavier, bulkier equipment was not what he wanted ...
He'd study ... he'd go to the library and find out how to use these precise, black shapes he fondled with his hands. And he'd make pictures like he'd seen in the magazines. In Hollywood, he could get the people to pose for them ... !
When he abandoned the truck, one black night off the Golden State Freeway, he'd made sure no fingerprints of his remained. He removed his pack and the camera equipment and made his way to Hollywood. He found, a small room ... much like the one in River Rouge ... and felt at home. It was shabby it was cheap. But good living wasn't what he wanted from life.
In 48 hours he'd found a job in a garage. He conserved his money, and picked up a bargain in an old Cadillac from a body shop. He knew he'd need a car for his photographer activities. Meanwhile, he studied photography, graduating from the public library to the purchase of instruction manuals for the equipment he'd taken from Cosmo Jenkins' truck.
Also, he'd discovered Main Street and the book stores there. These sold the publications which he liked and there were peep-show movies in the back-rooms. The women he saw, taking off their sleazy clothing, revolted him, but he watched, seeing them bound before him helpless to resist his attainment of the power and the glory ...
"They all remind me of that whore back in River Rouge," he muttered. "They should be bound ... to die!" The more he thought of it, the more he thought women would be his most satisfactory victims because they were unclean-they-he cringed, the smell of the scrawny prostitute assailing his memory again.
That was it. He came out of the bookstore's back room, blinking against the light. He paused before a rack of magazines his sort of magazines-studying them to make a choice.
"Can I help you?" a voice asked, from behind the counter.
"Maybe so," he replied. "I'm a photographer," he explained, "I do pictures like these ... he waved a magazine before him.
"A good market for 'em," the night manager 'replied, busying himself stocking a rack with a fresh stack of publications. He turned back to the browser. "Matter-of-fact, I could buy quite a lot myself ... if I had 'em exclusive."
The man with the gap in his teeth looked up.
"Exclusive?" he asked, not understanding.
"If a photog sells the same pix up and down the street ... to everybody ... why should I push 'em' Everybody's got 'em. But, if I'm the only store that's got a certain set ... that's different. Those I push ... I sell more ... the photog has a sure market and a nice profit, too."
"I see...." he said, slowly.
"Got any samples?" A shake of the head answered him. Then:
I just got into town ... most of my stuff's on the way from around Detroit," he explained.
"The pix have to be good," the manager went on. "I couldn't push second-rate stuff.. "
"You'll like them," the browser hastened to say. "They're good, I'll say that...."
"Well, look ... when your stuff comes or when you get some samples, bring 'em in to rne. I'd like to talk a deal with you."
"I'll do it," the other replied, selecting two of the magazines. "You can depend on it..."
The store manager had sized up the customer in the first few lines of the conversation, recognizing in the weak mouth, the fixed, protuberant set of the eyes and the worn clothing, no aura of the law. This was no plain-clothesman.
"There's another thing," the customer turned back to the counter. "Where can I get some girls models?" The night manager reached under the counter to produce a half-dozen business cards.
"All model agencies," he said, bending his head around to see as they were spread on the counter. "This one," he indicated a card printed in red ink, "has about the best bunch of girls. Nothing dirty, mind you ... but they'll do the kind of work I can sell." He cleared his throat. "You dig?" The customer pocketed the card, nodding.
"I don't want to make anything dirty," he said with quiet dignity. "I just make shots like these..." again he waved the magazines.
"OK-just didn't want any misunderstanding," the book-store manager said. "Don't want trouble, myself ... don't want to give them trouble," he explained.
"Got it," the customer said, with a peculiar smile, the gap in his teeth appearing.
He could see them bound, gagged and struggling helplessly, those models. He got into his car, driving home, hearing their pleas for mercy.
CHAPTER FOUR
In Los Angeles, Western Avenue runs all the way from the waterfront, downtown, out to Griffith Park. It's the longest, straight street in contention. At one time, it was one of Los Angeles' most chic addresses, fronting the homes of the elite.
Time has altered its facade. Now it offers clusters of shops, with paint which peels and windows which require daily cleansing to maintain their transparency.
Also, along this street, there are clustered the establishments which supply the beautiful girl models the starlet models glamor girls for photographic work pin-up models ... whatever the category which can be advertised, there's an agency supplying them.
It was to one of these that the man with the gap between his front teeth went, following the address on the business card. He was joyful as he looked about him.
"Never knew there was anything like this! he said to himself, gleefully, as he parked the Buick and walked to the address shown on the business card. The beauties behind the curtained show windows were waiting for him ... just under the signs ... !
Gloating over the easy solution to his problems, he walked up the stairs into a foyer. At the desk, a man sat, cleaning his nails. Across the office, his glance brushed a voluptuous, heavily made-up girl, voraciously reading an A.A Fair paperback.
The visitor swallowed, saying:
"I was told you supply models ... ? " he made it a question and let it hang.
"Yep. They pose out back ... we supply cameras and film. Five bucks an hour for use of the models; supplies extra...."
"No ... I mean to work outside. I'm shooting some stuff for a store over on Main Street." A furrow appeared between the desk man's eyes, and the visitor shuffled from one foot to the other in the ensuing silence.
"What Main Street bookstore?" the man on the desk finally asked.
"I don't know the name of the place ... but the night manager gave me this card...." he extended the pasteboard, a tingle of apprehension growing in his chest
The desk man studied the card, quickly, then turned to open a desk drawer, withdrawing a big album. He opened it on the top of the enclosure.
"Pick her out," he advised. "I'll have to check on availability ... '
The photos were strongly lighted, the girls caught in frozen smiles and there were girls of every shape, breed and color. Each photo bore an identity number.
The apprehensive tingle in the visitor's chest had changed into a bubble of exultation as he bent slowly, over the pages of the big book, his eyes racing over the multitude of faces and figures which were immobilized for his selection. Suddenly he stopped.
"The girl here...." he pointed. "She'll be just what I want!" The woman, reading in the corner, lifted her eyes swiftly and, just as quickly, they resumed scanning the book pages. The man at the desk checked the choice and looked up a reference for the identity number.
"OK ... she's available," he said. "Want me to get her over here?" The visitor shook his head.
"No ... I want to do some special stuff for the store. Outdoor shots with stark desert backgrounds ... cactus ... like that," he described it briefly. His eyes went back to the model. "You say she's available? Will she take location jobs?"
The model agency man nodded. "She's good ... one of the best. She's not cheap ... you got a good eye for quality ... but she's one of the best models in town. She's no playgirl and she won't go for anything in the dirty line. Hal explain it to you?"
"Hal?' the man with the gap in his teeth asked.
"The manager ... at the Main Street bookstore ... did he...."
The visitor nodded vigorously. "He knows the kind of pictures I'm shooting," he replied, "and he explained everything to me."
"You selling your stuff to Hal, huh? Is that the idea you're workin' on?'
"He says he'll take all I can make for him He wants exclusive poses...."
"Dede's the one, then," the agency man said, firmly. "She's terrific at that type of shot When you run out of ideas, you won't have to ask her. She just naturally falls into attitudes you haven't seen yet...."
The man with the gap in his teeth, licked dry lips. He needed no selling on the girl. The moment his eyes fell on her photo, she was chosen for his own version of the power and the glory, without any question.
The model agency man got on the phone. At the end of his conversation, he picked up an appointment card from a stack in a box, writing on it as he talked.
"She's busy the next two days, but she's free the day after. You pay her fee in advance and you gotta use her for a minimum of five hours, including travel time. Feed her, too. What time of day you want her to be ready?"
"Evening ... nine o'clock in the evening, Wednesday, then...."
"OK, I'll set that as an appointment with her. Here's your card to identify you when you pick her up."
"Al-alright, and thanks," the visitor took the card, his fingers closing over it quickly, stuffing it into his pocket, and then turning for the door as though in a hurry to escape.
From the corner, the woman who was reading, put down the paperback to look over at the desk man.
"Picked yourself another funny-bun, huh?" she inquired casually. The desk man looked at her, annoyance touching his glance.
"Look, he's the kind of kook who pays the rent, so don't knock it We can't afford to laugh in the face of, of all things, money!"
It was the girl's turn to shrug as she pursed her lips and lifted the penciled eyebrows.
"I still say that one's a funny-bun," she said, going back to the book. "Sitting over here, I could just feel it He gives off waves like a radio station."
"You're pretty keen on that extra-sensory stuff, aren't you?" he asked, slowly.
"Sensory schmensory," she replied, eyes still on the book. "Him I could find in the bleachers at Dodger Stadium for a double-header." She retreated once more into the world of Donald Lam.
The man with the rat-like face was thinking as he went down the stairs. Monday ... I see her Wednesday ... two whole days to get ready and I'll do it as I've always wanted to do it Only difference is it'll be a woman instead of a man...."
Silently, as always, he worked at his position on the tune-up line at the garage. Whenever he was free, he tinkered with his own car. He had it in excellent shape and would not have hesitated to take off for New York in it at a moment's notice. It was tuned to a whisker and, during his lunch hour, he drove to a surplus store, getting desert water bags, rope, a length of chain, a gallon thermos and a picnic basket with the full gear.
He stowed his purchases in the luggage compartment along with his camera bag, packing all snugly. On his way to the apartment, he had the picnic basket supplied with food ... filled the thermos with coffee. He double checked on everything to make sure that no details had been omitted. Then, with a mind free of doubts and worries filled only with anticipation of a high point in his existence, he drove to the girl's apartment and parked across from the entrance. He chose a spot in a diagonal line from the doors, so his car would be in a shadow and not show in the lights from the apartment entrance
Then he sat, quietly, letting the sensations of anticipation run through him freely, sparking the feeling of coming elation; the rich exhilaration of approaching fulfillment As the sensations roiled and cascaded through his consciousness, he sat only half aware of his surroundings. But,, when the model left the apartment with another man, he sprang to instant attention in frantic disbelief ...
In an instant, the previous, impersonal selection of the girl as an anonymous victim for a high, sacrificial rite had changed to a bitter hate. Instanfly, he identified her with the River Rouge prostitute and, again he felt the repulsive odor of her rise in his recollection.
In his rage-inflamed mind there suddenly appeared a sorrow ... it was too bad the old man had to die. It was so much more fitting that this faithless, worthless, unclean and unwholesome female ... this terrible organism, should have died before his eyes instead. But he had gained, he recognized; the experience had given him valuable instruction as well as the ultimate in fulfillment He knew, now, where to go and how to operate without detection, he reflected, his rage beginning to temper.
His self-satisfaction began to return, recognizing there would be another time and another opportunity. The world had no way of understanding what it was he had to do. They-common, ordinary people just weren't capable of understanding it at all. They were all like this unspeakable girl ... careless of the important values ... ignorant of the deepest, most vital emotions, the true significance of life and living.
Thus, he must, do what he must do ... in secret ... though he longed to shout the joy and the exaltation from the housetops so that the truth and the significance and the importance of his actions would burst upon an amazed and receptive world ...
He shook off the day-dream There was no way they could be taught There was no language which could carry the knowledge.
It was necessary to forget the rest and do the job at hand. That blonde girl would learn her lesson, but she would carry the wisdom of his intellect into the grave with her ...
"I want to register a complaint," he said, calling the agency.
"Who's this?" the reply came harshly.
"I called at your office Monday and you arranged an appointment for a model ... location shots in the desert...."
"Oh, yeah ... Hal sent you. What's the business about a complaint That girl's probably the best mo...."
"Well, that girl ... Dede Willis ... she didn't keep the appointment."
"Geez, I'm sorry as hell. That's not like her ... I haven't had Dede miss an appointment since we've been booking her. Want to take someone else?"
"No ... just her. Get another appointment., and make sure she keeps it willya?" The slovenliness in his usually stilted speech sounded odd to him and he took a grin on his tongue.
"I'll check her dates ... just a moment...."
Blanking out the transmitter with a big palm, the agency manager turned to the woman, still on the wicker sofa, reading. She had changed to Rogue and was busily engaged in checking her own physical endowment against those displayed in the color plates.
"Hey ... wonder what's with Dede Willis ... she broke a date with that one you called a funny-bun."
"That's not true to form ... she'll do anything but dirty pictures ... and do 'em anywhere and at any hour ... for a buck. She must have gotten sick. This I don't dig..."
The desk man was thumbing through his appointment book while she was talking. He grimaced, then took his palm off the transmitter.
"Miss Willis is free tomorrow night. I'll personally guarantee that she'll be there, sir."
"OK ... that'll be alright ... if she is," the voice said as the speaker hung up.
"Say, Bill," the girl on the sofa said, "how do these broads get these color spreads in slicks like this?" She held up the magazine with the double spread of a nude nymph.
"They live clean," he growled, dialing Dede's number.
"Oh," the girl said, resignedly, as she resumed looking.
The call to Dede's apartment revealed she wasn't home but her roommate promised to give her the message, just as soon as she came in. "Hey ... make sure she keeps it, willya?" Bill asked, plaintively. "She's never missed before, I know ... but I got a reputation to maintain. This is evidently a live one and we wanna give him good service...."
"OK, Bill," Sandi said. "She left a message with me for the guy ... it was one of those unavoidable things ... but the guy never showed up here...."
"That's strange ... wonder how ... oh, the hell with it, just tell her he'll be by, same time tomorrow night and tell her to be there!"
"Alright, Bill ... goodnight...."
As Bill hung up, the girl on the sofa stretched like a cat, the lines of her voluptuous figure straining against the knit of her dress. One leg bent gracefully. "Say!" she told him, shaking her head, "these pictures get to me, you know?"
"They're for boys, Joyce ... they're not supposed to turn you on. That is, unless you're queer ...
She strode over to confront him, close up, her breasts touching him "Think I'm queer? You should know better ... or did you forget?"
"Nothing I forget ... you're the best ... that's it!"
"It's been a long time...." she said, pensively.
"Hell, Joyce ... it's been so damn busy..."
"You wasn't always busy," she said, wistfully, sitting on his lap. "How's about us ... later ... when the place's closed up..."
He shunted her, unceremoniously, off his lap. "Knock it off, Joyce!" he ordered, brusquely, "ya wanna lose me a license? Now get th' damn kooks cleared outa the joint, y'hear?"
The girl's quick anger smoldered in her eyes, twitched in her fingers. "If I didn't think you was in love with me ... I'd swear you had another ... you cuttin' up touches with another woman?" she demanded, intensely.
"Joyce, damn it, you know better than that!" he replied. "Now, will you shut up and close up. Y'hear?"
She stared at him for a long moment before moving to do his bidding. Bill cleared his desk, locking books and papers in the center drawer, but not looking up at the girl while he did so. Then he heard the staccato rhythm of her heels as she headed out back.
She snatched the studio door open on a group clustered around a naked model. The girl was working on a raised dais with a stool. At the moment, she was posed, legs slightly apart and arms behind her, holding the arch of her body and completely exposing her to the avid eyes of the "photographers." The cameras lay about the edge of the dais, untouched. The strain of the girl's pose showed in the sheen of perspiration covering her body, as it trembled under the strain.
The eyes of the men were glued to her, some glazed, some half-closed. Heavy breathing sounded and the room was thick with the odor of lust, the musky effluvia of bodies under the influence of desire.
Joyce spoke briskly, walking over to give the model a hand. "Alright, kids, knock off, now. It's closing time ten o'clock. Let's wake up, shape up and ship out Return your cameras to the front desk, and get your damage deposits back. Alright, fellows, move now ... House rules say we close at ten ... and we're closed. We want no difficulty with the law and you don't, neither. Let's go ... let's go!"
Flashing a look of thanks at Joyce, the model swiftly covered herself with a robe, disappearing from the dazed vision of the group of men. They stirred, picked up their cameras and filed out, slowly, passing Joyce with downcast eyes and their own secrets of frustrations ...
Suddenly, the move speeded and, in a very short time, the last house camera was checked in and the men had vanished down the stairs to disappear quickly into the night They'd be back another night for whatever gratification they found, but, for now, they disappeared like chaff, up and down Western Avenue, swallowed up in the evening traffic ...
Bill and Joyce sat quietly in the reception room until the model emerged from the back, looking undistinguished and rather thin in her street clothing. She also looked tired, her eyes dull and the crow's feet deep at their corners.
"Bill," she said, "could I ...
"No money," he cut her off, abruptly. "No more advances, Faye."
"I gotta have rent money," she said, pleading ". . .it's due...."
"You mean your old man's on the juice again and you need a bottle...."
"Just five, Bill...."
"For hell's sake, Bill ... give it to her. It comes outa her pay, anyhow."
"That's not the gig," Bill said, stubbornly.
"Come payday, she'll be broke and the thing just gets worse and worse." He sat, silently, in the hope that, if he refused tacitly, Faye would forget it and take off. But Joyce couldn't stand it.
"OK ... so she'll be broke," Joyce burst out, indignantly. "Let her be happy tonight Maybe you don't know this, but her old man's not worth a damn in bed ... unless he's smashed.. "
Faye didn't move a muscle while Joyce was pleading her cause, but kept her eyes on Bill, in silent entreaty. With a disgusted gesture, he pawed out his wallet and extracted a five dollar bill. The model snatched it and ran ...
Joyce locked the door behind her flight and walked toward the sofa, unbuttoning her sweater.
"That's how women are," she explained as Bill's eyes widened at what she was doing. "When they're hooked on a guy, there's nothing they won't do for him. Nothing!"
"Hey!" Bill said, aghast at Joyce's undressing, "what the hell do you think you're doing?" Dropping the sweater on the sofa, she unzipped her skirt. "Joyce.. cut it out!"
"Why?' she asked, smiling, "Faye's runnin' home to get in some hay-time Am I an orphan ... or do I have to run out and get you a jug so you can operate?"
"Lissen, Joyce ... I won't tell you again ... stop it! Now!"
Looking up, she could see he was dead serious. With her skirt half off, she said, quietly:
"Look, Bill ... it's been two weeks. Now, I ask you, just what the hell is going on?" She spoke carefully, as though choosing each word.
"Nothin's goin' on, dammit, Joyce.. I'm just not in the humor for it ... and that's gospel! Now, come on ... get your clothes on and let's lock this rat's-nest up and get out!"
Joyce fastened the skirt and picked the sweater up.
"You've got another girl," she said, with conviction. "Bill, I know you like the palm of my hand ... and you just can't go that long without it"
"Joyce, forget it!" He unlocked the door and opened it "There's nothing going on ... it's just that I'm beat and worried about his damn business...."
The silence between them held until he pulled out of the parking lot onto Western. Joyce's voice was small as she spoke.
