Chapter 6

The Joneses had had a hard night. It was always difficult with persons who had all kinds of hang-ups about sex. Zoe had spent much more time with Fred Smith than Ed had with Rose. Rose seemed to adjust faster than her husband.

Then, after the traumatic episode with the Smiths, Zoe had gone back to their apartment and was about to climb in beside Ed's warm body, when the McAns came back, slightly inebriated and ready for a bout of fun and games. The Joneses begged out of it, so the McAns adjourned to the Weirs' cabin, where the partying went on into the wee hours of the morning.

Needless to say, it was to be anticipated that the next day would find nothing but late risers—including the Joneses, who remained in bed nearly an hour and a half later than usual.

Zoe eventually managed to pull her tired body out of bed, and shook Ed into consciousness. No one appeared for breakfast. Ed ate his ham and eggs with his chin resting on his fist, and jabbed at his food with complete disinterest. After he picked his way through the meal, he rationalized there was nothing pressingly important that had to be done that day, so he stretched out on the couch and soon fell asleep.

Zoe valiantly attempted to muster some enthusiasm for her usual chores, but that took much effort. However, before long her mind had begun to dwell on the problem of the Smiths, and she wondered what their reaction would be after their introduction to oral sex.

It was while Zoe was considering the Smiths that she was interrupted by a ringing of the front desk bell. She wiped her hands and went to answer its insistent clanging.

The surly-appearing man in his late twenties had a strangely unkempt appearance. His clothing was wrinkled and his hair unruly. Zoe received bad vibrations from first glance at him, to the point that she felt a reaction of fear move through her, merely upon observation. She tried to be cordial, but something about the person repelled her.

"You run this dump?" the unsavory person questioned from the opposite side of the counter. Only his upper body could be seen by Zoe.

"I do—with my husband. Why?" A smile tried to cross Zoe's lips, but fear kept pushing it away.

"Get him."

"He's asleep."

"Get him, I said!" The coarse, unpleasant voice was insistent.

"Is there some trouble?" Zoe was always quick to respond with concern at the unforeseen.

"There will be if you don't get your husband, bitch!" The man had a built-in sneer, a sarcastic tone to his voice. "I'm not here to play games, cunt."

"You needn't be abusive!" Zoe was indignant "I'll get him."

"Just tell him you've got company."

It took a minute for Ed to fully regain consciousness. He was still groggy as he stumbled toward the lobby with Zoe at his side.

"Yes? Can I help you?" Ed's hair was tousled, he looked half-awake.

"Your name Jones?" The man had a cigarette cough. "Doesn't make any difference if you are or you aren't. How many people you got staying here?"

"Well, I don't think that's any of your business."

The stranger raised his arm, lifting his hand into view. In his hand, he was holding a gun, aiming it directly at Ed Jones. He cocked his head to one side, a sardonic smile twisting his lips. "Isn't it? How many?"

"What do you want?"

"How many, I said?"

Zoe clutched her husband's arm. "There's the McAns—four of them, and the Smiths, just two."

"Six, huh? How much help do you have?"

"Just two, the Weirs." Ed squinted his eyes as he tried to figure the man's game.

"Okay, I want them all out here in ten minutes."

He shook the gun and looked nervous. "My partner's outside. He's armed, too, so don't try anything."

"What do you want?" Zoe measured her words.

"I want everyone that's holed up in this flea trap down here so I can get a good look at them. Now make it snappy." He wiped a stubby hand across his mouth and nervously fumbled for a cigarette. Ed started, pulling Zoe by the arm. "Nope, the broad stays here—just so you don't try any funny business. Get the picture?"

Ed swallowed and slowly released Zoe's arm. "Yeah—I'm beginning to."

"Then get the rest of the goddamn motherfuckers, and make it fast, or you're liable to come up one wife short."

"I never was too tall," Zoe commented dryly as her husband disappeared up the stairs. "It's a family characteristic, I mean a tendency to shortness."

"What're you going on about?"

"Nothing I guess."

"Then dry up the mouth. I can't stand cunts with verbal diarrhea."

Zoe blanched at being called a cunt, but decided not to take issue with it. Instead, she stood and studied the huskily built man before her. His face was round and flat, as if someone had stepped on it, pushing his nose into a turned-up button. His complexion was a pale brownish-yellow, as if he was lacking exposure to the sun and had a liver condition—a prison pallor, Zoe thought. She scanned the Neanderthal shape of his body—a mass of tense nerves and vicious emotions. He was running away from something, or being prodded to do whatever he was up to against his will. His eyes were shifty, slanted and squinty so she could hardly see the pupils. He did not look directly into her face. His arms showed several tattoos, a naked woman, a rose-entwined heart, born to lose scrawled in home drawn letters, and, on the lower parts of his fingers he had fuck written on one and suck written on another. Zoe concluded, among other things, that this creature was sexually frustrated. And, having an active interest in that subject, she gave it more thought and consideration.

"What're ya starin' at, bitch?" He wiped the down-turned corners of his bitter mouth and coughed so convulsively that Zoe wondered if he would ever catch his breath.

"I was just noticing your art gallery. It's always puzzled me why some men distort beautiful skin with all those blue and pink etchings." Zoe smiled and attempted to appear completely at ease.

