Chapter 6
HE FOUND THAT LITTLE OR NOTHING WAS really happening around town that night although he went to several bars and looked for women. The only ones he saw worth bothering with seemed to be already tied up with someone else. He had quite a few drinks and finally returned to his apartment in disgust. He undressed, took a shower and went to bed. He tried to sleep, but sleep was not forthcoming, so he got a book and read for nearly two hours. Feeling a bit sleepy then, he turned off the bed-lamp and lay on his side. After a time he fell asleep.
He had no idea of how long he slept, but when his eyes fluttered open he felt he wasn't alone in the room. He started to switch on the light but then changed his mind.
He lay there breathing evenly and straining his ears to hear any sound. He felt something touch him and straightened up quickly. "Who's there?" he barked, and turned on the light. A black cat was sitting on the foot of his bed peering at him. "For Pete's sake," he muttered, "where did you come from, cat?"
He got out of bed, picked up the cat and carried it into the front room. His outer door stood ajar and he wondered about this. Had he forgotten to lock the door again? He tried to remember if he had or not, but wasn't certain one way or the other. A few drinks too many made a guy forgetful. He carried the cat into the hall and put it down. "Scat," he said, hoping it would make the animal run away from his door, but the cat stood there looking up at him. "Beat it, cat," he growled. Glancing down the hall, he saw that' Sandra's door was also standing ajar. The cat might be hers. "The hell with it," he muttered. "She can find her own cat." He reentered his place and started to close the door.
"Pete," she called to him. He opened the door and saw her.
"Hi, Sandy," he said shortly. "That your cat?"
She was picking the cat up as he spoke. "Yes. He's a bad boy, ran away."
"Your cat is pretty clever about opening doors," he said evenly as he looked at her. She was wearing a shortie nightdress and was in her bare feet. She looked sexy and pretty, her dark hair hanging down around her bare shoulders. The nightdress was cut out in front, obviously to make the wearer look more desirable. The effect was good. Pete decided it worked-she did look desirable. Her skin was flawless and firm-looking. It had just the right shade of tan to it; it wasn't overly tanned the way some women allowed their skin to become during the summer months.
She didn't reply to his remark but changed the subject. "Pete, Harry is out of town tonight. Want to come in and have a few drinks with me? I'm--I'm quite lonely."
Pete looked at her luscious breasts; he could see them through the thin nightdress and it did something nice to him. He grinned. "Tell me something. How in hell do you manage to unlock my door? You got a key to it?"
"Of course not. I didn't unlock your door." She bit her lips. "Want to come in and have a drink?"
"Why not," he said, throwing caution to the winds. Hell, he had made love to her before, why not do it again? "Lead the way."
She smiled happily and they entered her place. She put the cat down and then startled him by saying, "That man who came to see you, the one I asked you about-he is my stepfather."
"George? Oh, I remember now. Your stepfather's name was George. What...? " He stopped.
"He's the man who forced me to marry Harry."
"What do you mean he forced you to marry Harry?"
"My stepfather got me pregnant when I was seventeen. To keep himself out of trouble he forced me to sleep with Harry. Harry had enough manhood then to...make love to me a few times. Then, my stepfather accused Harry of making me pregnant. Told Harry he had to marry me. Harry didn't want to, but he was frightened, so he did. The baby came, but it was stillborn. I-"
Obviously, she was looking for sympathy. He didn't give her any. "Seventeen-year-old girls who let their stepfathers lay them are bound to get caught up sooner or later," he said flatly.
Pier eyes flashed momentarily, but he could see she was struggling not to make a sharp retort, which pleased him. Possibly, this meant she-wasn't as ill as she had been; he-was fairly certain that two weeks before she would have become angry at him for his remark. He wouldn't have blamed her if she had; it was not his place to make cracks about her for what she had done. He had said the thing to find out what her reaction would be.
"We all make mistakes, Pete," she said calmly.
"Sure. I know that. I just made one."
She shrugged. "That's okay. I had it coming. I was a damned fool when I was a teen-ager. All I could think of was getting made."
You haven't changed much, was his thought. "You're no different from anyone else. That's all most people think about these days. Nothing wrong with that. Sex is great fun. It's more than fun, it's a necessity. What the hell am I making a speech for?" he added, grinning.
"I like to hear you talk, Pete. You're smart."
He shook his head. "No, you're wrong. I'm not very smart. I'm just a guy."
"But a very nice guy."
"Thanks, but tell me something. How come your stepfather is here in Flint at the same time you are?"
"He owns a lot of auto stock, or something. This is an auto town, isn't it?"
"How come you and your husband moved here?"
"Similar reason. Harry has certain business interests here."
He hesitated at asking the next question, but did so. "Your mother. Where is she?"
Sandra moved away from him. "She's dead. A year ago."
He went to her and turned her about, placing his hands on her bare shoulders. "Your tone sounded odd when you said that. Why?"
She looked away from him, then straight into his eyes. "Because I think George killed her."
"What do you mean? Murdered her?"
"Not in a way that could be proved. He let her drive the car on a mountain road knowing the brakes were no good. I think he did it intentionally, but I could never prove it. He had...another woman on the string, girl named Jeanie Price."
Pete nodded. "I've...met her."
"My stepfather is a first class louse. He'd do anything to get what he wants. He had no regard for anything or anybody except himself. I hate him."
"I don't blame you."
"Let's not talk about him, Pete. Let's just have some fun."
"You said you had a bottle? Where is it?" Pete pulled his pajama bottoms up a bit; they seemed to want to fall down on his legs.
She evidently saw this for she smiled. "Let 'em fall, Pete. I like seeing you in the nude."
