Chapter 3
Ty Grinnell's trim, well-built figure walked towards his office.
His dimpled smile flashed a greeting to two girls in passing, Carol Harper and Lesley Mills. Carol was a very pretty, feminine looking redhead, while Lesley was taller, rangy and sporting a mannish haircut and trousers. They were Lesbians, the pretty Carol was the "femme" and Lesley was the "butch."
At the corner, just standing there, was Margie King. Until last month she had been one of Lil Connor's stable of girls, but Lil had thrown her out for some reason or other. Since then she had been forced to do her own hustling. A floozie-and on the way down. But, she didn't have a bad shape.
He unlocked his office, went inside. While he had been at the door the telephone had been ringing, but it stopped before he reached it. Shrugging, he sat down at his desk. If the call had been important, whoever had tried to reach him would try again. For that matter, he might have missed a number of telephone calls while he had been fucking away at Ellie Cameron's. He really needed a secretary, someone to take his calls-but secretaries were expensive and nosey. Some of his deals were more than a little shady. If he handled everything himself he didn't have to worry about trusting a secretary. There was another consideration. He had a couch. With the proper partner, he could lock the door and have a frigging good time. On a number of occasions, he had. A secretary would have been in the way of his getting laid, unless he fucked the secretary of course.
He leaned back in his chair, put his feet on the desk, and took a few minutes to think of Ellie Cameron. God, what a wonderful piece of ass. She hadn't exactly dragged him to the bed, but she might have. And when she got into hump-action, she was all over the place. She loved to fuck. When you got someone like that, things were great. Beauty was all right, shape was important, the proper environment would help, but above everything else he would put a woman who really loved to fuck. Women like that were rare. Of course you could work a woman up, you could create a sense of passion. It was even fun to do that. But there was much more fun with someone like Ellie. She would dive in, head-first. She wanted all the hot cock you could give-and more. She had even suggested a party-and she meant an orgy. A wide-open frigging brawl. He had suggested Rudy's. That was strong medicine-to venture into Rudy's Rendezvous, but maybe Ellie could take that. In fact, she might fit in perfectly. You had to reach all the way down if you went to Rudy's.
The telephone started ringing again. He answered it-and heard Ellie's voice. "I just wanted to be sure you'd get to the office, safely."
"Sure I made it," Ty answered. And he laughed. "I'm a little worn out."
"When is Hugh going to Hollywood?"
"Next week."
"I'll set up our party."
"Don't forget. And don't forget tomorrow afternoon-get here by two."
"I'll be there," Ty answered.
There was a knock on the door, but before he could answer, the door opened and a woman came in. She was followed by a man. The man was short, stocky. Ty had never seen him when he wasn't scowling. He was scowling now, but he was hanging in the background, behind the woman. The man's name was Bert Kirchers. He was a rent collector. In addition he managed three of the buildings nearby. The woman's name was Connie Hall. She owned the three buildings, and she was worth special attention.
Tall, slender, willowy, and still young, still close to thirty. A beautiful woman even when she looked angry, and she looked angry now. Her skin had a dusky tinge, her eyes were a deep black, she had nicely shaped lips, a straight nose, short-cropped black hair, was wearing tailored tight pants and a snugly fitted blouse. Under the blouse she had two gorgeous knockers. Ty had felt them-but that was as far as he ever got with her.
She sliced her arm through the air. "I got your damned telephone call. Violations of the building code! Who's pushing me this time?"
"It's just one of those things," Ty said easily. "The same thing happened last year, and the year before."
She glared at him, then looked away. "All right, what's it going to cost to settle it. What's the pay-off?"
"Pay-off-I don't know what you mean."
The woman turned to the man behind her. She said, "Bert, wait for me outside or have a cup of coffee at Ernie's. If I talk to this robber alone, maybe I can get somewhere."
The man smirked. "Sure-I can use a cup of coffee."
He swung away, left the room, and after he had closed the door, Connie made a caustic comment.
"What's it going to cost to squash those complaints?"
"Five hundred-at least."