"Yeah? Well, don't get nosy about my tattoos. I like them!"

"Oh, you needn't be so defensive, I imagine you do." Then she threw him a curve by looking directly at his fingers. "Which do you prefer?"

"Huh?"

"Of the two words you've got tattooed on your hands."

A bitter smile twitched at the man's mouth. "What's it to you?"

"Just curious. I find that some men like one, some prefer the other, and then there are those who dig it all ways." The expression on Zoe's face was so sweet and puritanical that the man was thrown by it.

"I'll bet t' hell you don't know what the words mean."

"Who doesn't?" Zoe leaned on the counter and swept her eyes up and down his body until he became uneasy under her glance.

"What's the matter, don't you get enough from your old man?" He had begun to sweat, then looked anxiously, first to the stairs and then to the front door. "You got a radio around here?"

Now she was certain he had some kind of sex problem. "Yes."

"Well, turn it on, I'm tired of listening to you rattle." Again he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then licked his broad tongue over his heavy lips.

"It's in the apartment."

"Well, get the goddamn thing!"

Ed had attempted to use the phone on the second floor, only to discover that it was dead. Apparently the lines had been cut. He first advised the McAns of the situation, then the Smiths. Several counterplots were considered, but when Fred Smith tried to sneak down the back stairs, a gunshot whistled past his ear. It was then decided they would all go down and see what the invaders wanted.

The husky man held them all at gun point, while Ed went out to the Weirs' cabin. He had no more than knocked than he felt a gun muzzle in his back. He turned to see a tall, thin man with a sharp hatchet face and a cynical expression. His lips twitched and his eyes looked mean. Raspy words came out of the side of his mouth. "No funny shit, man, or I'll pull the hell out'a this trigger and ventilate you like a sieve. Understand?"

"What do you want of us?"

"Shut up, piss-ass bastard!" The man raised his hand as if he were going to strike Ed, however, the door swung open and Steve Weir appeared, clad only in his undershorts.

"Yeah? Problems?"

"Steve, this man has a gun."

"Damn betcha I've got a gun." He jabbed the instrument at Ed. "Who else is in the cabin?"

"My-my wife." Steve, half-awake, forced himself to comprehend what was happening.

"Tell her to get out of there, so we can all go up to the lodge." The man with the gun seemed extremely nervous, his finger trigger-happy.

"She's not dressed."

"I don't give a damn, get her out of there." He chuckled as if at a private joke. "She won't be dressed very long anyway."

"Better do as he says, Steve."

"And don't try anything funny," the man warned, "or this cabin will be lined with three corpses. Now, we don't want t' get messy about this, do we?"

Steve went to get Dot.

"We interrupt this broadcast," the man's voice was saying over the radio in the lobby, "to bring you the latest information on the escaped criminals from Canyon City Prison. They are identified as Charles Schultz and Tom West. Both men are armed and considered extremely dangerous. When last seen they were driving a black 1967 Chevrolet sedan, and headed toward the Wyoming border. Any information leading to the apprehension—"

The husky man, holding the others at gun point, clicked off the radio. Suddenly his expression lit up with a broad smile. He was staring at the radio, then he quickly turned to scan those assembled in the lobby.

"Are you--" Fred Knox looked from the man to the others, then back to the gunman, "are you one of those men just mentioned?"

He smiled out of the side of his mouth. "What if I am?"

"Just curious."

"Yeah, they think we're on our way toward Wyoming," he laughed with self-satisfaction. "Guess Tom and me outsmarted the cocksuckers after all. Tom's smart—got brains. Does that throw a little more scare into you—? Huh? Knowing that we're escaped convicts?"

Zoe was still behind the counter. She ran her finger over the radio knob. "You're Charles Schultz, then?"

"Don't call me Charles, I hate th' name. Call me Chuck. Hey, how'd you know?"

"You said your friend was Tom," Zoe smiled and spoke with even tones, "and that means you'd have to be the other one."

"Yeah-yeah. Okay—okay. No big thing." Chuck Schultz sneered and sniffed his nose.

"What do you intend to do with us?" Roy McAn asked, never one to be the hero.

"Wait'll Tom comes in, you'll see." Chuck motioned with his gun for Zoe to get with the others. "We've been up in Canyon City over five years. Tom longer than that—and we've got some lost time t' make up for."

Ed and the Weirs entered from the front porch, Tom West directly behind them. He ordered them into the room and slammed the door behind them.

"Sounded like a gunshot, didn't it?" Tom snickered. The back stubble of beard gave him an even more sinister expression than Chuck's, whose hair was sandy in color. "Well, there's liable t' be some damn good gunshots going on around here if you miserable sonsabitches don't cooperate."

"What do you want of us?" Ed asked.

"First off," Tom retorted with an evil smile, "I want everyone naked—men and women, both. Start pullin' off your britches and panties."

"Now, just a minute, young man!" Rose Smith objected.

"Yes, indeed," Fred Smith replied, and inadvertently placed his arm around his wife's shoulders. Zoe observed that, and swallowed a smile that quivered her lips.

"I said stripped," Tom yelled, "and I mean everyone bare-ass naked!"