Chapter 12
C.C. "Bull" Zelman was sweating. It was a strange sensation for him, as he generally had other people in the spot where they trembled and broke as he, Bull, applied the pressure. He scanned the Times carefully for the past couple of days looking for the code at that damned prick-pusher was supposed to insert. Zelman fretted that the guy probably blew the area with his money. Four hundred bucks down the drain. Bull didn't care about the money so much, but he might have been doing something in the meantime to protect himself.
Bull became real jumpy when he read in the Hempstead "Journal" that the girl with the birthmark had been found by the D.A.'s office. He tore the paper in a rage when he realized that she had given the authorities a rough description of him and had identified the car as a Lincoln Continental.
Just to be on the safe side, Bull had left his Continental in the garage for the last couple of days and was using his wife's Chrysler. He'd told her that the Continental's engine needed work. She'd never know the difference, he figured, and it wouldn't hurt her to stay at home for a while.
Now that the girl with the birthmark had drawn public attention to herself as the witness to a murder, the curly-haired stud would have no trouble locating and identifying her, Bull thought. After all, she probably wore shorts around town a lot of the time and her birthmark would be on display.
It was possible that the man he'd hired in Lynbrook would smell a rat when he learned that the girl Bull had wanted him to find was a murder witness. He might become suspicious, and then again he might not, depending on how smart he was. The guy had impressed Bull as having quite a lot of savvy, so Bull thought that there was a good chance he might put two-and-two together.
Well, Bull would be careful when the man tried to get in touch with him. He would play it as cool as possible. The guy would want the additional four hundred, and a drifter like him probably wouldn't have too much concern for the law. Bull didn't consider the possibility of blackmail.
It was the waiting - the uncertainty of everything - that had gotten Bull down. And that was why, on this particular afternoon, he had left his office early and driven his wife's Chrysler to a certain address the East Sixties.
He needed relaxation. And what better way to relax than to indulge himself in the sort of entertainment which Tammy Chaumelle had to offer?
Tammy was a whore, but an expensive one. A cool hundred bucks was her charge for fucking, sucking, or you name the perversion.
Well. Bull could afford it. And Tammy was worth the money. No doubt about that.
He'd been going to see her off and on for some time - not so often lately, while he'd been carrying on his affair with Valerie Desmond. But now Valerie was dead. Bull tried not to even think about her any more.
Tammy was a worthy substitute hump even though she demanded cash on the line. That was really more honest. Bull thought, than the way Valerie had been-pretending to love him and to fuck for him for himself alone, but at the same time always trying to wheedle money and presents out of him, and finally threatening to go to his wife unless he got a divorce and married her. Valerie had turned out to be a common whore too. Better to fuck an honest whore than a dishonest one, Bull thought.
Tammy received him with open arms.
He got a charge out of just looking at her. Blonde and tall, she had long legs and a terrific set of curves. Especially those tits. He had never seen any to beat hers.
They were big. Big and soft and squeezable.
Bull really liked them.
They had no sooner said hello and completed the monetary arrangement than he said, "Come on now, get that dress off and let's see them." He was that kind of man-right to the point, with no fooling around.
Tammy smiled. "You've missed them, huh C.C.?"
"Have I missed those knockers, baby! Just turn 'em here and I'll show you!"
So she took off her dress. It wasn't much of a dress, really. It was a shift that fit like a sack, but even a sack couldn't do much to conceal the kind of build Tammy had.
Under the sack she wore only a pair of panties. Yellow panties to match the hair on her head. Bull had always suspected that she might be of Swedish descent. One thing for sure-she had the Nordic passion, and the big soft titties of a Swede, too.
"Well?" she said proudly, pushing her knockers out to him.
"Yeah, baby!" he responded, at the moment just teasing himself with the sight of them.
She moved her shoulders expertly and her breasts began a lazy sort of shaking. The brown nipples at then-peaks were flaccid and Bull didn't like that. What good were nipples unless they were sticking up?
"Want me to take your clothes off?" Tammy invited as her big tits came to a shivering rest.
"I'll do it," Bull said. He didn't care to have women fussing over him. Anyway, he knew damned well that his body was no great prize for unveiling.
This one-this Tammy-was smart enough to have pretended it was, if he had let her undress him. She would have oo'd and aahhh'd like a kid with a new toy. But he would have known damned well that she didn't mean any of it. So Bull preferred to get the undressing done by himself.
So he stripped.
Once he had a woman down on a bed, his thick, bull-prick could make her happy, because then he was as good as any other stud.
When he was naked as a bird - although in that state he bore perhaps a greater resemblance to a whale - he moved to Tammy who had arrayed herself for his muscle-bound inspection.
Except that she hadn't yet removed her pants. Experienced call-girl that she was, she knew that there were many men who got a special charge out of taking off a girl's panties.
There was something symbolic about panties, she guessed. Either that or else it was just the feel of them - the silkiness.
Of course, there were some men who didn't like to be bothered. Pants were just pants to them, whether worn by a girl or a man. She had forgotten what Bull's attitude was, so she had kept her panties on.