He laughed. "I never saw any girl like you before. You say what you think, don't you?"
She got a bottle and handed it to him. "I just say what I feel like saying. Can't help it, Pete. I'm oversexed, I guess, and it makes me talk this way."
"I like women who are oversexed, if there is such a thing."
"Do you like me?"
"Y-yes."
"You aren't sure, though, are you."
"I like you, Sandy." Damn it, why had he said that?
"Please take a drink of that stuff and give it to me. I feel like getting high with you. Do you mind?"
Pete drank from the bottle and handed it back to her. "I don't mind," he said, smiling.
She drank, too, and put the bottle down. "You know what I'd like to do, Pete?"
He thought he did but wanted to hear her say it. "No. What?"
"What I did to you before."
"You really liked that, didn't you?"
"It made me awfully hot...for a long time afterward."
"Wouldn't you rather take me in the regular manner?"
"Oh, I like that, too. Don't misunderstand me. I love it any way I can get it. I told you. I'm oversexed."
Pete sat down on the sofa and studied her trim, sexy body. She saw him doing this and giggled, then began to move her hips about in a seductive manner. "Hey," he said. "Bring that body over here. You're too far away from me."
She ran to him eagerly and sat on his lap. She kissed his mouth hungrily, wetly, but pulled away from him a moment later. "I'd better lock the door."
"Thought you said your husband was out of town."
She didn't look at him directly. "I did say so...and he is out of town."
Pete became somewhat suspicious. "Are you sure of that?"
She locked the door, then came back and sat on his lap. "Of course I'm sure, Pete. He's gone to Cleveland."
He placed his arms about her and squeezed her body. She was warm and soft and smelled nice. She kissed him again and this time he held her there until he was almost out of breath.
"You know how to kiss," he remarked, grinning.
"Does it make you hard when I kiss you that way?" she asked eagerly, her eyes filled with lust. "Yes. Very much so."
"May I see."
"Help yourself."
She snaked her hand inside his pajamas and pulled his prick out. He was very rigid and she shivered when she touched him. In fact, he shivered, too, but it was an enjoyable shiver. "I don't care what you do to me," she murmured, "but you drive me crazy."
"Ditto," he said tensely. It was true; she did drive him damned near crazy.
She surprised and disappointed him by releasing her grasp on him. She got off his lap and walked out of the room. "Be back in a minute," she said, just before leaving and without looking at him. She returned after a few moments with a yardstick in her hands. Coming close to him, she pulled down her shorties and handed him the yardstick.
"Whip me, please," she begged. "Hit me with the stick."
Pete was dumfounded. "What did you say?"
She frowned. "I said, beat me with the stick. I want you to beat me."
Angrily he broke the yardstick in two and threw it to the floor. Getting to his feet, he gave her a hard slap on the buttocks and walked to the door and unlocked it.
"Pete...where are you going?"
"I'm going to bed," he said, filled with disgust at her. "If you want to play the game of weirdoes find yourself someone else. That's not for me."
"But I need it."
"Whip yourself then. I won't do it." He opened the door.
"Pete," she cried. "Don't be like that. It's just my way of telling you I want you to be my master."
"Sorry, riot interested. Good night, baby."
"Why you insufferable louse! Who do you think you are, you sanctimonious bastard?"
"I don't know, but I'm not sanctimonious," he said quietly. "Neither am I a weirdo."
He stalked from the room, slamming the door after him. Going back to his place, he locked the door securely and went to bed. He didn't waken until somewhat later and he did so with the feeling that he wasn't alone again. He couldn't hear or see anything-the room was dark, of course-but he could sense someone's presence.
"All right, Sandy," he said sleepily. "I know you're here. How did you get in this time?" He reached up for the light but couldn't turn it on. At the same time he heard running footsteps. "Come back here," he yelled at her, though he couldn't see her. The footsteps stopped in the other room. "Sandy," he yelled. "It's okay, come back." He tried the light again but found the bulb missing from it. He swore. Getting out of bed, he bumped his way into the front room, almost knocking over the bed stand. "Hey," he called in the darkness. "Turn on the light."
The door flew open and a figure disappeared into the hallway. This took him so much by surprise that he didn't see the figure clearly. However, it didn't look like Sandra. His heart thumping hard, he ran to the door and yanked it open. There was no one in the hall. He swore again and returned to his bed. This time he didn't go to sleep for more than an hour. When he again wakened it was bright in the room and he got up and shaved and showered. He started to get dressed when it dawned on him he didn't have to go to work today because the painters were doing the offices.
He sighed a bit and put his pajamas back on. "I'm getting forgetful," he muttered. "Too much has been going on lately."
The first thing he happened to notice in the front room was a cigarette butt in a certain ash tray. The reason he noticed it was that he never used this ash tray. It was a curio and not intended to hold ashes. Frowning, he picked up the butt and looked at it.
It wasn't the brand of cigarettes that Sandra smoked, when she smoked, which wasn't often. He examined the cigarette and saw it was an English brand. Still frowning, he put it in his pajama pocket. Someone he did not know had been in his place, apparently. He knew of no one who smoked English cigarettes.
A shot-in-the-dark thought occurred to him. It was preposterous, perhaps, but he had to check it. He put on a robe and walked across the hall and knocked on Sandra's door. The door came open and he saw Harry March standing there.
"Good morning," Pete said. "I seem to be out of cigarettes. Wonder if I could ass one off you?"
Harry March didn't change expression, didn't speak, but pulled out a pack and Pete took out one cigarette. "Thanks," he said. "Appreciate it."
He turned and walked back inside his apartment and examined the cigarette. It was identical with the one he had found in the ash tray.