"BilL do you remember telling me you loved me?'
He sighed, wearily. "Yes, Joyce ... I remember."
"I believe you, Bill. Now, you tell me I don't turn you on because you don't feel well. That too, I believe."
"Joyce, I appreciate it ... I just need a little time. Things'll straighten out in a little while...."
"Time, I'll give you, Bill," she said, lighting a cigarette, "but if you're lying to me, you know what happens, don't you?'
He looked at her, apprehensively. She laughed, shakily.
"Oh, nobody's talking about killing you...." She took a deep drag on her cigarette
Bill sighed again, accelerating to make the traffic light
"I'll do worse than kill you, honey," she said, softly ...
CHAPTER FIVE
Dede stared, wide-eyed at Al in shocked disbelief.
"Oh, come on, babe ... put down a little!"
She was holding her torn dress against her bosom, but one pink-tipped breast was visible past the edge of the material.
"What..." she cried, a note of hysteria edging her voice, "Al, have you lost your mind?"
The pair faced each other in Al's suite. After dinner and the theatre, and a lot of talk about old times and former friends, and Al's work for a nation-wide franchise operator, the conversation had taken a strange turn.
Previously, each had assured the other that neither had changed. Dede was happy as a lark and enjoyed herself, completely at home with Al, relaxed as she could never be with the dates she usually was offered by Hollywood. She reveled in the warm, sincere atmosphere they enjoyed.
During dinner, they'd danced between courses.
"Every wolf in L.A must be after you, Dede," he whispered into her ear, holding her not too closely, the completely nice guy from home.
Dede's senses reveled in his touch and she began to day dream on the subject of getting out of the modeling rat race and escaping to Miami and marriage with Al. He efficiently shattered this rosy-tinted future by his abrupt change when they entered his rooms.
Dede had accepted the invitation, completely lulled by Al's manner through the evening. Once inside, however, he seemed to be transformed. Locking the door behind them, he turned on Dede with pawing hands and desire sparking his urgent actions.
It was so completely out-of-drawing with his earlier behavior, Dede thought he was kidding. She laughed, pushing him gently away. But Al wasn't gagging. He ripped the shoulder of her dress, and demanded sex in a harsh whisper. Dede, stiffened in protest, only to find herself forcibly pushed backward onto the sofa.
"Now, don't kid old Al, baby!" he snapped. "I know you ... why do you think. I asked for a date? I wanted to get some of that charm you've been peddling around Hollywood!"
His mouth bruised her lips as his hands reached to raise her dress. Dede twisted in sudden shocked surprise as his hot hands raced over her and she felt him move between her legs, forcing himself against her...
"Al ... you, you're out of your mind! I don't know what you think, but whatever it is, you've got it wrong! Now, stop it and let me alone ... ! "
Her struggles were unavailing. His lips fell upon the swell of the exposed breast, his chin digging painfully into the soft globe. She began to feel a revulsion sweep over her. This couldn't be the home-town boy she'd been so close and happy with at the start of the evening. This ... this idiot seemed more like some sex-mad stranger...
"Look, baby ... don't give me that innocence bit You may fool the home folks, but not me. I've found out all I need to know about you!"
"Al! Stop it ... stop it Let's talk about what you know about me. I want to hear all of it"
"OK," he said aggressively, against her warm skin. "So we talk and then we do it ... alright?"
"Yes!" she replied and Al moved from her, his chest heaving and perspiration shining on his forehead
"Go on ... talk! But hustle it up, will you? I'm ready Dede ... and I mean, I'm ready for you..."
She shivered as he moved off, stifling a tendency for her teeth to chatter. She fumblingly, tried to cover herself with the torn dress. Frantically, she tried to still her thoughts; to get her mind working normally and try to find some reason for the nightmarish alteration in Al. She just couldn't believe it She'd gone to school with him; their folks were friends; she was dreaming, happily, about marriage to Al. Her mind just wouldn't accept the reality of what was happening.
But she couldn't deny it was happening. Her eyes registered the stranger, seated on the edge of the sofa, his face twitching with the desire he was holding like a leashed animal.
Dede, hastily, decided to fall back on her experience with the Hollywood variety of timber wolf. She'd managed, without mistakes, to handle the hot bloods she didn't want Now, she realized, she didn't want Al ... didn't want any part of him unless his actions could be understood, by both of them, as a mistake. "Al, we've both had quite a bit to drink," she said, softly. "You're not usually a drinker Eire you?"
"Aw, come off it!" he snapped. "Look ... I spend my time traveling all over the country; I drink, some. But I'm not drunk, now ... not so drunk I don't know what I'm doing. Is that all the talk?"
His hands stretched toward her and she shrank back, away from them. "No! Wait! This is what I want to know, Al. Why do you think I'd give myself to you like ... like this? Just what convinced you that I was easy?"
"Are you kidding?" he demanded, a nasty laugh following. "Dede, you shouldn't try to kid AL I'm home folks ... remember?"
Anger began to order her thoughts, oddly.
"Kidding I'm not I want to know what you're thinking."
"Simple ... I think you put it down for whoever wants it...."
"That's a he!" she almost screamed. "You've no reason to call me a ... a..."
"Go on, honey ... say it 'Whore' is the word!"
She dropped her hot face into her hands, wishing she could just banish his presence and forget the whole thing. But Al wasn't done.
"That's the word, isn't it?" he demanded, hotly. "You left home for this ... this cesspool to get away from people who know you. Well, a lot of people know you pretty well ... and I want to be in on the fun, baby. I want some of that tender body of yours, too. Why not me?" Her tears were flowing freely, now.
"I don't know what you mean," she sobbed, "I was so happy to see you..."
"Tired of your regular customers?" he sneered.
"Nothing like it" She got to her feet, unsteadily. "Al, I thought I loved you ... thought you'd want to marry me..."
Al's strident guffaw cut through her pain and confusion and she winced with the sound of it His hand made a tentative motion toward her, but he drew back.
"That's a laugh!" he growled. "Once I wanted to marry you, baby, but those days are way back when, believe me."
"Oh, Al ... did you?" she asked, looking again at the ruin of crumbled castles and dreams of future happiness.
"Right, Dede. Now, I ask yoU ... wasn't that a laugh? Why don't you laugh, baby? That's the funniest situation since Uncle Ned got his wooden-leg caught in the sawmill!"
Dede looked at him, shaking her head.
"I still don't know why you've changed your
"I still don't know why you've changed your mind about me. What ... why should you think...."
He leaped to his feet, his face suffused with red.
"Why? You ask why? Because you, you're vicious, Dede. And you're evil ... evil!"
He rushed into the bedroom and she heard a drawer open and close. Returning, he threw a sheaf of magazine clippings down beside her on the sofa.
"You ask why? There's the reason, sweetheart! That's how I found out about you ... they took pictures of you ... see?"
She rocked as she saw the pictures. They'd been cut of magazines and displayed Dede's body in half-clothes poses, some of which were posed seductively, as though to invite the viewer to come into her bed. She shuddered at the half-veiled eyes, the provocative mold of her mouth, the sensual attitudes into which her body could move, almost without volition. The only thing these cutouts indicated was that she, Dede Willis, was ready, willing and able ...
"Aren't they wonderful?" Al gritted, knocking the sheaf onto the floor. "Is this the life you left Miami for, Dede? Do you enjoy doing this for for a living?"
Dede took a deep breath and turned her tearful eyes to Al's hot glare.
"Al, please ... I pose for photographers ... and that's all I do! Whatever these pictures suggest to you, they're just a pose to me. I make good money because I can give successful photographers the poses and attitudes they ask for ... and that's all of it I'm..."
Al went on as though he hadn't heard her.
"You father's a minister, Dede. What would he think?"
"I the same as you," she answered, desperately, "but, Al, Dad's an old-fashioned man...."
"I'm old fashioned, too!" he snapped, his hand flashing to land a jarring slap on her cheek. The blow shocked and stunned her, sending flashing sparks pinwheeling before her eyes. As the room reeled about her, she could catch glimpses of Al's face, contorted with anger and disgust
"Now, get the hell out of here," he growled and, somehow, Dede could tell his voice had the sound of tears in it "I wouldn't want you, Dede, because I don't have anything to do with "whores. You understand? I want no part of them ... and I want no part of you. As your smart-alec friends put it, get lost! And stay lost!"
Even as she moved, numbly, out into the hall she could hear his rasping voice dwelling on her sins and his disgust and disillusionment were "clear to every phrase which floated after her.
Desperately, she pulled the light coat about her to try to cover the ruin of her dress, her face pale, her whole body shaking with the intensity of the emotional shock she was enduring. She avoided the elevator, pushing open the heavy stairway door to descend on shaking, unsure legs. She couldn't believe it ... she couldn't! Al was a good boy always had been and she was a good girl! That, too, was a thing which hadn't changed.
But, as she crept out into the night, looking for a cab in which to make her escape, she remembered the sound of tears in Al's voice.
When the door closed behind Dede, Al looked at it with unseeing eyes. The portal had shut on his hope for happiness, too, and he felt it had closed him off from Dede forever. With her went a lifetime of hopes and his disillusionment and despair emptied him completely and he felt the sudden onset of nausea.
He dropped his head into his hands, then lifted it quickly to survey his fingers. He was shocked to find his face wet with tears. The last time he'd cried, was as a child, when he'd been hurt and badly scared by falling off a high fence. He had good reason to cry then ... he'd broken his arm. He had good reason to cry now ... a broken heart was just as good a reason to cry as a broken arm ...
He lifted the phone, his eyes still dimmed with tears.
"This is Al Stone in 520. I want to check out, right away. Have my bill ready, please.
"But ... your reservation's through tomorrow, sir...."
"Sorry. Cancel it And would you have the transportation desk get me out on the next Chicago plane tonight? If there's no space, get me a Pullman berth."
His body shaking, his nerves twitching and jumping miserably, he surveyed the scattered pillows on the sofa where he and Dede had struggled.
"Damned trollop!" he mumbled. "How she could seem so sweet and be such a such a ass? I it's hard to believe." He shook his head. Seeing the clippings, he snatched them up in a fury, tore them into bits to flush down the toilet He packed in a frenzy, throwing things in helter-skelter, slamming the bag shut and kicking it over to the door.
The display of temper didn't help. Besides all the agitation (burning him inside, something else ... something he couldn't identify was adding to his distress, and this increased his anger.
Shrugging, he decided the hell with it and put on his coat His phone rang, just then, and the transportation desk said they'd gotten him on a Chicago flight ... and he just had time to make the plane.
"Thanks ... and would you send up a boy for my bags and get me a cab? I want to get out L.A as fast as I can...."
The voice at the other end chuckled.
"Don't blame you, sir ... wish I could go home, myself, but I'm not all that lucky..."
As the cab raced for the airport, Al sagged against the seat cushions, exhausted from his emotional upset As his mind touched on the complexity of the metropolis through which his taxi sped, he suddenly saw Dede's face, her expression incredulous, as he berated her for her faithlessness. It all came sweeping back over him; the horror of those moments ... the shock he'd saved up for her all through the weeks since he'd first seen her photograph in one of those abandoned poses.
Then he sat upright, in shock. Suddenly he knew what it was that had bothered him so enigmatically.
If Dede were a tramp, why had she refused him when he tried to make love to her? Why? He didn't have the answer ... but he decided he wanted it
"Driver!" he called, leaning forward. "Turn around ... I'm going back to the hotel..."
"Forget something, sir?" The man asked, slowing to turn.
"No," Al answered, "It's more like I lost something...."
"You'll miss your plane..."
"I know..." he said. But he had to track down the answer he wanted...
Sandi, watching television, heard Dede's key in the door and turned to greet her. She jumped to her feet, shocked, at the other girl's disheveled appearance and tear-streaked face.
"Dede ... what in heaven's name ... ?
"H-he's a p-pig, Sandi ... j-just like th-the others ... a real p-pig ... ! "
Sandi guided the girl to a chair, urging her back into it
"What happened, honey ... are you hurt ... did he rape you...? "
Dede shook her head, her hair flying, tears dripping onto the softness of her bare bosom.
"H-he t-tried, alright," she sobbed, "and h-he slapped m-me. But it it was what h-he said to m-me. It-it was hor-horrible!"
She broke into a more violent storm of weeping, Sandi doing her best to comfort her and quiet her, finally managing to soothe Dede enough to get the complete story. But after she'd described Al's rage at her betrayal, as he thought it, she broke down again, shaking and sobbing and Sandi decided stern measures were indicated.
She poured a shot of bourbon and persuaded the shivering girl to swallow it She choked, but, shortly, she quieted. As Sandi sat, holding one passive hand, she was near tears herself at Dede's very obvious suffering. A wave of warmth and affection went over her. She couldn't fathom how Al got such ideas, but she knew Dede for what she was and, she mused, you can't fool another woman. Dede's no tramp!
"I thought nothing would ever hurt you, baby," she crooned to the now-silent Dede. Your philosophy always seemed so, so strong, it just seemed impossible. I'm awfully sorry...."
"I I'm only human," Dede responded softly and Sandi couldn't help but smile at the use of a cliche' at a time like this.
"Let's get you out of those clothes and into a hot tub," Sandi said, firmly. "No shower for you ... you soak awhile."
She undressed Dede while the tub filled, her heart going out to the unhappy girl.
"It could have been just wonderful, Sandi," she said, in a little-girl voice. "Now ... it's all ruined...."
"No it's not!" Sandi rebuked, sharply. "If Al thinks that of you, then he never was the right man. He couldn't love you and do this to you. He might be stupid enough to think pin-up modeling and prostitution are the same...."
"But that's the type he is," Dede said, mournfully. She was nude and Sandi took her by the hand, like a child, and led her to the tub.
"He's the type who screams accusations ... and then says not to bother him with the facts ... his mind's made up!" Sandi snapped. "He's not the man for you, baby. I think you should count yourself as very lucky that what happened, happened tonight and not after you made the mistake of marrying him. He's just not your kind!"
As the soothing influence of the hot water brought Dede back to a state more nearly normal, Sandi told her about the call from the agency; stressing the agency's insistence on her making the date.
"Thanks, Sandi. I'll make the date tomorrow night At least, work is one thing you can sort of count on to be the same...."
Sandi smiled inwardly, welcoming back the Dede she knew, the girl who could always see the best side of things.
"What did he look like," Dede asked, "the photographer, I mean?"
"I have no idea, dear. I didn't see him. He didn't come here. He called the agency and the agency called me...."
Her body gleaming, Dede stepped out of the tub and Sandi handed her a big bath towel, which she wrapped around her, sarong-wise. A crease appeared between Dede's eyes. "Then, I wonder, how did he know I didn't keep the appointment?"
A shadow of disquiet crossed Sandi's face as she realized that Dede was right How? She decided though, that in the girl's highly emotional state, what she needed most was a good night's sleep. Whatever the mystery of the broken appointment, it could wait for tomorrow...
So, Sandi passed it off lightly. "Oh, honey, who knows?" she said, smiling. "Can anyone tell about a photographer? Probably he got hung up with a gal, couldn't keep the appointment himself and tried to push the blame off on you...."
She followed Dede into her bedroom, noting, with approval, that the tremors which had previously shaken the curvaceous body, had quieted. They talked about inconsequential things as the blonde got into sleepers and snuggled, gratefully into her bed.
As Sandi returned to the living room, the phone rang and, with an annoyed expression, she snatched it up.
"It's Al, Dede," she said, softly, at the girl's bedroom door.
Dede turned away from her.
"He just wants to make some more dirty wise-cracks and I'd just as soon not listen to him any more tonight...."
Sandi picked up the phone. "I'm sorry," she said and hung it up.
Al looked down at the instrument in his hand and, depositing another dime, began dialing again. Midway, he hung up, pushing out of the phone booth to get back in the waiting cab. He registered at an. apartment hotel near the area where Dede lived, leaving an urgent, early call. He had to see Dede before work , and ask her forgiveness; as well as hear her side of the story...
CHAPTER SIX
Dede awoke to bright sunlight at her window and, lazily stretching, smiled at the good feeling of being alive. Then, a small spot of pain in her cheek brought back all the distress of last night
A frown erased the smile as she sorrowed over the events of the evening. She felt empty, now that her dream of marrying the man she really cared for had vanished. Also, the sting of his words had left their marks...
"Oh, lord," she sighed, aloud.
"Hey, honey ... you awake?" Sandi called from the kitchenette.
"I am," Dede made her answer cheerful. She always tried to begin the day in a happy mood, and lifting a joyful voice, as she put it, helped.
"The coffee's perking," Sandi proclaimed, "and I'm going to work on bacon, eggs and hot, buttered toast"
"Be there in a flash," Dede chirped.
Sandi had resolved not to revive the discussion of last night's events. She knew Dede wouldn't but would resume her pattern of work, going her road, surrounded by the aura of peace which was her normal way.
"What's on your schedule for the day?" Sandi asked, as they ate.
"I'm posing for Chuck Wilson out in the valley, all day."
"Good boy, Chuck. A lot of mags are buying his stuff, now." Sandi put a small amount of jelly on a piece of toast "I have to see a man about a movie," she said, quietly.
"W-what?" Dede demanded, eyes wide. "A movie? Oh, Sandi, are you really going to make a movie?'
Sandi laughed. "Just take it easy, baby. It's not MGM, by a long shot. It's another cheap quickie ... a fake nudist film and it's good for about two days work, no more. I get to stand around in my altogether, down at the beach."
"A movie!" Dede still marveled. "Do they want any more girls?"
"It was a rush call, so I-really don't know. If I find they do, I'll call you at Chuck's studio. OK?"
"Oh! please do, Sandi. I've always wanted to make a movie!" Dede gushed. "Thank-you, angel ... ! "
Sandi felt relieved. Dede was back on track and the world was a normal place again. The pain had dissolved and vanished from the big blue eyes and they glowed now with the excitement of Sandi's making a movie, no matter if it was a quickie. It would be wonderful to be Dede Willis, Sandi reflected, the world would just be your oyster. Then she saw a frown on the girl's face.
"Hey, Sandi ... it's ten already. Don't they shoot early ... ? ! '
"Oh, there's no shooting today," Sandi reassured her. "I'm just going in to be interviewed and looked over. I don't have to be there until one, so I'm having a lazy morning of it Relax, baby, I'm not missing anything ... I'm enjoying what is called a leisurely breakfast"
"I prefer bacon and eggs," Dede snickered, with one of her few considered attempts at humor. Sandi gave her a look of mock disapproval from the corners of her eyes.