"Five hundred!" she shouted the words.
"It might even be more," Ty said.
She turned slowly to the window, looked through the heavy curtains. A tall, slender woman. Hard, independent. She seemed to know what she wanted in life. She wasn't easy to deal with, but she could have been quite delightful. A moment before it had been difficult for Ty to keep from staring at her tits. Now he had something else to look at-her behind. The way her tight pants emphasized her ass-cheeks made him itchy.
He moved toward her, came up behind her, slid his arm around her waist. He didn't cover her lush tits but his arms were just below them, could brush against them.
"I knew you'd do that," Connie said.
He drew his hands back, raised them to her shoulders, and twisted her around. Then he pulled her into his arms and she didn't fight him off. Sometimes she did. Sometimes she was like a tiger, didn't want him to touch her. On another occasion she would move into his arms and for a time he could do almost anything. Almost ... almost ... He never got her as far as fucking her on the couch. Someday he would.
He found her mouth, a sweet, warm mouth, and her lips were ready for his. He turned her slightly. This was to make it possible for him to feel one of her tits, and that had lost none of its charm. He could feel the thrust of an erect nipple, could feel that even through her brassiere and her blouse. Damn it, he wanted to get there. He did, but there must have been a strain against the material.
"I'll go out and buy one," Ty said. "I'll buy you a dozen."
"Hu-uh. I like this one. Don't tear it. It has buttons."
He didn't need any more invitation than that. He found the buttons, got past them and past her brassiere, pulled it up. Her breasts were golden brown, the nipples erect and hard. It wasn't enough to feel them. He got his head down, tried the nipples with his mouth. Connie laughed at him, then pushed his head away.
"Hey, what's the matter," he growled at her. "I haven't even started."
She laughed again. "I've started getting hot-but I'm going to stop."
"Why!"
"This isn't the place. I don't like to screw in offices."
"I've got an apartment-only a block away."
"Hey, what are you doing?"
It was too clear what she was doing. With a practiced skill she tucked her appetizing tits into their lacy cups, then started buttoning her blouse.
He stepped toward her. "Connie...."
"Next time, maybe. I'll admit I was tempted to sample your cock!"
He took a slow, steadying breath. She had done a good job of cock-teasing him, but some women were like that. They would let you go almost all the way, then they would freeze up, pull away.
She frowned suddenly. "I just wonder ... what are you doing Saturday night?"
He didn't even think. "Nothing important."
"Like to go to a party in the Village?"
"If you're going to be there."
"It's my party. You'll have to bring a woman with you-one who can take plenty."
It occurred to him that Ellie Cameron would be just perfect for an all-out hump shindig.
"You bring a woman, but she goes into the pot," Connie said. "I can't promise who your cock will come out with."
"How about you?"
"I'll be around. You might be lucky. Who knows?"
He pulled her into his arms again-and he really kissed her. She liked that, too. He could sense her reaction, a reawakening of her emotion. She stopped him after a time, stood away, and took a long breath.
"Almost too much of you, Ty. The couch is still tempting."
"I can still lock the door."
"Next time."
"I'll remember that."
"And don't forget Saturday night-at my place-about ten."
"I'll be there."
Ty sat again. In one way he was rather satisfied with respect to Connie Hall. He hadn't made her yet-but he would. He was sure of that. He might even manage to get into her cunt on Saturday night, during the party. Actually, of course, what happened at a party didn't count. In the action of a general hump-brawl, people got so mixed up the scoring was unimportant. What he wanted with Connie was an afternoon alone-or a full evening-no interruptions. She was set up like Ellie a woman made for fucking. But she would be entirely different. That was what made life so damned good-the variety you could find.
It was dark when he left.
He spoke to a dozen people as he headed up the street.
A tall, thin, olive-skinned man was just leaving the drug store. His name was Rudy Estrada. He was an herb doctor. He even had a basement shop where people consulted him.
Ty walked toward him. "Hey, Rudy...."
The man stopped. "Ah, it is Senor Grinnell."
"How are things going?"
"Like everyone else, I could complain. But I keep busy."