Bull didn't care much about girls' panties one way or the other. Valerie had never worn them and that had been all right with him. It had been handy, as a matter of fact. When they'd been riding in the car, he could always put his hand on her leg and make her come whenever they came to a long red light just by caressing her clitoris ...
But at a time like this, what was the difference? A pair of panties came off easily enough.
At the moment, Bull was more concerned about Tammy's tits anyway. For the time being, at least. She lifted herself slightly as he ran one thick arm beneath her. That still left his right hand free.
He put it to immediate use.
"Mmmm..." Tammy said.
"You like that, huh?" he asked.
He had no idea that Tammy couldn't have cared less. Like many call-girls, she was a Lesbian in her free time. Men didn't move her at all. But she was an accomplished actress and had never let any of them get wise.
She said, "Oh, yes, C.C.! Tease them some more. I love that!"
So he took them and she shook them. He squeezed them and wobbled them and he plucked at their light brown tips.
Then he began to kiss them. And that was when Bull really took off on a flight to his personal paradise.
There was nothing to Bull's way of thinking, that quite compared to the thrill of caressing round, soft, luscious breasts. There was just something about that topped every other sex kick in the world.
He liked the way they yielded against him. He liked their warmth.
Most of all he liked to peak them with his fingers, then tickle them with his lips. He liked to tease them gently with his teeth.
He'd never wondered very much about this-whether it was "normal" or not, whether it was manly or not, or just why he should enjoy it so much. Bull was not an introspective man. He just knew he liked tits, the bigger the better, and that was that.
Now he was enjoying himself to his heart's content. He squeezed and kissed and bit them gently. Then he took one at a time to his mouth and sucked in as much of the tit he could take.
Tammy pretended she was getting as much out of his playing around with her knockers as he was, and that made Bull feel good, too. So he worked all the stronger.
He stayed with her tits for a very long time - longer than most men would have done - and even when he was finally ready to proceed to a more active expression of his fuck-routine, he wasn't willing to forsake them entirely.
She asked him, "Why don't you take off my clothes C.C.?"
He gave a little snort of impatience, but he ran his fat hands down the length of her back and hooked the elastic band at her waist. He peeled the panties off her ass. Then he said, "you finish it."
He was more interested in her big round titties. As he went to work on them again, now deriving a new and different thrill because they were hanging and shaking freely with every little movement Tammy made, the girl slowly divested herself of her panties, shoving them down first one leg and then the other, and finally working them entirely off.
Now she was as naked as he was.
"Ready now, C.C.?" she asked.
She didn't want to rush him. After all, a hundred dollars entitled a man to all the frigging he wanted to keep him happy.
He grunted and took one hand from her breasts. He angled himself just right and that was her answer.
And then ... he abruptly shoved his big cock completely up her cunt with one brutal thrust.
"Ooh, you're a good one, C.C.," she murmured.
Actually C.C. was a kind of fast bumper. But, then, the quicker they were, the less bothersome the job for Tammy.
Bull watched her breasts and caressed them and kissed them and let her work her twat up and down his thick shaft and do all the work.
It wasn't that Bull was lazy or that he didn't have the energy any more, but this to him was the ideal way, because he had his hands free and Tammy's tits were thus displayed to maximum advantage.
She didn't want the hump-session to last into the night. She had another fuck-date at nine.
Finally Bull shot his load of sperm into her cunt like a skyrocket on the Fourth of July. That was Tammy's cue to go to her own ass-wiggling display of her phony "come". When that was all over, Bull felt that he'd had his money's worth of fucking and tit-feeling.
He was one thoroughly satisfied customer indeed.
And relaxed.
He wasn't worried about a thing.
That condition prevailed until, driving home, he stopped to pick up the early edition of the Times ... just in case.
He turned to the classified section, found the heading marked Personals, and read: Dave-Call me Schuyler Hotel at noon. Request page. Eddie.
Bull, at first elated to see the ad, now frowned. He was cagy, this drifter. He obviously didn't want to let Bull know where he was staying. He was going to be in the hotel's lobby or bar at noon, and he was going to listen for the page on the hotel's public address system. Then he would pick up the house phone and answer it.
Cute.
Only Bull wasn't going to make it that easy for him. Bull would be on hand. There was nothing like a face-to-face meeting to get things ironed out.
The soothing physical therapy which Tammy's luscious tits had given the nervous Bull Zelman began to wear off as he considered all the angles. He wondered if "Eddie" had really been able to spot the girl with the birthmark. Had he been able to guess the real reasons Bull wanted the girl? There was a good probability of that, since the D.A.'s office had let the girl's description leak out to the papers.
The nipples on Tammy's breasts intruded into Bull's mind once again. He loved the way they jutted out, like a pair of large crimson rubies as Tammy swung them across his chest and belly. That gal was real good, he should have kept on fucking her, he thought, and he never would have gotten into this mess over Valerie Desmond.
On second thought, how did he know that the stud hadn't blundered into the hands of the cops? Maybe this Schuyler Hotel deal was some kind of police setup, the stud might have spilled his guts. It would be smarter to stay away from the Schuyler Hotel. He'd follow "Eddie's" directions for the time being and see what developed.