Their spirits rose as they talked. While Dede's feelings for Al were completely sincere, her nature was such that she couldn't allow herself to dwell on disappointment or unpleasant things. It violated her basic philosophy of 'be happy'.
Thus, Dede dismissed Al from mind, if not from her heart ...
She left the apartment before Sandi, who was on the phone, but who broke off her conversation long enough to remind Dede of the appointment that night at nine. "Don't miss this one," she cautioned, "the agency man says it's as bad for him as it is for you..."
"I'll be there," Dede said, blowing her a kiss, and taking off in a stir of perfume, bright blonde hair and a dazzling smile. The sorrow in the world she'd just have to ignore. She was ready for whatever her day brought, and moved toward it like a child headed for the playground.
As things were, she rushed right into Al's arms. He'd been waiting for her since early morning and, as she hurried to make sure of her bus, she didn't notice him until they collided and Al drew her into a fond embrace, effectively stopping the rush.
"Oooh, lord! What are you doing here?"
Inwardly, happiness leaped at the sight and the dear familiarity of him. The raw edges and the hurt of last night were smoothed over by her concentration on the task of meeting a new day ... and the almost unbelievable fact of his presence.
He released her, and they stepped aprt, his face reddening and sheepish and his eyes dropping before hers. But her smile widened.
"Dede, I want to ask your forgiveness," Al gulped, his voice intense. "I did have too much to drink last night, but that was no excuse for...."
"I'm not a a bad girl, Al!" she bubbled as tears and laughter suddenly rose in her. "I honestly aren't"
"Let's go somewhere and talk about it," he urged, taking her arm.
"Al, I can't!" she cried in dismay. "I have to keep a modeling date...."
"Couldn't I tag along we could be together, because I don't want you to get away, again!"
"Why, sure ... Chuck won't mind. He's regular," she smiled happily. "I'd like you to see how we work, because, as I told you, it's all business. Maybe you'll feel differently..."
They hustled to his rented car, laughing and talking in relief and happiness, re-discovering each other and the pleasure each held for the other. It was a pleasant, drive to Wilson's studio, and Dede was sorry when it ended.
She got a call from Sandi in mid-afternoon, luckily on a break, who imparted the information that the producer would like to talk to her the following day about the possibility of working in the movie. Dede said nothing of Al ... wanting to save that tidbit until she saw her friend.
The news was tremendous, to Dede. Over lunch, Al asked her to marry him when he finished his current tour of franchise inspections. He proposed that he move his base of operations to Los Angeles, which the company had indicated would be agreeable to them. Then, they could be together and, at the same time, both could pursue their livelihood, assuming Dede wanted to continue modeling.
Dede had assented to Al's proposal with a shining face and happy tears.
It didn't even ruffle her when, in her exuberance, she knocked her plate and glass of milk-off the table as she stretched over to kiss him. Al tipped the bus-boy and the waitress, explaining the reason for the accident; the word spread around the restaurant until the smiling glances of the other patrons had both the pair blushing. They hardly touched their food before escaping ...
Of course, the nine o'clock appointment for that night went completely out of Dede's mind. She was back on the pink cloud which Al brought with him, and rode it blissfully far into the evening ...
But, the man didn't forget.
He was parked across from the Tipton Apartments, again, at seven that evening. In the luggage compartment of his car was all the equipment and the hamper of fresh food. He had, however, only ordered enough for one ... this time.
Again, he reveled in fantasy as he waited. His eyes were unfocussed, his mouth hung loosely in a half-smile as he lost himself in the images which delighted him.
Now and then, he recalled himself, shaking his head to restore his position in current time, watching the street and passersby. He couldn't allow himself to go overboard; he had to keep his boiling excitement under control.
Later, he could free it, completely.
And, thinking of later, would start the process of fantasy again. However, he kept a close check of the time. He wasn't in a hurry, the longer the wait, the better, it would be.
There was a line he'd read somewhere, which described it perfectly and, forcing quiet on his thoughts, he tried to remember it.
Slowly it came ... it had been in a book which he'd read, a long, long time ago. He could see the words, now, as clearly as though he were reading the pages again. They were indelibly fixed in memory: "Unendurable ecstasy, indefinitely prolonged'" He closed his eyes, briefly, and let the images return ...
Precisely at a minute before nine, he went across to the apartment entrance. Calmly, he scrutinized the names opposite the buttons on the panel.
He found the one he was looking for: "Dede Willis-Sandi Hollister-No. 22!" and pushed the button. The door buzzed, unlocking, and he went up the stairs to the balcony.
The apartment door was open when he got to 221 and Sandi was standing in it, waiting. Clad in tight, black capris with a snug white sweater and flowing hair, she drew his veiled eyes like a magnet
"Good evening," she said, smiling. "Are you the photographer Dede is to work with tonight?" He nodded and she continued. "She should be home, any minute. Won't you come in and wait?"
He bowed slightly, and moved inside the door, carefully. His voice even, he commented: "She stood me up last night" His eyes went alertly around the apartment
Sandi smiled, apologetically. "I know ... she was very upset about it She prides herself on being business-like. But, it was something she couldn't help. An old friend from home was visiting her for just one night...." she left the rest to his understanding. "My name's Sandi Hollister," she introduced herself, in an effort to ease the atmosphere, gesturing toward a chair. "I'm Dede's roommate, and I do modeling, too." With another small inclination of his head, the man lowered himself carefully into the chair she had indicated.
"I've seen pictures of you," he responded, carefully. "I've also seen a number of Miss Willis'. Do you do the same kind of modeling?"
His eyes were roaming over the lines of her body as she sat down across from him. It didn't worry her, though. His look carried no hint of desire ... instead she took them to be a photographer's eyes, and their appraisal a professional habit She'd encountered it every time she'd met a photographer.
"Oh, yes ... we do much of the same thing ... but hot entirely that type of work."
His eyes grew veiled. "I'm selling my stuff to a store down on Main," he said.
"Oh?' Sandi said, with a rising inflection. "I'm not too familiar with the type of material they sell. Dede has done much of it though.
I'm sure you'll like her work ... I can't understand her not being here..."
"You've posed for some shots of that type?" he persisted.
"Very little," Sandi said. "There's not too much call for me to do it ... I don't seem to be the type."
"I think you should be excellent for it," he said.
Sandi flashed him a brief smile in thanks. The atmosphere felt strange. He didn't appear to be an outgoing type, but he was keeping the conversation going. Going in his direction, Sandi reflected.
She also noted that his appearance was unusual, but in her business, you became accustomed to odd types. The other end of a camera seemed to be a strange land which developed strange faces and personalities to match.
He didn't appear to be too prosperous, she thought, but that, too, was only routine. They bought camera equipment ... not clothes. He smiled as he complimented her, and the wide-spaced, glittering teeth, for some reason she couldn't explain, sent a chill down her spine. Fearing the reaction showed, she hastened to say:
"Thanks, but I don't look defenseless enough for those shots. Most photogs want the little, baby-doll type, like Dede."
He shrugged his shoulders, looking at a point about in the center of her forehead. "I see ... however, I feel buyers will go for a change of pace..." Glancing at his watch, a shade of annoyance crossed his face. "I can't wait much longer, I'm afraid."
Sandi looked at the door, expecting it to open at any second. "She should be here ... she promised the agency and told me, when I reminded her that she'd be sure to make it...."
"It isn't good business," the man grumbled, still studying his watch, unpleasantly. "This makes the second time and the agency assured me that she was most reliable in keeping appointments..."
"Believe me, Mr.-" Sandi hesitated a second but he didn't supply a name, "I can't understand it. Something must have happened. She's the most reliable girl on the agency list. Can't you wait, just a little longer
Rising, the visitor went to the window, glancing up at a brilliant, full moon, painting the hills with black shadows. The night seemed, in its radiance, like a day turned blue. The man re-reflected that the desert would be this way, tonight ... bright and blue everywhere you looked. Everything would be as clear as a bell. The eyes of a woman, for instance, widening in fright and horror as the rope bit into her soft body ...
On a night like this, you could see everything!
"Miss Hollister," his voice came to Sandi, his back still to the room. She answered him, wondering what next ...
"Could you replace Miss Willis for tonight?"
Silence fell as Sandi reflected on his request. She thought that he'd report Dede to the agency ... and that wouldn't be good. A good part of
Dede's income came from the strange market to which these shots found their way shots of the delicate blonde, bound and gagged and, seemingly, tortured into strange positions. Neither she nor Dede could fathom the appeal of such pictures, but they seemed to command a brisk traffic on Main Street.
Sandi needed the work ... she helped support-her mother and father, beside herself. She couldn't afford to get on the agency's blacklist ... and she didn't want Dede to, either. She decided to go.
"Alright," she assented, finally. "If it's alright with you."
He swung to face her, his face expressionless. "Why shouldn't it be alright, Miss Hollister?"
"As I told you, I didn't think I was the type...."
"You're excellent for the work. I'll use your friend some other time."
"Then, that's settled," she said, relieved. "Need anything special?"
"Just bra and panties."
"Then we're alright. Where are you shooting?"
"I want to get some night shots on the beach at Santa Monica," he explained.
"Alright, I'll just scribble a note for Dede, telling her where I've gone ... otherwise, she'll worry..." Sandi wrote hurriedly, and straightening when she finished, smiled at the man. "We keep close tabs on each other ... where we go and with whom ... what we do. In a town like this, a couple of girls living alone have to, you know."
He made no comment, his eyes upon her, still looking out of a face which exhibited no expression. She got her purse from her room.
"I'm ready," she said, smiling.
His eyes covered her face, quickly. "That the only lipstick shade you have?" he asked her.
"No ... I've many colors. Isn't this right?"
"I'd prefer a brighter shade. Do you have one?"
"Certainly ... excuse me a moment ... I'll get it...."
As she moved into the bedroom, the man slid to the end table like a silent shadow, his hand closing over the note the girl had written. Silently, he pulled it off the pad, crumpling it into the pocket of his jacket. When Sandi returned, he was waiting for her by the door.
"This what you want?" she asked, holding up a bright red tube.
"Fine ... that'll be just fine, Miss Hollister," he said, hardly glancing at the lipstick. He opened the door. "Let's go..."
Sandi thought it was refreshing to meet someone who clung to the formality of last names. In the Hollywood she was used to, she felt few of the people she worked with had last names ... but, then, Hollywood was a screwball town, sheltering a lot of such characters.
Why, she thought, should she worry about one more ... ?
CHAPTER SEVEN
If you could fault Sandi for anything, it was excessive loyalty. Concerned over the standing of her friend, with the model agency, she agreed to fulfill her roommate's appointment, going out into the night with a man whose "name she didn't know.
Sandi, usually, was most careful ... going to a lonely spot by night with a total stranger she would never, in normal circumstances, agree to do. However, the events leading up to her assent were not usual, in any sense.
She reassured herself, glancing over at him as they drove out Sunset toward Beverly Hills.
He looked like the harmless, introverted type of individual and she'd encountered several photographers who fit into the category. He never looked at her. He just drove on.
Finally, the silence got to her. "I haven't seen you before," she commented, just to make conversation. "I know most of the photographers around town. . . "
"I'm new here," he said, eyes still on the traffic before him, "I only came to Hollywood a few weeks ago."
Sandy nodded in reply, hoping that he'd fill her in with some more conversation, if not information.
She reflected that, if his silence was due to his being shy, she had given him the opening to talk about himself. But the conversation stopped right there. Sandi tried again. She didn't like protracted silences; besides this man was beginning to pique her woman's curiosity. She felt uncomfortable in the situation of not knowing.
"Are you from the east coast?" she inquired.
He shook his head. "Around Detroit," he said, tersely.
She felt a tinge of relief. If he wouldn't talk under his own power, at least he'd answer questions. So, Sandi forged ahead. With her it was beginning to be a game to keep a conversation going.
"I've never been farther east than Denver," she volunteered. "I was born and raised on the west coast. Dede, though, comes from Florida her home is in Miami. Ever been there?' "No."-
"How was Detroit for photography. Any money to be made?"
"Some I got along but it's nothing like out here."
She thought she detected a slight smile in the overhead glow of a passing street light. However, by the time she checked under the next light, if there had been a smile, it had gone.
"Is there a pretty good market for your kind of photography?" she asked, with professional interest This job might open up a wider field to her. His only answer was a shrug. She continued: "I can't see them myself ... people tied and helpless ... they're not dirty pictures, certainly."
His reply was soft "That's right ... they're not dirty."
"I've talked with some of the others .who make shots like that and they tell me they don't understand it, themselves. But, they feel, so long as the market's a live one, they supply it That's the way we all feel, I guess ... we're doing a job to make a buck..."
His voice was abrupt "Miss Hollister," he said.
"Yes?' she returned. '
"I've changed my mind on the location."
"What do you mean?' she asked, looking around and sitting up as he turned off Sunset onto Sepulveda. "Where are we going?"
"Don't worry ... I've had the spot picked out for some time. It's better than the beach, I've decided."
"Look, it's pretty late," she protested, "by the time we can get to where you can work outdoors, it will be after midnight...."
No answer. He drove, staring into the glare of oncoming headlights. Humming softly to himself, Sandi noted a slight tightening of his lips and her eyes widened as she saw beads of perspiration on his forehead in the oncoming lights.
At once, the man looked evil. She could feel something ... cold, it was ... cold and evil. like a man possessed, she could feel a hard determination about him; a man who had a goal which was imperative and from which, he would not be swayed. The goal suddenly frightened her, in her perception or imagination. It was loathsome, her senses said.
"I I'm sorry," she said. "I'd better not go with you, will you please take me back?"
He kept his silence, not even looking at her. He appeared to be in the thrall of something which engrossed him far more than anything which was happening around him. Certainly, Sandi recognized with a leap of fear, he hadn't heard her. He kept up the tuneless, monotonous humming.
Sandi was shocked at the fear in her voice. "Did you hear me? I want to go back home!"
He shook his head, not in reply, but to clear it, it seemed to the alarmed girl ... clear it so he could hear her ...
His reply was a whisper. "What?" he asked.
"I can't go along with this ... it's getting too late to work. Please take me home."
"Do you drive, Miss Hollister?" he asked.
"Certainly what has that ... ? "
"You take the wheel please. Then we can go back."
When they had changed places, however, he said, very softly:
"Miss Hollister, you drive straight ahead ... drive just as I tell you to fast or slow and take the roads I direct you to."
Sandi gripped the wheel as hard as she was holding on to herself. Her breath was tight in her throat, but, she decided, the only thing she could do was handle the situation.
"What is it you want?" she asked. "Is it sex?" He gave no indication of an answer ... only an order.
"Keep on driving, please," he said.
"If that's what you want, I won't make trouble. Stop at a motel and I can take care of that. You won't have to force me."
"Don't pass the light ahead, there."
"All this isn't necessary. I don't want to be hurt ... all you need to do is tell me. I'm not against having some fun, myself...."
His only response was continued directions. After awhile, her tension eased because there was nothing threatening about his manner or actions. Only the change in destination, she reflected, was at all unusual ... that and his refusing to take her back home.
She concluded that this was just another of the oddballs she was encountering all the time among men who worked behind cameras. Probably harmless ... just bugged on his work. She reasoned that if she didn't anger him by resistance but went along with him, tractably, there should be no danger to her ...
Her mind was racing now ... if he got his kicks in some strange way, she'd go along with it ... it was better than being dead. Sandi couldn't see the logic of prizing her body more than her life ...
Finally, she determined, they were going into the desert. Her companion, still silent, continued his directions; he was in no hurry and was careful not to exceed speed limits.
"Need gas," he said, economical of words. "Stop at the next station. Are you going to make trouble?"
She shook her head. "It will be alright," she said.
"That's the best way. There's a gun in my coat pocket but I wouldn't want to fire it."
"Forget it ... you won't need it."
The frightened girl relaxed as well as she could. She pegged him for dangerous, but she was confident she could make it if she played along. Survival was her main interest ... the all-important thing at this stage. She had, under necessity, gone to bed with a very few men who revolted her. She would just add this one to the very, very brief list ...
She tried to indicate her willingness to cooperate, sang, talked lightly but she could get no response. She acted like a girl on a date. Besides, there was her ace in the hole ... the note she'd left for Dede, explaining she'd taken
Dede's place for the photographer appointment the agency made for her...
Should he become violent, she would use the note to counter it, he'd know he could be traced through that. Surely, she felt, a guy who looked so timid and acted so shy, couldn't help be influenced by the imminence of punishment, should he do anything to involve himself with the police. She drew a small measure of comfort from the thought, but she was far from confident. It was too strange ... too...
Just then, a gas station appeared around a bend.
"Stop here," he ordered quietly and she pulled in, stopping at the pump he indicated. She asked to use the rest-room and he didn't refuse, which indicated that he wouldn't be troublesome so long as she went along. She had no idea whether he really had a gun, but she didn't want to try to call his bluff. Her plan was to take no chances.
As to her vulnerability, she had no problem. Sandi was sterile, so pregnancy didn't worry her. She anticipated, with no pleasure, some bizarre pattern of a roll in the sand and, at the end, an empty, sobbing partner. She felt that she'd experienced his type once before.
She looked forward to its being over ... getting home. He'd be much quieter, probably, on the drive back than he'd been before. She could almost paint a portrait of him: shamed, subdued completely and unable to look her in the eye. For her part, a hot shower and some of her favorite perfume would be the end of her participation and she'd forget him the minute she was asleep.
She breathed a sigh of relief that it wasn't Dede going through all this. Sandi felt that the girl would have been lost in hysterics long before this and probably half-mad. Recalling her reaction to Al's treatment of her, Sandi breathed another sigh of relief it wasn't Dede.
The strange, silent man, forcing her to drive into the desert in the dead of night would have been sufficient to send her into a screaming fit
It was too distasteful to think about, even to the extent of being relieved that she, Sandi, was stuck, and not her gentle, little friend.
Instead, she concentrated, once they were moving again, on being companionable, trying to make her strange, silent companion feel at ease ... trying to find some kernel of pleasure in the bizarre situation. If she tried hard, she might enjoy it a little bit ...
The night over the quiet desert was blue and bright Stars glittered in the clear air, as though just overhead. As they went farther, they passed fewer and fewer cars, finally none. As Sandi remembered to check the dashboard clock odd that it should work in so old a car, she thought it was a little after midnight.
Her companion spoke, suddenly. "There's a turn off on the left side ahead. Turn in there...."
"Hm," the girl said to herself, "an open-air addict. The last one was on the beach and I caught a cold Probably happen again..."