"I have a friend from uptown. She would like to see something of our-customs."
"Ah-we shall see. When would she like to ... to explore our customs?"
"Next week ... early in the week."
"Assuredly, Senor," the man nodded. "We will talk again."
He walked on rather briskly. He thought, Maybe I should warn Ellie to be careful, But he knew he wouldn't.
He piled his dishes in the sink, then he heard a knock on the door.
The woman waiting in the hall was tall, slender and shapely. She was wearing a white nylon uniform and at first he didn't even remember her, when she spoke. "Maybe I shouldn't have come, I'm Lorene Tucker."
"The new waitress!" He recognized her now.
"Christy Huggins told me where you lived," she mentioned. "He's the cook."
"Yes, I know Christy," Ty nodded. "Something wrong?"
"If you don't want to be bothered. That is...."
"Come on in, Lorene." He motioned with his arm. "Like a drink?"
"No."
"Ernie's dead."
"How did it happen?"
She looked up at him. "I know how it happened. I know exactly how it happened but I can't tell anyone. "Someone killed him."
"Yes."
"It wasn't you."
"No."
"Where did it happen?"
"In the kitchen."
"Did Christy see what happened?"
"I don't know."
Ty whistled under his breath. This girl was talking about murder.
"Does anyone know about this yet?"
The girl shook her head. "I don't think so."
He scowled at her. "Why can't you go to the police?"
"I just can't."
He shook his head. "That's no excuse-that you can't. Have you run away from someone?"
"In a way."
"What way? Did you run away from a husband?"
"No I don't have any husband-and only one relative-an aunt. But I still can't talk to the police."
"What do you want to do?"
"Hide."
"If you do, if you disappear, the police will scour the town for you. They might even think you are guilty."
"But I'm not, Mr. Grinnell. I'm not the one who killed him."
He could turn the girl over to the police, right now, but that would squeeze him out of the picture.
Or he could hide the girl for a time, then let one of the newspapers find her. If this case built up the way it should, one of the newspapers might shell out quite a chunk of money for her story.
Here was another thing to think about. This girl was afraid of something. If he could find out what it was, he might be able to cash in on that.
And another angle-Lorene was a damned attractive piece of ass. She might be a lot of fun. Right now, of course, she was all worked up over what she had gone through, but a few hours might calm her down.
"Do you have a room somewhere?"
"No. I just got to town this morning. I have a suitcase at the bus station."
"How did you get down here?"
"I looked at the ads in the newspaper, found where a waitress was needed, tried to get there but got lost. There was a sign in Ernie's window. I went in and he hired me. I wish I have never seen his sign. I shouldn't have come here."
"But you should." He motioned vaguely. "I don't know where I'll put you yet, but I'll do something. And you ought to rest. I'm going to insist on that. And I'm going to insist on another thing-a drink."
A frown gathered on her face. "I really don't think I need it. I mean...."
"It's going to relax you," Ty said. "And if I'm any judge, you need it badly."
He hurried to the kitchen, fixed a drink for the girl. This is what HI do, he told himself. I'll get Lorene to the point of telling her whole story-then I'll put her to bed. She'll be a little dopey, then, but who cares about that?
He laughed to himself, picked up the two drinks, and went back to the parlor. She hadn't budged from her chair, was as tense as he had thought, but that wasn't strange. It was a shocking thing to see someone killed.
Her hands were shaking as she lifted the glass to her lips. She took a sip, and then another.
She took another sip, and another, and he could almost see her tensions fading away. Her shoulders sagged a little. She managed a smile. "I never thought I'd like whiskey."
"This is just a light touch," Ty said. "You might need another to completely relax."
"But I shouldn't do that, really. I ought to leave, right now."
"I might be able to keep you here."
"Oh, no. That wouldn't be fair to you."
"Isn't that my problem?"
"I mean, the police will be hunting for me."
"They probably won't come here. Of course, you ought to talk to them. Why can't you?"
She frowned, bit her lips. "I just can't."
"You could tell me. What a client says to her attorney is within the borders of what we call privileged communication. I mean, it's sacred. No one else can make me talk about it. That's why you can tell me."
Lorene hesitated, shook her head. "I don't think I should."
Her words didn't come out clearly. She slurred them, took the rest of the drink and suddenly giggled.
"Hey, you've had enough," Ty said. "How much did you have to eat today?"
"No time feat."
"You mean you've had no dinner?"
"No time to ... no time...."
She stopped speaking, her arms sagged, her head dropped forward. She was deep in the chair and it was high-armed or she would have fallen. As quickly as that she had passed out.
Ty muttered angrily under his breath. He hadn't wanted the girl to pass out. He had given her a good slug of whiskey, but he had expected the whiskey to loosen her tongue. It might have done so, too, if he hadn't given her too much.
He reached out to touch her shoulder. "Hey, wake up!"
She didn't answer, she probably couldn't.
The smart thing to do, of course, was to call the cops. But a man never got a break from the cops. If he called them in, told them her story, they'd probably start grilling him, try to tie him into the case. At any rate they would give him no credit for calling them.
He made sure the door was locked, turned out most of the lights, then picked up Lorene and carried her into the bedroom, dumped her on the bed. Now he was grinning. No matter what else might happen, he would fuck her, for a time. At least, that was worth while. The evening wasn't a total loss. In fact, it might prove to be damned interesting.
He took off her clothes. She wasn't wearing much. It didn't take long to strip her-and she didn't even try to make any protest. She was soundly asleep. He could turn her attractive body any way-she didn't mind. She didn't know what was happening.
Ty undressed himself, then he stood staring at Lorene Tucker. Lying nude, she seemed slimmer than he had expected. Her legs were quite long, her ass didn't bulge out as much as he liked, her chest wasn't high. Her breasts were fairly good, well filled, and the nipples were no mere bumps. They seemed fully developed. He reached out and touched them, and said, "Hell, someone's been there ahead of me-but so what?"
He turned out the ceiling light, leaving only the bedstand lamp lit, then he sprawled out beside her, tried to forget she was asleep. He buffed his hand over her breasts, her nipples. They hardened just as he expected. He laughed softly, nodded. Lorene was still sleeping, but not her body. In just a little time he would wake her up completely, in a very special way....
He smoothed his hand across her tits again. She didn't move, didn't seem aware of what was happening-but then he was just starting. A few more minutes, and he would reach her. He kept his hand where it was, raised his head to her breasts, started kissing them, one then the other, he mauled them with his face, he was even a little rough, but he got no reaction at all from the girl.
A little while later he raised his head, scowled at her, then he spoke to her, "Lorene ... Lorene...."
No answer.
In a sudden flush of anger he slapped her face, then again, and again. Each time he did her head rolled with the blow. She moaned, and said something but her words were too thick to be understood.
He could shove his prick into her cunt, but she wouldn't feel anything, wouldn't respond. She was nothing but a lump of flesh.
His hump-desire was abruptly gone. He got up, spit out a few bits of choice profanity, then went to the kitchen and had a drink. He had another, then another.
With this third drink he returned to the bedroom, stood for a moment looking at Lorene's body. There wasn't much to look at. She couldn't have been compared to Ellie Cameron. He knew she would not compare favorably to Connie. He could easily have named a dozen women whose ass and tits were better. What had been attractive in Lorene had been a sense of freshness, and electric vividness, an untamed charm. Those qualities were living qualities, a part of her conscious awareness. They didn't repose in her sleeping body. It would be nothing to fuck her while she was in a condition like this. He wanted her awake. He wanted to feel her reactions, to enjoy her pussy.
He finished his third drink, put the glass aside, then stretched out on the bed again. He would wait a few hours, he had decided.
Even as he was thinking, he fell asleep....
Connie Hall was thirty-two, a brittle thirty-two, a hard thirty-two, and she knew she sometimes showed it.