The empty desert stretched away before the fingers of headlights, the sand ruts were fairly deep and their progress slow. Still in silence, they kept on for fifteen or twenty minutes. Sandi noted that the black ribbon of paved road had vanished behind them. All she could see was the empty expanse of desert, walled by the rugged mountains.
"Stop here," the man said, startling Sandi. She seemed to be falling into a hypnotic state under the slow, steady motion, but she stopped the car, as he directed. "Now turn the lights off and hand the keys to me." She complied arid, responding to a motion of his hand as he descended on his side of the vehicle, she too stepped out into the sand.
His whisper was hoarse.
"Take off your clothes," it said. "Strip down to just your bra and your panties..."
"Just as I had it pegged," Sandi spoke to herself in her mind as she busied herself, working out of the tight capris and the sweater. "I'll just close my eyes and pretend that he's somebody else . . somebody I'd like to have make love to me..."
As she got out of her things, she saw the man taking things from the luggage compartment of the old car. He spread a blanket out on the sand, bringing the picnic basket out next and putting it on the blanket.
Then came his camera and tripod. He set it up and she could see that it was expensive equipment ... a Leica 35mm. At least, the guy had the equipment for the business. By this time, Sandi was down to her under things and the stranger returned to the rear of the car to bring out a length of rope and a section of chain.
"Down on your stomach," he said.
She obeyed, without question. He stepped over her, tying her wrists behind her; he'd begun the tuneless humming again, making the sound with a soft sibilance of his near-closed lips. Sandi closed her eyes while he worked. It wasn't as bad as it could have been. In her time, she'd had this much trouble with quick-handed dates as they danced in night clubs.
She felt a stab of pain, however, as he knotted the stout rope; wincing as he moved to her ankles and proceeded to bind them.
Maybe, she thought, I've been frightening myself needlessly. He may just want to make a series of shots like this ... but what will he use for light?" She mused on, along this line, as he continued to fuss with her bonds, continuing the endless unmelodic humming. He gripped her shoulder, pushing her onto her left side in the sand. She could see him, now, as he knelt beside her.
Surprised, she saw his eyes weren't on her, but on the knots he had tied. Black and round under the shadows of the brow, they left the knots, casually glanced at her thighs, the muscles taut in them and in her stomach as they pulled against the strain of the position in which he had tied her.
He continued the soft humming, just loud enough for her to hear it, with the blood beginning to pound in her ears from her strained attitude. She wondered if she could drop off to sleep to such a weird lullaby. She winced, again. She probably could have if it weren't for the pain she was beginning to feel in her straining body.
Casting her glance around, she could see endlessly in the clear night air of the desert. As though they were the only two people left on earth, the forbidding barrenness of plain-and mountain stared at them. She felt suspended completely out of the real world ...
Too bad to be stuck in such a beautiful and spectacular place with such a screwball, she considered. What was he ... oh gosh, he was fastening the chain length about her body ... and it was cold'! But that was only the start of the discomfort. The cold metal pressed into her flesh as his hands passed and tightened it around her breasts, torso and thighs. He made sure it would not slip, continued his humming now in something the manner of a ceremonial chant.
Finally, he finished trussing her body. Attempting to move, she quickly learned she could not. Stepping back, his eyes moved over her, knowingly, checking her face to read her expression.
"How does that feel?" he asked. "Uncomfortable?"
"Very," she replied, trying not to sound nervous.
"Good. That's good. "As the hours pass, you'll hurt more. In fact this will be torture for you. Then, when it's daylight...."
"You're not leaving me like this for the rest of the night?" Sandi demanded, appalled.
"...when it's daylight," he went ahead as though he hadn't heard her, talking it seemed now more to himself than he was to her. "The sun will blister and burn you. The torture will be unbearable, but you'll be helpless. And it will get worse and worse and worse...."
Suddenly Sandi felt her heart leap in her breast as the bonds seemed to tighten about her, constricting and suffocating. She looked up to see that the man's face ... which she had thought looked meek, shy, peculiarly nondescript ... had taken on an expression of wildness. It was no change of expression ... it was as though something inside were beginning to seep through ...
It was an evil cast, his features had assumed and, though Sandi had no frame of reference for such identification, she would have classified his look as demoniac ... a wraith swept up out of hell.
Frantically, she opened her armory of female artfulness to try to escape the trap in which she was caught. "Untie me," she urged him, "and make love with me." She struggled to get the words out, to try to suppress the fear in her. "You, you have no idea of the things I can do. Do for you. I can make you happy ... oh, so happy...."
The madness in his face did not alter. "Why? I am happy. There is nothing you might do to make me happier. Nothing could..."
"Let me try, please!" she pressed on, her bonds cutting into her soft body with greater hurt."
Shaking his head, he resumed the weird humming.
He broke off to say: "I can watch you suffer for a long time, I have brought food and water."
The horrible truth stared her in the eye. "But but I'll I'll die!" she gasped.
"You will die," he repeated, quietly.
"But but why do you want me to die? Why do you want to kill me?"
"The reason is too involved and too long. Besides that, you're a woman and you'd never understand. The thing is, you must die."
"Then why don't you do it now? Why must you...."
He brushed the suggestion aside. "No, I must watch. I must see you die."
"You ... you did this ... to watch me die?" Sandi felt she was losing her hold on reality; she grew cold with the shock of his words.
"Just so," he returned. "When the sun is up, and the suffering is worse, then I'll take my pictures. And, when I have watched you die, I'm going back and get the other girl. The small blonde one. Now, I'm tired of talking to you. Be still. I must watch ... watch..."
Sandi shut her horrified eyes. The beauty of the desert night was invisible to her as tears of fear and pain flooded her eyes. The stillness was unbroken save for the girl's soft weeping and, the tuneless humming of the man with the gap in his teeth ...
CHAPTER EIGHT
Approximately the time Sandi's abductor ordered her to take the wheel of his old car, a happy Dede was snuggling, blissfully, into Al's arms. They sat in his rental car in a deserted parking lot, looking down on a stretch of Santa Monica beach.
The evening had been a happy one for both of them. Al had completely recovered from his anger and jealousy of the previous night. "I don't know what got into me," he said, mournfully. " I I guess I was just so damn jealous and so sore from the stupid conclusion I jumped to I couldn't think straight. You know, Dede, when I saw your pictures in that first magazine, I was so shocked, I couldn't believe it. That started me looking. Then, the more I saw, the madder and more jealous I got...."
"You shouldn't read such trash," she said, primly, letting the blame for their previous quarrel stay on his shoulders.
"Anyhow, darling ... it's over. I acted stupidly and I just want you to know how quickly I realized that I can't live without you. I...
"Oh, me too, darling!" Dede said, delighted, flowing into his arms. Then her eyes fell. "D-don't look at me like that, Al," she begged.
He swallowed. "I ... I was about to tell you that," he said, huskily.
Dede suddenly became conscious of the thudding of her heart, her trembling hands and a weakness spreading inside her. "Please," she said softly, "please, Al, I can't sit still. I-let's go walk on the beach..."
Al silently handed Dede out of the car and, bathed in the quicksilver of the brilliant, full moon, they wandered across the road, hand in hand, and walked on to the beach. The water was calm, only faintly rustling with slight wave action. Still without speaking, they walked until a fold of the rise above the beach lured them into the brilliance of the moonlight. Far out on the horizon, two faint sparks of light, widely-spaced, marked the progress of seagoing vessels, heading into the vastness of the Pacific.
Suddenly, they were in each others arms, their bodies twisting to get closer together as Al's lips found Dede's. The excitement and the thrill of their intimacy shook them as the girl's pliant body snuggled and twisted to press closer to his. As he moved to stretch on the sand, her bosom flattened against his chest with the force of her embrace.
Dede seemed to be suffocating as Al's arms enfolded her in a bear hug. They freed each other's lips, panting for breath in the excitement of their discovery of each other.
"I should have been like this, last night," Al whispered, shakily. "Why was I so stupid as to waste even one night with you..."
"Let's consider it water over the dam," she gasped
"Right like we're starting out from today."
"Yes, Al ... oh yes!"
"Those movie love scenes," he said, his cheek close to hers, "I couldn't understand before. I do now...."
"It is just like a movie love scene!" she exulted, "with the moon and the sea..."
Then his arms tightened around her again and his eager lips found hers as the words choked off and the excitement and the electricity of their emotions flowed from one to the other. Dede couldn't get enough of his kissing and Al fought for breath, now and then, but he managed. His hand, beneath her back, slipped under her sweater as she gasped and arched at his touch. Her lips pressed more tightly to his as his hand explored the seductive body, feeling its feverish heat, the constant quiver and motion of the smooth muscles forcing his own desire the higher.
Dede, deep in the arms of her true love, swam in a sea of delight. She had experienced desire but never such a feeling of complete desire and bittersweet, compelling tenderness. As the moments passed, they climbed higher and higher toward the pinnacle, Dede's shapely legs were bared and moving in the deep shadows. She pulled at Al, making incoherent sounds and, with a sound like a sob he moved to her. Suddenly, her mouth and eyes opened for an instant in wonder and a soft cry welcomed him. Then they were lost in delight to finally fall through a long, rushing time of sheer ecstasy which made them one with the moon and the sand and the sea ...
"...don't need to be rough, my darling. All you had to do was want me, because I love you, so very, very much..."
Al, wonder-struck, looked down at the beauty of her face in the moonlight. He was thinking that here was a dream come true...
"Forgive me, Dede," he said. "Last night, I was a fool. Now, I just hate the thought of having to leave you to finish this trip. I just don't want to go."
"I hate it too, darling now that we've kissed and made up."
That, Al mused, was a masterpiece of understatement.
"Look, I'll set it up with the home office, just as soon as I get back. Then I'll be located out here."
"And I appreciate your being willing for me to go on working," Dede said. "For awhile, at least, it's important to me..."
"I understand, Dede, darling," he smiled wryly. "Last night...."
"Oh good lord!" she wailed suddenly.
Startled, Al jumped back. "What is it?" he asked.
Dede started getting into her clothes. "That dam ... that darned appointment! I forgot it again. Oh, the agency will kill me. It's the second time...."
Al could sense her agitation and, as best he could, helped her hurry into her clothes.
"I'd made this appointment tonight, for sure,. to make up for missing the one last night!" she amplified her explanation to Al. "It it was on account of you ... both times!" She smiled at him. "See what you do to me, darling? I'd forget my shoulders if they weren't fastened...."
Al goggled at her words but, with his arm around her waist as they went back to the car, he didn't care how she expressed herself.
Dede continued to worry, orally, about missing the date with the photographer.
"I've had a record for being one of the most reliable models in Hollywood," she lamented. "I just wish I'd been smart enough to look in a wishing-well and tell the man I wouldn't be available."
"I see," Al tried to soothe her. "But, everybody makes a mistake ... at least once in awhile, Dede. What kind of pictures does this guy you missed, shoot?"
"I don't really know," she looked up at him, seriously. "I usually don't know until I meet the photographer. Probably some sort of pinup ... mostly I get pin-ups. But I don't do nudies. The agency won't take appointments for me for nudies, honestly..."
"Don't worry about it, sweetheart," he smiled, fondly.
"They do ask for some strange poses, at times," she went on as they turned into Santa Monica Boulevard, the traffic sparse at the late hour.
"Like what, honey!" he asked.
"Oil, like one girl dressing another..."
"Fashion shots?" Al asked, trying to be helpful.
She shook her curls, vigorously. "No ... nothing like that. One of the girls may wear a bra and panties; the other in a corset, of all things! Real old fashioned, a corset! One girl is helping lace the other girl's corset ... I just don't understand it...."
"Oh, let's forget shop talk for the night, sweetheart," Al laughed. "rihis is the night we found each other ... let's just talk and think about us..."
She laughed, excitedly. "It's so, isn't it? We did find each other tonight. "Oh, Al, it was beautiful ... ! " He nodded, silently.
"Remember when we were kids together, back in Miami?" she recalled. "I'd never have thought..." She jumped to her knees, beside him, suddenly, to hug him and kiss his cheek.
"Seems like a long, long time and we've grown up since, then, Dede," he said, quietly.
They drove back to Hollywood in the magic of their night, deep in the wonder of finding each other, again...
As they said goodnight at Dede's door, Al told her:
"I have to get the first flight out in the morning, and I won't see you beforehand. But, I'll get set with the east coast office and get back just as quickly as I can."
"Just hurry back, darling," she breathed, "and get back to me safe and sound..."
"I promise. You take care, too, Dede. A girl..." he broke off, laughing. "What am I worrying about? You've been looking out for yourself all the time you've been here..."
"That's so, darling. I'm pretty good at looking out for me. Please don't worry ... for you, I'll be extra, special careful."
A final, poignant kiss parted them and Dede turned into the apartment living room, happiness bubbling inside her, to find Sandi and tell her all about it; share her happiness with her friend...
But, Sandi wasn't there. Dede checked both bedrooms and the bath and kitchenette, just to make sure. The clock over the refrigerator indicated 20 past midnight and Dede frowned.
Sandi had no date and was a homebody when her social and professional life permitted. Especially, during the work week, she went light on dates.
As Dede kicked off her shoes, she thought of the note pad. "That's it," she said, jumping up to go to the living room.
The note pad was blank.
Now Dede was troubled. It was utterly a departure from the girls' routine for one of them to be out this late without letting the other know of it. In the time they'd lived together, Sandi had never failed to leave a note for Dede if she left while the blonde was out. "Sandi?" she called, thinking it might be a joke; that her friend might be hiding in a closet to surprise her...
There was no answer.
As she pondered what to do, suddenly she thought of Sandi's calm, untroubled approach to everything. She reasoned that, if Sandi hadn't left a note, there was some reason of her own ... maybe she was visiting in another apartment. That had happened once.
So, she went to the kitchenette for a glass of milk, went back to the living room sofa and sat down to drink it, slowly.
"I'll just stretch out here and wait for her," she said, talking aloud to herself, as she did quite often when alone. "I just couldn't bear for Sandi to come home and go to bed without knowing about Al and me..."
She returned the glass to the kitchenette, rinsing it and went back to stretch on the sofa.
Smiling faintly, as the recollections of the evening came back to mind, she closed her eyes to better savor her delight, again. She fell asleep. . .
CHAPTER NINE
Any time he detected a car on the far-off road, the man put his hand over Sandi's mouth to muffle her screams. There was little chance she'd be heard, but he wouldn't risk even that. He didn't want to gag her wanted to enjoy every tortured sound the helpless, suffering girl uttered.
He had slept during the night; thought the girl, probably, had, too. Her appearance was haggard, raddled in the morning light. The hot sun was now burning her delicate skin; her muscles were corded and cramped in torture.
Sandi's lips and. tongue were swelling. She could hardly talk, the sounds she made were unintelligible, for the most part.
By afternoon, her appearance had completely altered. She'd been an attractive girl when he first saw her. Now, after this short time of bondage, she looked terrible. The man's contempt for the frail female organism peaked.
They had no strength no firmness of purpose nor fabric no real worth, his mind told him. They deserved to die eventually, they would die ... all of them ...
Something puzzled him, though. They couldn't all die because more of them got born every day. This was caused by men, who didn't know what they were doing, marrying women. Then, when they had them alone in the house, they did something to them that probably caused new ones to be born...
His rage flared at the thought. He just couldn't understand it. That house ... those women, back in River Rouge. Why did they live?
He kept his eyes on the girl constantly. Even when he was eating and drinking, he kept his now-angry and bloodshot eyes fastened on the wreck of a human she had become. When she attempted to speak, the parched and swollen mouth looked especially vile; the pleading in the occasionally-opened eyes disgusted him.
Bound, as she was, she was beginning to lose resemblance to anything human. The attitude of her body made her seem dwarfed ... stunted ... like an animal without limbs. Just a living torso, now and then twitching or straining in pain...
The incandescence of the desert sun poured down upon her and upon the sand. Blistering and scorching, the heat of its atomic fission, far out in space, was drying the life out of this miserable woman before him. When he became uncomfortable in the heat, he moved into the car to watch, opening the doors to enjoy the comfortable passage of desert breezes, cool to his perspiring skin under the shade of the car's top. He began to hum again, a lullaby to the peace and quiet.
There were no eyes but hers . . and they didn't count. Here he could do what he had to do, and they weren't around. None of them could poke at him with their intruding eyes and spy on the exposure of his most precious, innermost emotions. And, he, alone could watch the girl's flesh and hair dry and crisp in the sun; the skin peeling and cracking as his eyes' transmitted the pictures to the delight of warped, imperfect brain.
A feeling of revulsion crawled over him as he remembered the girl's offer of her body in her delusion that he wanted any closeness to that sickness that was a woman. She might be a whore, but she found he was no whoremonger. Why couldn't the poor, deluded fools learn? They thought they could, just by offering their repulsive bodies to any man, get him to foul himself and then, weakened, give them anything they desired ...
Anger flared again in him. Women made fools of men. He had seen them fall over themselves, showing off, straining, trying to make women notice them. It was undignified ... unworthy! Not him! He'd never touch one of the miserable things unless it was to bind her for this ...
The girl moaned, only half-conscious.
His eyes were fixed on her, unblinking, as he sat and thought his fantastic thoughts in the shade of the car. He got up, now and walked over to look more closely at her.
The raw, peeling skin was disgusting; the bleak, deep-sunk eyes stared out like the blank holes of a skull. She tried to moisten her cracked, dry lips with a tongue which was just as dry swollen and darkening. Another small sound escaped her and he increased the volume of his humming to drown her out. Nothing so vile would he allow to interrupt the calm beauty of his thoughts.
Her bonds, it seemed, were tighter; but it was the congestion of the flesh above and below them. The harsh ropes cut into the girl's helpless limbs as an occasional, hopeless spasm, touched her muscles. Otherwise, she reminded him much of some sort of image ... quiet except for the small motions she made now and then. Even her breathing moved her ugly breasts very little. She had little meaning as she lay there before him. By now, he had forgotten she might be able to feel ...
The sun quickly drove him back to the car's shade. His throat felt dry and he drank from the water bag slung on the shady-side door handle. But the intense, staring eyes never left the body of the suffering girl. Her eyes opened to see him drinking and he saw them roll upward, under her lids, until only the whites showed.
He hurried a little, putting the water bag back. Was she dead? he wondered as he knelt beside her. No ... the heartbeat was still there ... faint but continuing. He felt her youth would make her last another day before the end came ...
Back under the shade, he remembered the old man and a tinge of sorrow touched his thoughts as he remembered striking him with the shovel. Violence was bad. It was right when the person died by his own pattern and he could watch the life seep out, like the trickle of .wheat from a grain truck.