She felt she was lucky in three ways. First, her father had left her well off-financially. Second, she was personally attractive. Third, she had made a good marriage. At least it had held up seven years. There had been some rocky periods. Sometimes, she and Dale fought like hell. But they always made up. Why Dale would return to her she would never know. Why she loved Dale was easy to explain. It was his trumpet. That might seem crazy and impossible, but whenever Dale cut loose with his trumpet she would almost fall to pieces. He could really send her.
That was what held her steady. His trumpet, and the way it moved her. You wouldn't think of jazz as something stabilizing, yet in her case it was. Dale Hall wasn't excessively attractive. He could be hard to a woman, unpleasant, cruel. He had never been faithful and never would. But they stayed together, and if their marriage was a patchwork affair and had some seedy sides, it still stood up.
This was part of her background, the framework in which she lived. A woman of thirty-two but very attractive, moderately wealthy, and married. She kept busy painting, looking after her apartment, and now and then she ran into other interests-among them, men. Possibly, she invited them. At least, the way she walked and the way she dressed caught attention. She had a nice body and she didn't hide it.
After she left Ty Grinnell's she had spent half an hour with Bert Kirchers. He was a good building manager, a good rent collector. He was married to a fat, comfortable looking woman, but now and then he got ideas about Connie. He never got very far with her-he never would.
She got rid of him, then she sat at a table in a luncheonette, had a cup of coffee, and wondered why she was sitting here, why she hadn't let Ty go ahead and fuck her.
If she hit the couch with Ty and had gone through a real hump-session, she'd feel fine. Now, she wished she had. He was one of the few men she knew who could get her pussy really worked up-and in almost nothing flat. He had done that this afternoon, in his office, got her cunt all excited. She had been awfully close to agreeing to the screw he wanted. Some perverse impulse had stepped in the way. Someday, of course, she would fuck with him. That was almost inevitable. But it should have been today. She had needed some hot cock. She still needed some hot cock.
She sat at her table in the luncheonette, sipping her coffee, smiling faintly. There were a few others in the restaurant, mostly men.
But not one of the men came to her table.
When she finished her coffee she left the restaurant, glanced around for a taxi but didn't see one. It occurred to her that she might have a better chance at the next corner, and she started that way. Then she stopped, frowned, and took a deep breath. A new thought had crossed her mind. Rudy! Rudy Estrada! It was only a few steps to his shop. She could drop in and see him. If she did it might be morning before she got home, but what of it? Dale was playing around with someone else right now. He might not appear himself until morning.
But something made her hesitate.
Rudy wasn't widely known in New York. Not many people were. But within a certain circle, people were learning about him-and his cellar. Rud's Rendezvous! It wasn't a place where you could just go. It wasn't a place where you could get in by saying that "Joe" sent you. If you had all the money in the world you couldn't buy a way in. You had to be invited-or someone had to take you. If you happened to know Rudy, then you were a special guest. Even then, it was an expensive thing to go there. It cost like hell. Connie was Scotch about money. She didn't like to spend it. But there was another point to think about. You got something rare at Rudy's. You got that easily-nicely. Most likely, that was worth every damned cent.
She walked on, but now in the direction of Rudy's. She was already smiling, already excited by a growing anticipation. She came to his shop. It wasn't very noticeable. There was no lettering on his two front windows. Over his door was an unobtrusive sign, "Sr. Rudy Estrada, Health Foods." She took five steps down to his door, opened it, stepped into a small reception room or parlor. There was a nice smell in the air. It was like perfume. Not overdone, not too powerful, not sickeningly sweet. Pleasant was the word for it-and that suited the room. It was not glaringly bright nor were the comers shadowed. A small carpeted room, nicely furnished, three of the walls draped, the other paneled.
One of the drapes moved, and Rudy entered the room. Tall, slender, suave. He looked no older than when Connie had met him, years ago. His skin had an olive tinge, his eyes were black and so was his hair. His smile couldn't have been better. "Ah, Connie. It is good to see you againg."
She put out her hand. "Hello, Ruby."
"Should I say we have missed you?"
"Of course."
"Then put that in your book-we miss you. Things are not the same with you away. But you look tired."
"I am."