He wondered, proudly, how many other men were so privileged. From a despised, pushed-aside nonentity in the back-wash of Detroit and River Rouge, his was now a position of exaltation. He, alone, among the people he had known, could witness the evaporation of man's most precious possession at his own time and as he wished.
Then he trembled in anticipation when the life was all drained from the body there came his true reward: the marvelous, whirling ecstasy that swept him up in thunder and the smash of lightning bolts of pure, shuddering delight so keen-it was agony. Nothing, he felt, trembling, that any other man could know would even scratch the surface of the fulfillment which came to him when his victim died.
None of the foulness of a woman no whorehouses could give it
This alone, could this purity and beauty and he, alone, knew it all ...
For the man with the gap between his teeth, the day passed in leisurely fashion. The few cars which traversed the main road probably couldn't see his vehicle. Toward evening, he ate another sandwich, continuing to hum between bites, his eyes fixed on the girl.
He got the impression that she was shrinking under his gaze, the once-ripe, curvaceous body now growing smaller, emptier; dwindling as he watched. The phenomenon was new to him and he watched more avidly as it progressed. By late afternoon, the girl barely opened her eyes any more, but strangled, small sounds came from her throat at widely-separated intervals. To him, she was no longer a human being not even a living creature. She was a symbol for him; a specimen to watch in transformation from life to death; she no longer possessed any resemblance to a woman, in his mind.
He hugged himself, once, in his delight at providing the means to witness such a macabre miracle.
When the twilight deepened into night and the moon floated up, its brilliance full and white, the black shadows seemed to leap and dance on the sand. Feeling tired, he took off shoes and socks to stretch himself on the car's seat cushion and nap for an hour. At his awakening, he moved again to examine the girl; noting that her breathing was now in gasps and the beat of her heart much fainter than it had been that morning. Deciding she'd live until the morning, he made the decision to return to sleep. He felt he would not miss the climax: of this great rite by slumbering ...
A long moan pulled him awake to realize, dimly, that the day had come and he stumbled to the girl, dropping to the sand beside her. Her glazed eyes were open and she was trying to say something. He leaned close to the repulsive mouth in the effort to hear her words.
The swollen lips and unmanageable tongue struggled to speak, her breath wheezing. She couldn't make a sound at first, but kept on trying. Reluctantly, he touched her, placing his hand over her heart. The flutters were faint..
A word was formed that he could understand..."note.. " she got out gasping the word, weakly. Then she gathered strength and managed: ". . .note ... left a note ... went with you...."
In her dim eyes, he saw a flash of vengeful satisfaction as she played the trump card she thought she held. Too late forgotten in earlier panic and in any case, of no value to her.
Gleefully, he considered that he had to make sure he'd understood what she was trying to tell him, so she'd know what he knew ...
"You trying to say you left a note behind?" he asked, slowly and clearly, "You told her you were going with me ... and you think they'll find me? Is that it?"
Her head nodded in weak satisfaction. Smiling, the man put a hand into his pocket to take out her note and spread it before her face.
Her eyes stared, trying to identify what was before them. Then, she recognized what it was he held and, in a matter of seconds, her eyes went totally blank and unaware. Again he put his hand on her chest but this time felt nothing. His own heartbeat speeded as he leaned over her to press an ear against her chest. No heartbeat existed.
He sprang to his feet, exultantly. "Dead!" he howled. "Dead! Dead! Dead!" like a furnace door opening suddenly in his head, the matri of his mind was engulfed by a violent blast of red flames. A spasm gripped him, his joints cracking with its force as he flung himself from the girl's body, pitching into the sand. It scattered as he writhed and jerked in spastic seizures; his hands digging into the sand as though to combine with earth. The cataclysm thundered and crashed within him, flinging him like a wisp of cloud in a typhoon. He felt his identification with self grow feeble as a great surge of sensation shot him out into a tearing, ecstatic vacuum of agony and he completely fell out of reality into a never-ending, soaring swoop into a beautiful nowhere...
"When he returned to himself, his dim eyes saw the motion of the circling buzzards. His body felt weak, but calm and refreshed from its seizure. He glanced at the girl's dead figure but it made no impression upon Mm. Getting up, he staggered to the car, to steady himself against it and, as his balance was restored, he moved to the back of the vehicle and picked up the shovel.
He began to dig, making two starts before he encountered the soft sand pocket he wanted, then keeping steadily at it until the grave was big enough. The urge to hum again came to him but he stifled it, feeling he needed all. his strength for the present task.
When the hole was finished, he dragged the girl's body to the edge and tumbled it in, surprised at how light it had become. It took very little effort to inter her remains, and he felt no sensation from the corpse, only dusting the flaked skin off his hands. Waiting awhile, he finally finished by filling in the grave and restoring the surface of the sand to its uniform appearance. He circled the area, removing tracks and the marks of bodies, shuffling through them until the marks were scattered.
He was sweating, now, his throat dry and he went for a drink from the desert water bag. Then he looked around, his eyes seeking any tell-tale sign any mark which might identify him or point to his reason for being there. He painstakingly checked the picnic basket, all the belongings back in their proper places, including the unused camera.
Then he stood, thinking, beside the car.
"There's something I haven't done," he said, his forehead wrinkling in thought "Something I must have overlooked...."
The feeling annoyed him. He wouldn't leave until he had found the missing element...
He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, impatient with himself ... his right hand closing on the crumpled slip of paper which had been the dead girl's note.
Smiling, he withdrew the paper scrap, touching a match to it and letting it burn until it singed the grime-etched fingers. When he dropped it, he watched until the flames consumed the paper completely.'
Grinding the ash into the sand with his heel, he got into the car and drove off, his tuneless humming keening above the motor's steady roar.
The buzzards, thwarted, circled wider in the sky ...
CHAPTER TEN"
"Please, miss," the harried police detective was saying, "please calm down and tell me the story from the beginning. Please try not to cry ... I can't understand you."
Dede breathed deeply to stifle her sobs and tried to get a grip on her nerves. She wanted to make sure she told it correctly so the detective would 'understand. He seemed unaffected by her concern; indifferent to her fear. It was as though this were a routine matter to him.
Routine, it was, for the police but not for Dede.
"My roommate's been missing for three days," she explained.
"And her name is Sandi Hollister and you share an apartment at Tipton Apartments, right?'
"Oh, you've just got to find her officer..." Detective Joe Kelly was making notes on a pad.
"Miss "Willis, she may have gone away for a few days...."
Dede kept a chain on her fear. "No, Mr. Kelly. That's not like Sandi at all. She wouldn't without letting me know."
"You girls are models?' Kelly asked. She nodded. "What kind of modeling do you do ... I mean, who do you work for?"
"Well, she said reluctantly, "Sandi and I do pin-ups ... is there anything wrong with that?"
Kelly looked up at his partner, Jack Jamison, who had entered just in time to hear the girl answer.
"Anything wrong in that, Jack?' he asked. The sandy-haired, pro-football-type Jamison shrugged.
"Nothing at all. But, miss ... what photographers do you work for ... we just want some names...."
"Say!" Dede said, excitedly jumping to her feet, her eyes angry, "I know what you think ... we're hustlers and...."
"Now, please," Kelly protested, but Dede was turned on.
"Look, I'm a respectable model and so is Sandi. I'm here because my roommate and we're both citizens has disappeared. So, what do you do? You want the names of our employers so you can hound them and cause trouble for them. Well, let me tell you, I'm not going to tell you!" She put her hands on her hips. " I'm no stool-pigeon...."
Jamison tried his luck. "Look, Miss Willis, that's not the idea...."
"Oh no? Just because a girl may be somewhat attractive ... like Sandi ... then guys get the idea they do all sorts of things...
"My sister's attractive," Jamison grinned.
"I'll bet you don't ask her insulting questions..."
"Look, Miss Willis ... you want us to find your roommate, don't you?"
"Certainly, but all you've been doing is giving me the third degree..."
"The third degree?" the two detectives exclaimed, in unison.
"You've been trying to get me to rat...." she stopped as Kelly lifted one hand, in exasperation.
"Let me tell you what you've been doing and we'll take up the question of the 'third degree' as you call it, after that. You and your roommate have been working for some cut-rate, sex-type picture makers. Now we know you do pin-ups ... and there's nothing wrong with those. But we also know that your employers get you into some pretty questionable areas ... fetish and bondage stuff...."
"W-what's that got to do with Sandi's disappearance?"
"We don't know she'd disappeared. But this is my point: both of you girls have, from time to time, worked for some of the shady birds in the photography business. Maybe Miss Hollister is in trouble ... maybe not But a girl could find herself directly involved in a bad situation, working with one of the off-beat people . . the smut trade...."
"I never did it!" Dede protested, vehemently.
"Then I say that's fine. Now, would you like to see some photographs of girls who fell victims to readers who buy bondage pics?"
Jamison leaned forward. "They're not at all pretty, Miss Willis. They'll make you sick."
Dede's indignation had dissolved.
"Wh-what do you mean 'bondage stuff. I never did...."
"Look, Miss Willis," Jamison said, wearily, we have a complete file on you ... as well as every other model in town."
There was a long silence. During the pause, Dede's eyes grew wide, then narrowed in unpleasant anticipation as she digested the police detective's last words. There was no question in the girl's mind that the police department did have the file the detective mentioned. Further than that Dede didn't have too much accurate information, but she did know that some of the photographers she worked for had bad reputations. She'd only work with them when there was a group present ... and the group came and went, together.
Dede's hands suddenly twisted together as she realized that there was a lot of thin ice she'd been skating over in the general area of ethical behavior. There was nothing wrong with Dede's morals but, she saw clearly fo the first time, what they meant by 'guilt by association' ... and some of the photographers she'd worked with ... associated with ...
She'd heard of a girl's face being slashed by a perverted male," and if that happened to you ... a model ... who could you ask for help? Sure, they'd arrest the guy ... but what about your face?
Dede's apprehension swelled inside her. She stood up, smoothing the sleek skirt over her thighs.
"I ... I guess you're right," she said, quietly. "I must be wrong about this ... Sandi is probably staying with friends ... or her parents. Oh!" she started, smiling brightly at the two detectives. "I just remembered her saying she might go down to San Diego for a few days. Now, imagine me forgetting that, and rushing here to waste your time ... ?
Kelly's eyes were veiled as they held hers.
"Yes," he said, grittily, "just imagine..."
"Well, she said, coquettishly, "forgive me for taking up your busy time ... I really must go. Thanks ... and hasta luigi...."
As her high heels tac-tacked out and down the corridor, Kelly and Jamison looked at each other, amazed.
"I heard it too," the sandy-haired giant said, "but I still don't believe it"
"We scared her off, alright," Kelly said, glumly. "We've got a pic file on this Hollister girl. Think we'd better check this out?"
"I say 'yes', " Jamison said, slowly. "That little gal's scared. I'd hate to have her know how scared she could really be...."
"How's that?" Kelly said, looking up.
"Just this," Jack returned. "If Sandi Hollister has gotten into a trap with one of the bondage bugs, then little Miss Dede Willis could ... mind you, I say 'could' ... also be grist for the mill."
The two detectives got a picture of Sandi from the files and went out to their car.
"What's the routine?" Jack asked.
"Let's prowl the rats' nests on Western. Maybe there's something new to open up besides a can of worms...."
* * *
"I've had it!" Joyce snapped, talking to herself, aloud. "I'm no nun ... and, if Bill doesn't make it with me today, I'm gonna find out who's supplying him, and where!"
It was late afternoon and she was alone in the agency office. Bill had left her to mind the studio while he went into the downtown area on business. The blinds were down and the door locked. A half full bottle of bourbon sat on Bill's desk and Joyce lifted it to take a drink, right from the bottle.
Checking her watch, she spoke to herself again.
"There, now," she commented. "I've taken enough aboard to nerve me for what I've gotta do, and it's almost time for that big lug of a
Bill to get back. So ... here we go . , . ! "
The pullover sweater came off, first as full, rounded and cherry-tipped breasts emerged, bouncing as she dropped the sweater on the sofa. Surveying the twin beauties with blinking eyes, she said:
"Baby, you've still got the best-looking boobs in town. You know, you used to be the best model around until that two-mouthed jerk got you to quit by telling you he loved you , . . ! "
Next, she slid down the zipper of her skirt, stepping out of it to stand in the snug panties, clinging to her like her own skin.
"I'm beautiful!" she announced, viewing herself in the mirror across the reception room. "I just wish I were a man ... what I couldn't do for Joyce...."
She slipped the panties off and she stood nude, her hands sliding feverishly and excitedly over her skin as delightful chills chased over her.
"No man in his right mind would turn this down!" she decided, her eyes going back to the mirror. "He may be getting it somewhere I don't know about, but when he sees me like this...."
At that instant, she heard footsteps on the stairs and moved quickly to the couch to stretch wantonly upon it, arms and legs out-thrown.
"Oh, hurry, Bill, hurry ... I need your lovin' and I need it bad
She heard his. try the knob, then mutter profanity as he fished out his key and the door opened. He closed it quickly behind him when he saw Joyce. She could see the smoky anger in his eyes, even in the half-gloom from the drawn blinds as he shook a cardboard placard at her.
"Joyce," he snarled, "why've you got this 'closed' sign on the door downstairs?" His mouth stayed open as he took in her position and condition. "Hey, what the hell are you trying out?' he said, his throat suddenly choked as he surveyed her nakedness.
"Make love to me, lover-boy," she begged. "Come to Joyce and...."
"You screwball you complete idiot!" he shouted, locking the door.
"I love you and need you, Bill," she cried, "give it to me...."
Eyes sparkling, lips provocatively parted, Joyce rose to throw her arms around him, slipping her hands over his body as she moved against him.
"Bill ... please, honey ... do you know how long it's been?'
Her lips met his, her teeth taking his lip between them.
Pulling back, he said: "I I c-can't do it, Joyce. Don't you under-understand?'
Her mouth went back to his, her arms winding around him.
"Please, Bill ... I don't even care if you've got somebody else. Please ... take care of me now and then ... now, please ... ! "
"Oh God almighty, Joyce!" Bill pushed her off as she tried to stay close. Her body was hot with her desire and he could feel the fever of her skin under his fingers. "Joyce, dammit, why can't you understand ... right now, I can't!"
"You bastard!" she snapped, pulling back, glaring at him to stand with feet apart and hands on her hips. The breasts rose and fell sharply with her angered breathing. "So, now you're goin' Hollywood ... it was great when you needed me, but now you're onto another package deal. Are you tryin' to make a chump outa me? Here I am, naked and ever-ready and needing you and you won't go. What's your trouble, lover ... find yourself a boyfriend?"
He dropped his eyes. "Aw, dammit, Joyce, you know better."
"Then what? I don't know better than you won't make love to me, and gawdammit, I want it ... now!" Tears of anger came to her eyes. "Just tell me why not Billy-boy?"
"Joyce ... I-I.. I can't...."
"You can't!" she spat. "The fastest tongue in the west and you can't answer me or tell me you're through. That would be better than this, you lousy crum-ass!"
Quickly she found her clothes and started dressing.
"So the hell with you!" she said, bitterly. "I'm cuttin' you off. If you got down on your knees to me, the answer'd still be a big, fat 'no' to you Billy-boy. I got another idea, too, you lousy fink, I'll find a way to fix your red wagon. Mark what I say, Bill Biddle ... you'll be sorry you ever laid eyes on me!"
"Honey, Joyce ... please!" he said, pleadingly. "Won't you please trust me ... please?' He was greatly agitated and showed it but Joyce was past caring.
"Trust your fanny!" she snapped, harshly, yanking her skirt into place. "If I turned you down when you were red-hot ready for love, Yd never hear the last of it! I don't like It, either. And you wouldn't trust me if it went on and on. Why should I trust you?'
"Joyce," he said, misery in his voice, "I'm sorry...."
"And that's only the beginning," she threatened, "I make you a solemn promise you haven't even started to be sorry...."
They both heard footsteps in the stair-well.
"Please, Joyce," Bill begged, "someone's coming up...."
"One of the models ... maybe this is the lock on my love-nest...." Joyce darted tolling the door open on two men who looked a little startled at the explosive portal.
"We're closed!" she snapped. "We've got no models to pose for you Johns today. Try someplace down the street they've got blondes, brunettes, redheads ... even a couple slant-eyes.. "
Her mouth closed, automatically as she got the message that these weren't the bleakly eager-faced individuals who usually wandered in looking for further frustration. No hunger in these faces ... just purpose ...
"We're police officers, miss," the sandy-haired bigger one said, calmly. "You in charge?'
"P-police officers to see you, Bill," Joyce said, moving out into the hallway and closing the door behind her. She felt her heart leap into her throat but crowded down her panic with angry elation. Whatever trouble he's got himself into, he can get himself out of!" she thought, vindictively.
Starting down the steps, she descended two or three and stopped. While the love she'd had for Bill was gone, she now felt something which seemed more compelling. She hated his guts ... and she'd sworn she'd get even with him
Going back to the top of the steps, her feet noiseless, she stopped to put her ear against the crack in the door.
"You're sure Sandi Hollister isn't on your model list?" she heard a strange voice ask.
"Absolutely, not," came Bill's reply. "If you'd like to check my model list, here it is...." Joyce heard the desk drawer open and the black album thump on the desk top. "The codes are right below the telephone numbers. I can tell you what anyone of these girls will pose for...."
Joyce knew this was so. Bill was careful in business. His list was accurate ... he dealt in no under-the-table stuff. She could hear the pages of the album rustle as the officers scanned the photographs. Then Bill asked them: "Can you tell me what's wrong ... ? "
"We just ask questions ... we don't answer 'em," was the curt reply.
"Who's this girl," the second voice said. "She work for you?" Evidently Bill bent to identify the picture.
"Dede Willis ... yes, I've had photographers who've used her through the agency booking.. "
"You even send men customers to these girls residences?' the question snapped quickly from a second voice.
"Wh-what.. I don't know what you mean?" Bill stammered.
"Knock it off!" the voice repeated brusquely. "I'll ask it just once more ... this is no art school ... we both know what I mean. Now ... did you send a man a photographer to visit Dede Willis in the last few days?'
"Positively, no! Look ... this is no call girl operation. I book these girls for pictures on a percentage. Every index on those girls is accurate. You want to shoot pictures, you can tell me what type ... when you've selected your model ... I'll clear a date and a time. Might be right now ... might not be for two or three days. Lots of these girls work pretty steadily. But, so far as I know, through reputation and talk with photogs, these gals are pic, models ... not whores. I don't know about their private lives and I don't want to ... but this book is on the level...." Joyce heard the other desk drawers opened one by one ". . .and I don't have any other book for back-alley customers."
"OK, so you're clean. But you're sure you didn't send someone to see Sandi Hollister or Dede Willis ... for pictures ... ? '
Joyce again listened to Bill's matter-of-fact denial and a smile of satisfaction overspread her lips as she tiptoed down the steps to wait on the sidewalk outside. When the two officers descended, she spoke softly as they came abreast of her.
"Looking for someone?' The two stopped, then moved to face her.
"How did you know?" Kelly asked. She nodded toward the entrance.
"I snooped. Law against it?"
"None I know of," the sandy-haired one grinned.
"You're looking for a man Bill booked that Willis dame for."
"What's his name?" Kelly asked.
"No names ... Bill gets his percentage from the girls when they're paid. He supplies the dates and the girl's phone number."
"Know what the guy looked like?" Jamison asked, thinking they were at another dead end. Joyce nodded.
"I do ... he's a creep ... gave me the shivers..." She gave Jack, who was busy taking notes, a detailed description.
"You're pretty observant, miss," Kelly said, admiringly as the completeness of the description filled in.
"That guy you couldn't miss ... oh, there's one thing more ... he had a gap between his front teeth...."
"We appreciate your help," Jamison said when he'd done writing. "You work up there?"
"Used to," she replied, shortly.
"Why are you helping us?" Kelly asked.
"Ever hear of a woman scorned?" she asked, a shade bitterly.
"You mean the one hell hath no fury like?" Jack asked, grinning. She nodded.
"You got my phone number," she said, smiling at Kelly. "Give me a ring sometime ... even if it isn't official business..." She turned and walked down Western.
"Get it all?" Kelly asked Jamison, his eyes on the swinging hips.
"Got it all," the sandy-haired detective grinned. "And you get this," he said.
"What?" Kelly asked, turning to look at him.
"You're a married man," Jamison replied with an impish grin.
"Yeh ... that's right," Kelly grinned bade, turning to their car, I almost forgot...."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Joyce forced her eyes into focus to identify the Tipton Apartments. She had trouble doing it ... she was smashed to the gills. Further, she was both angry and frustrated. The vodka martinis weren't sufficient to soothe the desire which pulsed through her body and the yearning she felt for the man she'd "blown the whistle" on to the two police detectives.
She'd been propositioned at three bars where she'd stopped for drinks, but she snarled the men off. Either they reminded her too much of
Bill, or didn't appeal to her at all. So, she'd stayed on the sauce, as she thought of it, hoping to forget She couldn't.
The craving she felt, for the solace of a body beside hers, was still in the ascendant. But there was another driving, gnawing hunger ... the need to twist the knife she'd placed so adroitly in Bill's faithless back. Through some circuitous reasoning, induced by the alcohol she'd taken aboard, she'd reached the conclusion she had to talk to Dede Willis so she could make the girl see how she'd been heartlessly used by Bill Bid-die and would hate the guy as much as she, Joyce, hated him. Besides, Joyce had another compulsion. She felt that dumb blonde needed a good shaking up. She was going to do it.
She was cradling a fifth of bourbon in her arms as she rang Dede's bell on the entrance panel. Weaving her way up to 221, she was faced at the open door, by Dede in skintight capris and a knit top which clung to her full breasts like a second skin.
"Joyce!" Dede exclaimed when she recognized her caller. "What are you doing here?"
Joyce's eyes roamed quickly and appreciatively over the delights of Dede's exceptional figure ... the bosom, hips, thighs and calves which Joyce admitted, in a quick flash of cognizance, were the equal of her own ample endowment.
"I'm visiting," she explained, smiling. "I thought you might be lonely ... and I'm lonely, so I came to visit with you. . . "
Dede moved aside in invitation to her caller to enter.
"Why that's real friendly!" the blonde exclaimed, "just like home folks. At home," she went on to explain, as Joyce came into the living room.
Dede's visitor swung to the sofa, landing on it with legs akimbo and skirt flying to her thighs.
"Break out some glasses, baby," she said. "The grapevine tells me you're missing aroom-mate. Le's have a drink'n' talk it over."
"Oh!" Dede protested, "I don't drink, honestly. It makes me giddy in the head. Joyce eyed the lovely figure standing before her.
"Giddy ... an' frisky, too, I betcha!" she said. Dede nodded, with a giggle.
"I have to be careful not to drink on dates or the next thing I know, I don't know what I'm doing. So ... I don't do it ... drink, I mean." Joyce shook her head, suddenly dubious that this was going to be an enlightening conversation.
"Well," Joyce said ... no men around so hows about a drinkie?"
"Why not?" Dede responded, brightly, getting glasses from the kitchenette. Joyce watched the seductive figure through the recurring fogginess of her eyes. She felt old D.E.Sire as she put it surge increasingly through her body. Joyce had come to Hollywood at fourteen her father getting a grip's job at a major studio to her great delight. Before she was fifteen, she had learned about sex and, in the nine years since her arrival, she had traveled many paths.
The dominant desire in Joyce was to satisfy the hunger of her own exceptionally provocative body. Her experience was wide, her tastes were varied. She wasn't lesbian ... she was elastic in her wants.
To her, an attractive body male or female drew her like a magnet She felt further inflamed at the thought of locking Dede's luscious body in her arms, breasts flattening against each other, in a transport of excitement, lips searched for secrets by probing tongues...
She heaved a deep breath, controlling, with ah effort, the sudden onset of delicious shudders which ran over her to concentrate in her shapely abdomen. She could feel the nipples of her bosoms expand and harden as she watched the other girl.
Dede set down the two glasses on the cocktail table before Joyce and watched as her visitor poured drinks for each of them. Then Joyce patted the cushion next to her.
"Sit right here, angel-baby and le's have a drink and talk about love, loneliness and th' pursuit of hap-happiness. . . "
Dede laughed, delightedly at the speech.
"Joyce, you're just so cute ... the way you talk just-shatters me ... it really does. Say ... you drink this straight?"
Joyce lifted her glass to ogle it, owlishly.
"I guess so ... I hope it's th' only straight thing I have to face this night...." she tilted the glass to her red lips.
Dede's head cocked on one side, puzzled at Joyce's words, but she was intent on being a good hostess and she liked the rough-and-ready Joyce so she lifted her glass. It was strong, but she savored the warmth it sparked deep inside her, so she sipped again.
Joyce, being well on the road to euphoria, urged the blonde girl on, but Dede protested that the bourbon was too strong to take straight and proceeded to dilute it with some mix from the refrig.
"Now," she said as she tripped back into the living room to flounce down beside Joyce on the sofa, "that tastes much better." She sipped again. "You know, Joyce, I like the taste of it with this stuff mixed with it. . . "
Joyce, struggling to keep her rising temperature under control, could not resist the temptation to drop a hand on Dede's round thigh and once dropped, her fingers tightened softly on the warm, firm texture. Dede giggled and wriggled.
"What?" Joyce smiled at her, hopefully.
"That feels good," Dede said.
"My hand?" Joyce asked, her expectations leaping with her excitement
"Dede laughed aloud. "No ... this drink, you goose. Why should your hand feel good?" Joyce shrugged.
"Have another snort, and maybe I can find the answer to that"
Through a couple more drinks, Joyce's hand kept returning, now and again, to the contact with Dede, stroking her firm warmth tenderly. Their conversation was getting a little thicker as Joyce said: "Did it feel good when Sandi did this?" Her hand was busy on Dede's thigh again.
"Gee, Joyce," Dede said, smiling dreamily, "Sandi never did anything like that"
"Really?" Joyce swung her eyes around to focus on Dede's. "You two shacked in here all this time ... and you mean to tell me you never slept together, baby?"
Dede laughed heartily. "No, Joyce ... our apartment has two bedrooms!" She thought it an excellent joke.
Joyce puzzled over it. It was hard to believe a Hollywood girl could be so naive as Dede seemed; and the fact that the little blonde was untutored in such a relationship as Joyce desired, excited the visitor still more. She twisted beside Dede, suddenly, thinking that if she could only get some relief from the desire which kept her in its vise, she could sleep and get that damn Bill out of her mind. That opened up another train of thought
"Hey," Joyce said, "a funny looking jerk was looking for you to do some modeling for him."
Joyce thought for a moment "Guess Sandi must have kept the date instead, Dede. Maybe that's why she hasn't been home for a few days."
Dede's eyes were big on Joyce's. "I don't understand," the little blonde replied. "Mix yourself another drink and I'll tell you about it"
Dede did so, the pleasant glow and soaring sensation she was experiencing was completely enjoyable. She was beginning to like the sensation that Joyce's touch on her thigh was inducing.
"I've seen his type before," Joyce said, darkly. "He's the kind who-likes to torture girls. You know, Sandi could be dead. . . "
"No!" Dede cried, stiffening.
Joyce was delighted that Dede was shaken by a sudden shudder of fear, moving close to her visitor, her tight breast close against Joyce's arm. Joyce quickly moved the arm to encircle the trembling blonde and draw her close. "
"What worries me is, he may be back," Joyce went on. Dede snuggled closer.
"You mean ... if he's harmed Sandi, he may come back. . .?" Joyce nodded vigorously.
"If he killed Sandi, he may come back to kill you!" Joyce said, putting it into words, feeling the shock value would aid her cause with Dede. It did, the smaller girl's heated form, melted against Joyce, shaking.
Joyce firmly pulled her closer. "Don't let it worry you, sweetheart," she proclaimed, grimly, "nobody's going to hurt you while Joyce is here!" Dede let her protector mix her another drink.
A little later, Dede, feeling warm and secure in Joyce's presence, assented to still another drink. At its finish, unused to alcohol, her head was spinning and she only wondered dimly at the fevered activity of Joyce's hands onher swelling breasts; the heat of the other girl's kisses oh her throat.
"W-what ... ?" Dede mumbled as everything culminated for her in a soothing blackout and she passed out, cold. Joyce, when she realized what had happened, shook away the small disappointment as Dede's provocative body relaxed to slide along the back cushion of the sofa and come to rest, curled and relaxed.
Joyce was almost beside herself with desire, now, and she proceeded to remove the blonde's clothing, hurriedly. Looking down at her naked figure, Joyce's own big breasts heaved with her panting breath, the excitement in the back of her throat threatening to choke her. Her own clothing was dropping to the carpet now. When she stood, nude, over Dede's delectable body, her eyes devoured the picture of lush curves the beautiful little blonde displayed.
Joyce's studied scrutiny lingered over the full but graceful curves of thigh and calf, the pert swell of Dede's hips and the almost flat abdomen, softened by just the hint of a curve. The up-thrust and pink-tipped breasts rose and fell gently as Dede breathed in blissful unconsciousness. Joyce trembled in anticipation, kneeling on one knee against the sofa cushions, to trail loving finger tips across the girl's nipples.
"That's life," Joyce philosophized, half-aloud as the pounding of her heart fdt 'as though it were shaking her entire being. "But," why not this way? I've never made love to a passed-out pigeon, and she'll never know what happened. . . "
Sensuously she lowered herself onto Dede's figure, stretching and writhing against the delicious body.
"I'll know what happened, I'll damn betcha!"
Joyce gasped, as the surge of sensation, at tin-intimate contact, burst through her. "Yes. dammit ... Joyee'll know . . Her last words were almost a sob.
The next few moments were a strange melange of agony and pleasure for the hungering Joyce. As she convulsively squeezed Dede in her arms, her own curvaceous body shook and writhed in the grip of her climbing, suffocating desire. Joyce's head flung and tossed; she moaned, cried and gasped; the smooth muscles under her soft skin swelling and bunching and cording as they tensed and relaxed. She was completely out of herself at the experience a brand new sensation as she made frenzied love to a body which was sheer beauty to a girl who returned absolutely no response. Then the gathering pressure of the storm within Joyce began to expand to throw her completely out of conscious control, bursting in a deluge of paralyzing sensations which aroused every atom of her being to unbearable, bittersweet ecstasy. Joyce wailed and cried out as the storm swept her under, falling limp on Dede's unconscious form, an arm and leg sprawled helplessly off the side of the sofa. . .
* * *
Next morning, the only thing Dede could remember was that she'd drunk herself under the table with Joyce ... and that she had a miserable, sick-headachy hangover to show for it.
Lying naked on the sofa, her clothing scattered around the carpet, she" woke alone, save for a near empty bourbon bottle and a repulsive taste in her mouth.
"My stars and garters!" she moaned, struggling to a sitting position. "I must have made all kinds of a fool of myself!" A feeling of shame swept over her for a brief instant. "-Joyce must think I'm a real kook...! "
Holding her head in one hand, she felt her way into the shower and applied the therapy of alternating cold and hot showers, first lathering herself from head to toe. A half hour later, her buoyant spirits were returning, the sick feeling had departed and she got busy putting together a hearty breakfast. She felt this would get the day back on its track for her, her youthful recuperative ability working to snap her back to her usual happy self.
As she finished eating, the phone bell pealed.
"This is Detective Joe Kelly," the caller explained. "Do you know a photographer ... slight stature with dark hair and complexion with a space between his front teeth?" he thought briefly.
"No. Detective," she said. "I can't recall ever working for anybody who looks like that. . . "
"We're looking for him." Kelly's voice continued. "We have a suspicion he may know something of Miss Hollister's disappearance."
Dede uttered a sharp cry, and nearly dropped the phone.
""What's wrong?" Kelly's voice came quickly to her ear. "Are you sure you don't recognize his description?" Panic seized Dede as she recalled Joyce's words indicating the man was coming back to kill her ... a man who tortured girls--. . .
The detective's voice was commanding, urgent in her ear.
"What's wrong, Miss Willis ... tell me!"
"Oh!" Dede wailed, "he--he took Sandi away and he's coming back to kill me!" The phone dropped from nerveless fingers as her frightened eyes darted around the room. The tinny rattle of the detective's voice was completely ignored as the phone lay on the carpet.
Dede's only coherent thought was that she must escape as soon as possible. She tossed every other fleeting notion aside as she grabbed her purse and fled from the apartment building as though pursued.
Looking neither to left nor right, she ran to the corner cabstand, urging the driver, frantically, to drive to her bank in Beverly Hills.
Thus, she failed to see the old Buick, parked across the street, which pulled out and followed her cab. The driver's mouth opened in a loose smile, displaying the gap between his front teeth.
After Dede had withdrawn her savings, she went to a small hotel and registered under the name of Sally Smith, locking herself in the room and huddling, in fright on the bed, shivering. Through her head, over and over, ran the conviction that Sandi was dead, dead in her place. Dede didn't doubt that Joyce had been right ... the man was coming after her ... coming after her ... coming. . .
She couldn't stand it Flinging to her feet, with a frightened squeak, she turned on the radio in the room, raising the volume until the raucous music pounded against the walls. Gasping, her fumbling fingers changed stations to eliminate the further frenzy, gritting her teeth as she adjusted to smooth, soft music.
Then she curled into a tight ball on the bed, again, and started selling herself the idea that everything was all right ... Sandi was alive and unharmed ... there was no one coming after her. After a few moments of this vigorous mental exercise, Dede felt the panic disperse within, and her natural happy feeling began to float to the surface. Then, an announcer's voice broke into the smooth melody, excitedly, to read a news bulletin. As Dede, paralyzed, heard the words string out, she froze, again, with fright. . .
"... Police report the discovery of the body of Hollywood photographer's model in Borrego Desert this morning. Missing for almost a week, the body was identified as that of Sandra Hollister, age twenty-two. The chance discovery was made by two rock-hunters who followed recently-made tire tracks into a secluded spot, thinking they might have been made by other rock prospectors. The girl's body was bound and chained, wrists to ankles, and it was evident she had been exposed for a long interval, to the desert sun, naked...."
Again panic threw Dede's thudding heart into her throat as she writhed into a tighter ball, seeking to escape the voice. . .
"... The police are searching for an unidentified photographer who booked the girl through a local model agency on North Western Avenue, it is believed he kidnapped her and tortured her to death...."
Dede could stand no more. She leaped from the bed and switched off the set, shaking and perspiring, "it was supposed to be me!" she said in horror. "He killed Sandi ... he's coming to kill me!" As she leaned against the wall, the back of one hand pushed hard against her teeth, her mind was fluttering like a bird in a snare. Suddenly, she thought of Al ... if only he were here! Hut. if she had to stay in hiding, Al wouldn't know where to find her! The only solution was to fly home to her folks in Miami. Then she could be in a safe place and notify Al.
As she moved, with relief, toward the phone, if rang, making her spring backward as though it had turned into a venomous snake. Nobody should know she was there! Then she thought, it could be a wrong number. The phone rang again. Dede shivered but. in an attempt to stop flying at every shadow, walked over and picked it up.'
"Is this Miss Willis?" a male voice inquired, softly.
"Who is this?" she asked, automatically.
"I am a long-time admirer of yours," the voice said ... Dede cut him off.
' I'm sure you have the wrong party," she said brusquely and hung up. The phone rang again, shortly after.
"Miss Willis," the voice began again, without preamble when she lifted the instrument, "I don't have the wrong party. I watched you go into the hotel ... I know you're here. I'm down in the lobby, now. I'd like to come up and talk to you...."
"I'm not Miss Willis," she said, feeling as though she would suffocate from sheer fright." I want you to go away and stop calling me . . , "
"Miss Willis. I just want to book you for a modeling job. I'm a photographer. My equipment is in my car and I'm all ready for a trip into the desert to make some open air shots. . . "
"Stop bothering me and go away!" she cried, hysterically, again slamming the phone down. When it didn't ring again, she moved to the window to part the Venetian blind slats with shaking fingers, peering out into the bright sunlight of the street. She saw a man moving toward an old model Cadillac which was parked on the far' side. Her eyes skipped over the immediate area open to her view, but she found no one who might have been the caller.
Her eyes went back to the man as he hesitated before getting into the old car. He turned and looked up at the hotel building, and Dede felt shock stab at her again as, squinting against the sun, his mouth opened to reveal a space between his front teeth! She recoiled from the window, her breath stopping for a moment.
"Oh, Lord help me!" she breathed, "what can I do?"
Call the police? What was that detective's name ... Kelly! That was the thing ... Then she paused. The man with the space in his teeth would know she'd put the police onto him ... he'd really be angry at her.
Forcing her quaking body and nerves into some semblance of control, she tried to decide what to do, arriving, eventually at the conclusion the best thing she could do was wait. Just hide and wait.
"He's got to go away to eat," Dede assured herself, "sooner or later he's got to go somewhere to eat or to sleep. The minute he leaves, I'll set sail for the airport and go home. . . "
So, she went back to the bed, sitting, lying or leaning on it in various attitude through the hours. The old Cadillac stayed in its parking place. As the evening began to fall, she looked out again to see if the vigil continued. She was shocked to see that the man was calmly munching a sandwich as he sat, comfortably, behind the wheel.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The man eating the sandwich was calm, undisturbed in any way. He had worlds of time. His radio had informed him the girl's body had been found. He felt that was unfortunate ... he was hoping she'd never be found; that the world would never know what had happened to her.
He'd been amused at the sketchy description which, the police had given out to the newscasters. They didn't know his name nor did they identify his car. The description could fit hundreds of men in Los Angeles, he felt confident.
So, there was no worry. There was only the wait.
He knew she had to come out ... sometime.
When, about one in the morning, the light in her room went out, he got under way and drove to his room.
"I'll be back before she gets up," he planned, "with more food. I must have scared that stupid girl. I'll just, wait until she comes out and then I'll go up to her and act nice. Then she won't be scared any more and she'll go with me. . . "
It was so plain in his mind ... plain and simple. Everything had been simple, always, with him. It was him against a stupid world, and he stayed ahead by keeping it simple. He knew the answers, all right. . .
He was humming, softly, to himself as he drove away.
Dede had felt an electric shock go through her at the excitement of seeing his car pull away. But then, fear overtook her again!
"It's a trick!" she gasped. "He's just doing that so I'll come out. . , then he'll pounce on me like a cat on a mouse. . . "
Despairing anew, she threw herself on the crumpled bed, again, fearful of sleep but too exhausted to fight it off. Nightmares of the man with the gap in his teeth, torturing her bound body, woke her at intervals. It was during one of these half-conscious intervals when the horror of her dreams forced her back to the surface of reality that a firm knock sounded against her door.
She screamed. She couldn't help it.
"Go away," she cried in the toils of her misery, "please go away and let me...."
"Open the door, Miss Willis. We're police officers!"
The police? But no, her frantic reasoning told her ... it couldn't be the police! It was that horrible man, posing as a policeman, just to lure her into his clutches ... even in her fright, she still thought in cliches. He was waiting, outside the door, out in the hall ... waiting. . .
Again, her breath was crowding into her throat, suffocating her as the pounding of her heart shook her entire body. She tried to get to her feet ... to reach the phone ... to call downstairs for help before he could get the door open. . .
She screamed as, with a snap, the door began to open ... a shaft of light widening into the blackness of her room. . .
She started to scream again, but then, she saw not just one man, but three. . .
"Take it easy, Miss Willis," the first black shadow said, calmly, "I'm Detective Kelly and Detective Jamison is with me. Do you remember us?" The room light blazed overhead as the night clerk, behind the detectives, touched the wall-switch.
She flung herself from the bed, arms outstretched, mouth open in a silent scream of relief, but then her legs buckled under her and she collapsed, in a dead faint, in the arms of Jack Jamison. He put her back, gently, on the bed.
"That the one?" the desk clerk asked, excitedly. "Right as right ... she's the one." Kelly returned.
"She looked like the television picture," he gabbled, "the girl they said the killer was after. . . "
"Thanks, pal, for calling us," Kelly said, patting him on the shoulder, gratefully and gently turning him toward the door. "We won't forget it ... but better leave her with us..."
"Oh ... oh! Sure, sure, Mr. Kelly. . . " The clerk fled.
Jack Jamison had put a damp wash-cloth on Dede's fevered forehead and, Joe noticed as he sat down on the other side of the bed, he was chafing her wrists and hands. Kelly reached over to take the arm nearest him and assist ...
When Dede returned to consciousness, she gasped: "I ... thought it ... was that ... that. . . "
Kelly nodded. "We figured. Hated to scare you ... Miss Willis, why'd you run away? Our job's protecting you..."
"I was s-scared when I heard about Sandi on th-the radio...."
"I'm sorry. That's why we were in such a sweat We had to keep it from happening to you. It could have been your body they found, Miss Willis. . . "Dede shuddered again and Kelly fell silent
"We need your help to identify the man," Jamison said, "We're not exactly sure just what he looks like."
"All we have is a general description..." Kelly chimed in.
"My help?" Dede blurted, panic-stricken again as she leaped up to a sitting position. " Wh-what ... how could I h-help?"
Jack and Joe flashed a quick look at each other. Jack gulped. The girl's skirt had hiked up, unknown to her, with the sudden motion and was now thigh-high, the white frill of ruffled panties plainly to be seen above the soft legs. Jack swallowed and looked back to her face.
"Man!" he thought, "sometimes it does get difficult to concentrate on police business..." Then he spoke aloud.
"Like this," he replied to her question. "That man's trying to find you ... he'll try to get in touch with you. . . "
"He did!" she said, quietly.
The heads of both detectives swiveled to read her eyes.
"He called and asked me to go with him," she said, nodding at the phone.
"Now, take it easy and tell it all. How'd he find you?"
She shook her head. "I haven't the slightest idea ... but he phoned from downstairs in the lobby, right after I got here, this afternoon."
"What did he say?" Kelly demanded.
"That he was a photographer. He scared me ... he knew my right name. I told him he had the wrong party, and then I hung up."
"Did he call again?" She nodded, and explained that she'd hung up again and he hadn't called after that
"But I looked out the window," she went on, "and he was getting into an old-model car, right across the street He stayed there until I put my lights out, and then drove away."
She supplied, on request, a description-of the car, but hadn't seen the license. While Kelly grabbed the phone to relay the information to police headquarters, Jamison asked:
"You got a good look at him, then?"
Dede nodded and gave him her description. "I definitely remember he had a big gap between the two front teeth ... the upper ones."
"That characteristic seems to jump out at everybody who sees this kook," he muttered as Kelly returned from the phone.
"Look, Miss Willis," he said, "we want you to help us trap this fellow and the. only way to do it is, the next time he calls you, say you'll go with him. . , "
"Oh, no!" Dede was off the bed again, horrified.
"Now, now," Jamison soothed her, "don't be frightened. We'll be watching you every minute.
There'll be no chance for him to get away with you. You'll be as safe as if you were in church ii
"I'll only be safe, at home in Miami," she stated, positively, shaking her head obstinately.
"Maybe yes, maybe no," Kelly pointed out "He could follow you there, you know. This guy must be hooked on you..." his words trailed off as his eyes wandered quickly over the lush lines of Dede's provocative figure. Then, feeling Jamison's glance on him, he snapped .guiltily back to business. The picture of the full thighs, tender hips and full, big bosom remained in his eyes and prevented an immediate resumption of speech. Jamison, laughing inwardly, caught the by-play and flashed a sympathetic grin as Kelly's eyes cut to him for an instant. His mirth increased as he saw the slow flush of red creep over his partner's features.
"That's right," Jack said, choking down his laughter. "Running away guarantees you nothing. Your life isn't safe until we have this man where he belongs ... under tight security, in a locked cell at city jail." Despite him, Jack's eyes did another quick circuit of the lovely breasts, the exposed legs and enticing bare thighs. Dede caught the direction of his glance and a feeling of warmth toward the big rugged detective began to thaw the fear inside. The wondering thought flashed through Dede's mind what would it be like to be in Jamison's brawny arms before, startled, she choked it off, feeling a hot spark of desire snap alive within her.
Guiltily, she heard him talking about the grim business at hand, as tendrils of excitement sparked through her loins and the peaks of her bosoms. Dede stoutly fought back, remembering that she was in love with her childhood sweetheart, but she got another shock when she found she couldn't even remember what Al looked like, at the moment. . .
"...and, anyhow, Miss Willis," the huge, sandy-haired detective was saying-straining to keep his eyes on hers as she belatedly re-arranged her skirt" ... you don't want this madman to kill some other girl ... or several other girls, do you?"
Out of the five second pause which followed, Dede had to use four of them to pull her mind away from Jamison and recall his words. Then, her eyes sending him a message totally unrelated to their oral communication, he saw "Yes, yes!" while he heard: "No, no!"
He got both messages and walked to the window, shaking his head at the tingles going through him. "Damn!" he said to himself, "no wonder that killer's after her ... this girl's pure TNT ... this is the most female I've ever. . . "
Then Joe Kelly was reaching for the phone. "I'll get a policewoman over here before we leave. She'll stay inside with you but we'll have men outside to grab him if he shows..." Dede shook her head.
"I I wouldn't feel safe with a just a woman," she said, eyes downcast, suddenly searching the uninspired pattern of the hotel-room carpet.
"I assure you, they're most efficient..." Jamison began, but the shake of her head, repeated, cut him off.
"No," she said, slowly, "if I do it, I want a man with me." Joe Kelly realized two things, simultaneously. The girl wouldn't change her mind ... and Jack Jamison was due to get tapped for the duty. . .
"All right," Kelly agreed, anxious to get on with the business. "We'll do it your way, Miss Willis. Is there someone you would feel safe with...? " He tossed the question into the air, inwardly chortling as he caught Jack Jamison's startled glance.
Dede pointed a delicate, tapered finger. "Fine, then," she said, "and he's the one I want. . . " Jamison gulped and looked helplessly at his partner, whose face, again, was beet-red ... but it was his turn to laugh.
"All right," Kelly was all business, "I'll arrange for Jack to occupy the connecting room with the phones paralleled so he can monitor all incoming calls." Joe had to keep his eyes away from Jamison who was beginning to twitch like a worm on a hook. "Now, here's the plan, Miss Willis," Kelly continued, "right now, we can't definitely connect this man with the murder by evidence. We need to nail him in the act of repeating what happened to Miss Hollister." He paused while the shudder passed over the girl.
"Go with him, when he calls," Jack said, picking up the ball. "We will have you under observation, no matter where he goes. But, please, don't let him know this. We'll move in before anything happens to you. You won't be hurt, this we guarantee..." Dede nodded, her eyes big on Jamison's face.
"Thanks, Miss Willis," Kelly said, moving to the door, "and Jim, could I see you outside for a moment?" Kelly was all business as he went into the hall. When Jamison joined him, closing the room door behind them, Joe rocked with si-lend laughter. "Man," he whispered, when he got his glee under control, "I told you police work would pay big dividends!"
"Aw, lay off!" Jim snapped, uncomfortably, "the kid's just scared not to have a male cop. . . "
"I know, I know," Kelly interrupted, eyes dancing with merriment. "And I know who she asked for, too ... but I had something important in mind," he turned off the fun, face sobering.
"What?" Jamison asked, alertly.
"Remember ... no matter what happens ... don't mix business with pleasure, Jim-boy. Especially police business; just keep your shirt-and everything else on. You read me?" Jamison nodded glumly.
"I'm not lookin' forward to this," he pointed out to Kelly. His partner grinned.
"Gotta take the bitter with the sweet," he needled. "So, shoulder to the wheel, stout fella..." he took off down the corridor as Jim slowly went back into Dede's room. . .
With his partner's words still ringing in his ears, Jamison got a shock as the door closed behind him. Dede crossed her legs, deliberately, and the delectable vista of limbs and frilly lace again snagged his eyes. When he pulled his look away, he immediately detected an increase in the girl's breathing and a slumberous quality beginning to invest her look.
"I appreciate your staying," she said, huskily. "I do feel safe "
"Miss Willis, I don't feel safe with you!"
Smiling, she arched her back until the proud bosoms peaked. Smiling, she looked down at them, then back to him. "Don't be afraid," she whispered, "I promise I wouldn't do anything to hurt you much!" Then she deliberately re-crossed her legs to improve the view. . .
Jack Jamison was a very normal young man. The excitement which whispered along his consciousness at the first sight of Dede Willis had suddenly expanded into a menacing hunger. Menacing, because Jack was a dedicated law officer. His advancement had been rapid because his desires and abilities exhibited the qualities his superiors valued. That's why he was working with Joe Kelly rated in the department as the best detective on the force. The Chief of Detectives wanted Jack exposed to the best experience and training he could get. . .
Now, shakingly conscious of the dangers of the situation, Jack told .Dede:
"Miss Willis, we have a problem. Or, I do ... you turn me on like crazy. But, I happen to be a police officer ... on duty and my conduct is open to official examination and review. So, please, let's keep this business at hand impersonal. Later ... well, we've got a dangerous man on the loose, and you and I have to keep our wits about us. . . "
Dede smiled and nodded. "Yes, Mr. Detective, you're right. We must keep our heads or ... who knows what might happen. . . ? "
She stood up and walked slowly towards him, stretching her arms as though to enfold him in them. Jamison gulped, panic zipping up his back like a monkey on a string, and retreated a step...
As the phone rang, Dede jumped, froze and turned to Jamison with the fear in her eyes again.
"Wh-what d-do I ... sh-shall I an-answer...? " Jamison was all business again.
"Answer it, normally. I'll have my ear right next to yours at the receiver. Hold it away from your ear a little bit, so I can hear everything that's said...."
Dede shuddered and picked up the instrument.
"Hello, Miss Willis ... this is the hotel manager. Mr. Kelly has made arrangements for your guard to occupy the room next door. The key is on its way up..."
"Oh ... oh, thank you very much ... we'll be on the lookout for it."
As Dede hung up with a rueful smile, Jack moved toward the door. "Was that the manager's voice?" he asked. She shrugged.
"I've never talked to him ... I don't know," she replied.
"Then here's what we do ... when there's a knock at the door, you stand clear, back in this corner on the hinge side..."he pointed to the spot " ... sometimes people can be forced to do or say things by a knife or gun at their back. Probably, it's kosher, but we're taking no chances."
Dede's thoughts of romance with the rugged, young detective had gone out of her mind with the ringing of the phone. Now, the shocked look on her face indicated the impact of her realization that the situation was still of great danger to her. When you had to be so careful about just opening a door, she thought, shaking ... She moved to the position Jamison had indicated.
The girl started at the crack of knuckles on the wood. Jamison, a police revolver trained through the door in his left hand, opened with his right
A small, gray-haired man stood there, holding out a room key. "You must be detective Jamison..."
"Yes. You're the manager?" The man nodded, "Detective Kelly made the arrangements. I've had the switchboard parallel the phones in the two rooms. They both ring and operate like one phone ... good luck, sir. Is there anything more we can do?"
"Thank you, no, Mr . ... ?"
"Clark, John Clark," the manager supplied.
"Thank you, Mr. Clark ... there's nothing more at the moment If I should need anything . ...
"Either the assistant manager or I are always on the premises. His name is Rankin. We're entirely at your disposal."
"Thanks for your cooperation, Mr. Clark. The police department appreciates it We want to protect your guests and you property from any danger or inconvenience, believe me."
Jack came back into the room, closing the door, tossing the key to the room next door in the palm of a huge hand.
"Now, Miss Willis, I'll be right next door. I want you to lock your door and I'll go through this door into my room. It'll be locked, too ... into the hall. I'd suggest you try to get some sleep ... you must be worn out. I'll be awake ... don't worry about that. I'll be listening to every noise that's made ... footsteps, doors, windows . , . you forget it. That's my job. If anyone tries to pay you a personal visit. . . " his smile became grim " ... he wouldn't have the chance of an ice-cube in a hot oven. He couldn't get from, your door to the bed before I'd be in here." His grin softened. "I sound like I'm bragging about how fast I am," he said. Then his face sobered. "I'm not I don't intend to brag ... but I am fast ... and I want you to know it because I don't want you to worry." Dede, whose wide eyes had been fixed on his, nodded silently.
"Now, is there anything else. . . ? " he asked, moving toward the connecting doors. Dede put a hand on her stomach.
"Nothing we can do anything about, I'm afraid," she said. "All of a sudden, I'm so hungry ... I haven't eaten since breakfast but I know this is no time to try to get food in a hotel."
Self-consciously, the big man put a hand in his jacket pocket.
"I ... this isn't much," he said, "but it'll put something in your stomach and maybe you can go to sleep. Tomorrow, well have them barbecue a steer for your breakfast..." He held out a cellophane-wrapped peanut bar to her.
"Oh, thank you," she smiled, "I. . . " The interconnecting door had closed behind him.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Everything was in perfect order as the old Cadillac slid into the parking space near the hotel. The driver got out, put money in the meter and walked, purposefully toward the corner of Wilshire.
As he passed the hotel, he glanced upward to see the blinds of one particular room were still closed. A feeling of anger went over him ... he could visualize that lazy woman still asleep. Good for nothing but dirtying men with her filth, he'd show her what her purpose in life was. . . !
He stepped into the phone booth.
"Hello," came the sleepy voice of the girl.
"Miss Willis," he said, hearing the sound of two receivers being lifted, "this is the photographer who called you yesterday. I wish you'd change your mind about posing for my shots. You're the only model I know who can do them and I've got an immediate sale for them
"Oh," she yawned. "What time is it?"
"A little before nine. . . "
"How far away are you?" she asked.
"I can be there in ten minutes," he replied. "Will you go?"
"All right, but only oh this short notice because I missed the other appointments. I'll meet you. . . "
"Look, Miss Willis, finding a parking place is impossible at this hour of the morning. When you come out of the front entrance, just turn right and walk up Wilshire ... I'll be circling the block and pick you up. OK?"
"All right Ten minutes," she said, hanging up.
Laughing to himself, the man with the space between his front teeth went back to his car. He'd gotten the message of the two phones being lifted ... there was a policeman listening in on the extension. He touched the accelerator and the perfectly-tuned motor of the big, old Cadillac hummed softly in response as he moved into traffic. "
Back at the hotel, Dede was into her clothes, and shaking with apprehension as Jack Jamison, his big hands holding her shoulders gently, tried to reassure her.
"We'll be behind you in police cars ... and well all be in touch by short-wave radio. Don't worry. . .just go along and act naturally. . . " He picked up the phone to alert headquarters, looking at his watch. Hanging up, he took her arm, accompanying her down to the lobby, falling behind as she went through the front door and turned to her right.
The car was waiting for her a block west up Wilshire and she stepped into it with a smiling greeting.
As Jamison's big figure ambled casually across the street to get into an unmarked police car, the eyes of the man beside Dede watched warily. When the police car door closed, he gunned the big car around a corner, squealing through the traffic in the short block to make a left and then a hard right turn into an alley. He heard the siren of the police car behind him and to his left as, smiling, he waited for it to proceed farther along the wrong trail. When it had, he backed out of the alley, and crossed the street the police car had taken, heading through residential streets at a reasonable rate of speed.
He became conscious of Dede's wondering eyes on him.
"Those traffic policemen," he said, "always on the lookout for somebody making sudden moves in traffic." He laughed softy. "It's a game I play...."
"Oh," Dede said, "I wondered what was going on."
Now she felt a great deal more composed, confident that Jack and his parade of police cars were somewhere behind them. . .
When Jamison had seen the abrupt maneuver of the old car Dede stepped into, he knew the man suspected a trap. He managed to make a u-turn, but an elderly gentleman, emerging from a parking lot in a Continental, brought him to a diving halt. The siren only confused the situation as Jack snatched up the microphone to call the information that the kidnapper was alerted in to headquarters. By the time the elderly driver was assured Jack wasn't pulling him over for a traffic violation, the Cadillac had disappeared and Jamison was frantically racing up and down the streets, trying to catch a glimpse of it ...
Dede and her abductor talked easily as the miles sped behind them. He was going to a location, not in the desert, he told her, but near the beach where he'd found a good background. He drove on north, past Malibu, turning into the mountains, far past any habitation. Dede didn't worry abut the fact she could see no cars following. Jack had told her they'd keep out of sight until the proper moment.
As they came to an intersecting dirt road, the kidnapper turned up into the arroyo, driving to the end of it, where it widened into a circular, sandy enclosure, the canyon walls almost vertical. He got out, moving to the back of the vehicle to open the luggage compartment, lifting out camera equipment
"This is it," he said, matter-of-factly, though he was far from calm, inside. This was the girl he'd wanted, all along ... this one. "Get out of your clothes ... just bra and panties for these shots, please. . . "
When she had stripped, he tied her as he had Sandi. While this rite was going on, the tuneless humming began as he anticipated the satisfaction of watching that beautiful, ripe flesh burn and peel in the sun. Bound and helpless, she'd bring him such ecstasy as he'd never known before! This ... this was the one!
When she was tied, wrists to ankles, she grimaced at the discomfort hoping the police would soon make their appearance. Her stomach was flattened under the pull of the unnatural attitude, the breasts and thighs jutting. When it was done, he squatted before her, a malicious grin baring the gap in his teeth.
"Waiting for the police, Miss Willis'? " he asked. "They think I've taken you to the desert ... but I brought you here. Now, you'll die ... just like your roommate, Miss Hollister ... slowly and painfully while I shoot pictures. . . and watch!"
Dede, horrified, didn't waste words. Suddenly she remembered what another photographer had said, while discussing the peculiarities of bondage photographers.
"For awhile, shots of girls tied up satisfy them," he'd commented. "But it wears off ... and they have to go on to more extreme acts to get satisfaction. And they keep going ... always trying something else. . . "
"...always trying something else...'" she said to herself.
Her mind seized on that fact as the only solution ... if there were one ... for her perilous position.
"Tell me," she said, quietly, "when you did this to to Sandi, did it make you very happy?" He looked at her suspiciously.
"For a little while ... but the feeling wears off. That's why I had to get you...."
"But then, you'll have to find another girl ... and another. And the police get closer all the time. . . "
His face looked sad. "That's the only way ... I hate women and I must destroy..."
"Tell me," Dede broke his thought, "does it excite you, greatly, when you watch a girl die? Does it make you feel like, like a god as though everything looked up to you and the feeling swelled up in you until you couldn't stand it?"
His eyes widened in amazement. "How did ... how did you know?" he whispered. Dede let a smile touch the corners of her lips.
"Because, I used to know a man like you.. He went on and on, but the police never knew who he was ... he found another way ... a better way. . . "
Dede took a deep breath, realizing this was it.
"He asked me to tie him," she said, slowly. "He'd never tried it before ... he always tied somebody else. But, when he let me tie him, that was the way he always did it afterward.
He said it was just wonderful. . . "
"No!" he exclaimed, but Dede with a tremendous wash of relief, knew that it was not refusal ... it was awe-struck disbelief. He'd never thought of that! She watched his eyes glaze and the mouth go slack as saliva dropped from a corner.
"You'd be in no more danger from the police," she said, "and, if you like it, I'll always be here, to tie you, whenever you want. . . "
Suddenly tears welled from his eyes. "You do understand," he gasped. "And, no more danger no police. They don't understand ... but you do. You don't think I'm strange, do you
* * *
He wasn't asking, he was telling her...
"When you're bound," she went on, gently, "You're weak helpless and then you know both sides of the ecstasy..." Suddenly she felt his fingers tugging at the knots which bound her.
"I want all of it," he sobbed, "tie me so I'll know it all ... ! "
Freed, the shaking girl wasted no time in responding to his pleas for her to bind him. She started with the wrists and soon had him as completely helpless as she had been. Tears of relief flooded down her cheeks as she looked down at him.
"Now!" he cried, "now I see a woman as I should see her ... the supreme dominating power..." Dede retched in disgust, remembering Sandi, her tension driving her into a frantic search for a weapon. His belt! She seized it to stand over him.
"You killed my friend," she gritted; "made her suffer until she died from it You want to know it all, don't you?" He nodded, eagerly.
She slashed his naked body with the belt until it bled and she dropped from exhaustion. Then she beat him some more. But the next time her strength returned, she looked down at the helpless, bleeding form and, suddenly, realized how closely akin are love and hate. The tears flowed as she recognized she no longer hated this imperfect human ... now, she felt only pity for him. . .
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Dede, lying in the sun beside the pool, stretched until she felt every muscle tighten and strain. When she relaxed, the pleasure was so keen, she almost cried out. Clad in the tiniest of bikinis, the beauty of her lush body pulsed an aura of excitement on the still air.
Jack Jamison looked down at her, eyes sparkling, wishing he'd brought along his trunks for this poolside conference. A little more of this, he reflected, and he'd forget everything ... even his name. He longed to strip away the little patches and. . .
He pushed the thought away. Maybe later, he mused. He was off-duty now, but he'd used the excuse of talking about the case to visit her, so he had to act the part.
"Some things you told me, I don't understand, Dede. I can't figure out how you ever got this madman to change places with you ... let you bind him.
She shrugged. "I guess I must have talked him into it, she said, eyes wide.
"Yeh," he responded, dropping his eyes, "that's what you said in your report. But the department psychiatrist tagged this guy as a sadistic, dangerous maniac, obsessed with the desire to torture you to death, yet...."
She sat up, eyes sparkling blue. "You mean little miss dumb-john has confused the psychiatrists?"
"He had you trapped helpless, just as he had your roommate. But you worked him, somehow, to completely reverse things..."
He let the question persist on the still air.
Dede stretched the beautiful legs, leaning back in the chair. She watched his eyes cover her body with caresses and then pull away, reluctantly.
"Jack, why not say it? They want to know how a dumb broad like me got away by outsmarting a maniac. Right?"
"Now, I didn't say that, Dede. . . "
"No, you didn't ... but that's the consensus, isn't it?"
He nodded, smiling sheepishly.
"Jack, you're a good detective, but a poor reader of character except for criminal types, whatever those are. "What do you think I am?"
Again the exercise with his eyes on her beautiful body, the uncomfortable silence. But, she needled him to talk...
"Well," he said finally, "I see a beautiful girl who excites me so I can't think very well..." his eyes were on her physical attributes again and the sudden surge of desire silenced him.
"A beautiful body you'd like to hustle into bed and make violent love to, right? And that's all...."
"Well," he said, haltingly.
"You're judging by the surface appearance, almost entirely. Jack," she said, in quiet reproof. "I have made a project of letting people see only what I want them to see in me. Does that tell you anything?"
He nodded. "If. may be a reason that I don't feel about that ... that bit of going to bed with you as the only pleasure your friendship offers..." Jack was struggling to know, himself, what it was and what he meant.
"Jack I'll confess to you. I've built a dumb-blonde image for some good reasons. But I have two academic degrees..."
"Y-you have?" he said, mouth falling open.
"Surprise!" she chortled, delightedly. "But dumb, sexy blondes get most of the camera work. I tried to teach, after I got out of school, but the boys and some of the girls made passes at me, if you can believe it . . "
"I can," he nodded vigorously," and I don't blame 'era."
"Jack," she smiled with friendly malice, "one of my majors in college was abnormal psychology. Much of my time was spent working in insane asylums ... fortunately, I knew what turned Sandi's murderer on. So. . . "she spread her hands, smiling.
"Abnormal psychology!" he said, thunderstruck, stumbling to his feet. "Well gosh uh, thanks, Miss Willis. I-I'll be going..."
"'Miss Willis'? " she smiled up at him, putting her hand insinuatingly on his thigh, "I thought we were first-name friends?"
"I guess I got a little out of line," he apologized, feeling his nerves tingle at her touch. "Well, now that you caught a killer, and we've got him in a cage, I-I guess I'll ... well, it's been a pleasure knowing you. . . "
Dede got up and moved close to him, letting the fragrance of her perfume rise as she smiled invitingly up into his face.
"Look," she said, "can we agree, among ourselves, that we've finished with 'police business'? Can we?" she insisted as he hesitated. Then he nodded and a nervous grin touched his lips.
"T-that's fine with me," he said. She turned to walk to the stairs.
"Come with me," she said, softly, over her shoulder. He moved to catch up with her as her hand found his, leading him toward her apartment. Jack's head was pounding with confusion, excitement, desire ... he was conscious, suddenly, that his palms were wet with perspiration.
This was too much ... this beautiful, desirable body had a mind that could talk a dangerous lunatic into submission. As he allowed her to precede him up the stairs, the movement of the firm buttocks, the tawny perfection of her smooth thighs and back made him feel like he was' on a dizzying ride at a carnival. . .
Dede closed the door behind them and gestured toward the sofa. Jack sat down, looking up as Dede stood before him, feet apart, the wonderful bosom thrusting out at him. He swallowed, but let his eyes have their way and she smiled at the hunger in them
"Jack," she said pointedly, eyes dancing, "we've been through a harrowing experience together ... I know how you felt when you lost that madman at the hotel. I also know you were under great restraint and mental anguish, being cooped up with me in a locked hotel room. I know what your feelings are, because, you know what?"
He shook his head.
"Because I feel that way," she said, mischievously, moving a little closer to him.
"Now, Dede. . . "he began. She silenced him wit her finger-tips.
"Let me talk," she smiled. "I'm not in love with you, Jack ... I'm going to marry a boy from my home-town. But, I can't help how my body feels toward you. However, I'm going to be married as soon as my fianc' comes back to Hollywood." Jack's expression tightened.
"That doesn't change what I'm feeling for you, this very moment," she declared. "Look at me, Jack...." He was ... but lifted his eyes to her face on command. Instantly he stiffened with shock. Dede reached behind her, dropping the patches of bikini away, the firm, standing bosoms, pink tips erect with excitement, making his pulses leap in sudden excitement. He made an instinctive gesture toward her but she stopped him with a word.
"No..." she whispered, " ... I want to inflict the most delicious tortures I know on you."
The slim fingers freed the patch of pants which she wore, letting them slide to the floor. Kicking them aside, she stood before his pulsing hulk, a blonde pagan of a goddess, her body moving provocatively from side to side.
"Just one time ... with one man who isn't my husband," she said, eyes veiled, "and that will be it, for me. Never again with anyone but my man ... but for now and for you..." She said no more.
"I I only want it to happen!" Jack gulped, the desire thudding in him until his body felt like a bellows. "I've wanted you ... I've wondered when, if ever, it. . . "
"It'll happen when you get out of your things," she said, softly.
He flung out of his clothing and Dede's eyes sparkled at the huge bulk of him, smilingly letting her veiled eyes take the same paths his had followed on her ... with a lingering exception here and there. Then she stretched out her arms and, mindful of his bulk, he drew her to him gently, bending to capture her soft lips with his. As her hot, curvaceous body moved tightly against him, he gasped and, stooping, lifted her like a doll in his big arms to move into the bedroom. Her lips and tongue inciting him as he moved, her feet kicked in slow contentment through the short journey and she stretched out on the bed, sinuously, as he moved beside her.
Jack felt that such an experience was a once-in-a-lifetime happening, and, no novice at sex, he played it strictly by ear.
And Dede, employing all the tactics her considerable instincts and her extensive study of the subject had supplied her, proceeded to apply the exquisite tortures of titillation and evasion. Yet, as she did so, she made Jack feel her hunger and kept him in hot pursuit.
When, gasping and helpless in the grip of the want which drove them, he covered her enticing body with his great frame, she cried and struggled in delight as her arms tried to hug his big body right into her own skin. Then she tried to escape again but he held her captive as the instincts, as old as life, filled her consciousness with unbearably thrilling sensations. it could only last so long ... and the sudden onset of their peaking desire trapped the two, like a satyr and a nymph, their bodies moving without volition but with blind force which took them into a wonderful maelstrom of bursting emotion and paralyzing delight. . .
When Jack took his leave, Dede was stretched, naked, on her bed, asleep. Her lips were smiling, and the beautiful bosom rose and fell in easy slumber. Pausing, Jack looked back at her, regretfully.
Even .in her sleep, her every line called to the hunger which she had just appeased. A heavy feeling of envy for the man she was to marry settled into his stomach and at that moment, he felt very, very sorry for Jack Jamison...
"I hope you'll always be happy, Dede," he whispered to the unhearing girl, "and ... my, my thanks, gratefully...."
He went back into the other world, already feeling bereft at the absence of the spirit and the substance of Dede Willis. Recognizing that he had contracted a hunger which might never be satisfied, he drove gloomily through the busy Hollywood traffic, his mood subdued, and, somehow fearful as he proceeded out Sunset. . .
CHAPTER FIFTEEN"
Ten days later, an outraged Al stormed into
Dede's apartment She was shocked at his outburst, staring at him open-mouthed as he berated her.
"Maybe I didn't clue you," he was almost shouting, "but this company I work for is run by religious people, and this publicity can kill me!"
"Al..." she tried to stem the flood, but it was no use. " Every paper in the country had this picture splashed across it. Fortunately I haven't talked too much about you and me but, the minute I tell them I want to be married ... and they find out it's a notorious. . . "
"Al," she said, sharply, "I helped capture a dangerous killer. Some people get medals for it."
"That's the job the police are paid to do!" his unreasoning anger flared again. "Alone with this man, stripped to your underwear for hours ... what could anybody think...?"
"Al!" she gasped, shocked.
"And this posing modeling, you call it that you do! Holy Joe, if they ever find out about that, I'm dead ... dead!"
Suddenly, Dede's anger rose to smother her shock.
"I suppose you'd rather I'd been killed," she said, softly.
"Well, hell no, Dede, but..." he fumed.
"Let me say it for you," she said, her calm more intense, now, than his anger, "You're ashamed that you're engaged to me, aren't you?"
"Well, look at it from my standpoint, my superiors, my friends, my associates in the business..."
"Al!" she snapped, her eyes glittering. His mouth closed. "Al, I did something the other day I thought I'd be ashamed of. No ... I don't mean undressing alone with a dangerous lunatic to capture him What I did was to make love with a man ... and enjoy it. Afterward, I wondered. Why did I do it ... if I really loved you?"
"Y-you ... I. Why. . . "
"If I truly loved you, I'd never look at another man, Al. Never! And that's regardless of what all your moral and religious friends think about me. . . "
"You-you damn hussy!" he snarled.
"No I'm a woman a human being, Al. Now, why don't you do this ... just get lost ... vanish ... split. Go back to your business associates and your friends. Marry them if you want, but get out of my sight!" She marched over and flung her apartment door open.
He stormed past her, stopping to look back, his face flushed in rage. He opened his mouth but she cut him off.
"And thank you, Al," she said, sweetly, "for revealing the real you. I almost married a jerk!"
He stamped down the corridor, panting with rage.
Dede darted to her bedroom, hands flying to hair, makeup and to grab purse and sunglasses. "Oh!" she gasped as she ran down the steps heading for a taxi, "I just hope I'm not too late ... I"
* * *
She wasn't ... Jack was just leaving headquarters at the end of his duty tour. His mood was one of depression and he was detached, now, from what was going on around him. Joe Kelly had noticed the change in his partner's mien and, knowingly, kept silent.
Jack looked around, slowly, as he heard a feminine voice call his name, wondering if he'd left something undone in the office ... then he froze in his tracks.
No bigger than life, but smiling and running, full-tilt toward him was Dede! His arms automatically opened to catch her as she flung against him. Her warmth and softness soothed him, instantly he felt them. She was laughing and crying and saying his name, over and over. . .
"Dede!" he gasped, "what is it what's the matter ... V
"Oh, Jack, I'm so glad I f-found you!" she cried.
"Found me?" he said, thunderstruck, "b-but I thought you said. . . "
"Jack, am I a bad girl?" she asked, smiling down from the perch of his circling arms.
"Not in my book," he said heartily.
"But don't you think I did wrong in posing for those off-beat pictures ... and using myself as an undressed decoy...? " Jack restored her to her feet, holding her by the upper arms.
"What is this?" he demanded. "No, I don't think you ought to endanger yourself posing for those kooks ... but capturing that maniac was something wonderful! What. . . ? "
"Would you marry a girl like me?" she asked, lips tremulous and eyes suddenly misting. He grinned, suddenly, not understanding but able to answer the question.
"You name the day!" he said. "Name it and see!"
"I say as soon as possible ... and, please Jack, don't remind me of of that guy I thought I wanted to marry. I'm beginning to think my psychology is a little abnormal...."
"But ... on one condition," Jack said.
"What?" she said, eyes widening, as he led her to his car.
"From now on, you do all your undressed posing for me! You hear?"
"B-but Jack," she faltered, "I didn't know you were a photographer. . . "
"I'll learn." he said, grinning and pulling her to him in the fancied concealment of the car, to kiss her long and hungrily. Dede's tight skirt was hiked almost to her hips as she tried to squeeze the big detective to pieces. A uniformed patrolman, caught the action out of the corner of his eye, but didn't see the license as he moved to peek into the car, then recoiled.
"All right!" he barked, in his best official voice, "now this is no lover's lane, you two..." His mouth fell open and silent as Jack leaned across to grin up at him. "Oh!" he gulped, "ex-excuse me, sir, I-I didn't recognize
"My fault. Pauley, Jack grinned up at him, shoving out his hand. "You can be the first to congratulate me ... I'm the last bachelor on the detective force ... and I'm gonna make it 100% married men!"
"She'll be sorry," the patrolman grinned, taking his hand, "but, con-grat-ulations to you sir!" His eyes were on Dede.
* * *
Many miles north, in a state institution for the criminally insane, an inmate looked out his barred window at the bright, California sky. Through his defective mind, ceaselessly, went the pictures of the one, great ecstasy of his life when, bound and helpless, a beautiful woman had lashed his passion into fulfillment He'd be behind bars until he died, but now and then, he smiled, and revealed the gap between his teeth ...