"Possibly a cup of tea?"
"Several cups, Rudy. A full course of treatment-but I must be home by midnight."
The man nodded. "Midnight. That can be done-for a friend."
"It will cost ... "
"We will speak of that later."
"You are too clever," Connie said, frowning. "If you told me the cost, right now, I'd walk out."
"Did I not say we were friends?"
"When money is concerned, friendship doesn't count. I've learned that too well."
He shook his head. "You have grown hard. That is not good. Connie. Come with me."
He turned toward the rear, pulled away the drapes which had covered a door. This led into a long corridor. It was dimly lighted and on either side were doors. These were doors to small rooms. At the end of the corridor was a much larger room where a dozen couples could have been entertained. Weird happenings went on in that larger room, on occasion, but Connie wasn't thinking of that.
Rudy stopped at one of the side doors. He opened it, clicked a light switch, then stepped aside. "I think this will do," he said quietly, "Nikko will be here in a moment."
"Nikko?"
"She is Japanese, fragile as a child. But she is not a child. I think you will like her."
Connie bit her lips. "And then, later on...."
He touched her shoulder. "Do not worry. I believe I know what is necessary."
"You will remember that I must leave by midnight."
"I will remember."
She stepped forward, into the small room, and from the corridor Rudy closed the door. It was a very small room. The lights were low. To one side was a wide, low bed, near it was a stand. Against the back wall was a vanity. There were no chairs. Like the parlor, the walls were velvet draped a deep purple.
Connie sat down on the edge of the bed, then she stretched out on it and she thought, Here I am-again. Last time I came here this saved my life, steadied me, pulled me back from going crazy-but why did I come here today?
That was an annoying question. The only other time she had come here had been after a bitter, break-up fight with Dale. She had been ready to go to pieces. If she hadn't come here she might have done something reckless. In a way she could justify her first trip here. But why was she here tonight? What was her excuse this time? A little while ago Ty Grinnell had aroused her horny sensual nature-but that had happened on other occasions, and she hadn't run to Rudy's.
"Maybe I'm just getting unglued," she said, half under her breath. "I don't need this. I need a good kick in the ass."
She laughed at herself, was still smiling when Nikko came in, bringing her tea.
Nikko was very small, as Rudy had warned. She might have been five feet tall, she might have weighed eighty-five pounds. There was a flower-like quality to her beauty, her cheeks pink, her eyes blue shadowed. Her voice was low, gentle. "I am Nikko. You will have your tea now?"
"Yes now," Connie said.
It would be tea, of course, but it would be a special kind of tea, sweet and bitter, laced with a rare sex-stimulant, and tinged with a jolt of some pep drug. It might even contain a few drops of LSD. Rudy's teas were quite remarkable in their effect.
She sampled it as soon as it was poured-took another sip and then another. A warm tea but not hot, and as she had anticipated, sweet but bitter. She couldn't guess, by taste, what was in it, but she would know after a time, or at least she would know some of the qualities. Her body would tell her.
She finished her drink, but Nikko poured another cup, and stood waiting. She finished the second, then stretched out on the bed, and it was amazing how relaxed she felt, almost at once. The hard knots inside seemed to have vanished. Every tension was gone. She realized, vaguely, that Nikko was undressing her, but she had expected that. She closed her eyes. She rolled one way or the other as Nikko pushed her, then lying on her stomach, nude, she could feel the Japanese girl rubbing her back, kneading it, smoothing out her muscles, rubbing in a scented oil. The girl's hands seemed gentle but firm, kind of strong.
After a time the Japanese girl rolled her over on her back, and began stroking her tits. Connie smiled, and closed her eyes. She gave herself over to the pure sensation of enjoyment. Her body loved this, Nikko's smooth hands roving everywhere, around and around in a slow, sweeping movement, then over and around the slopes of her breasts. A new excitement hit her as Nikko worked the body oil into the skin of her titties. Her nipples hardened, strained to lift themselves higher. She began to move from side to side-she couldn't help it. Somewhere, a fire had started.
Nikko's hands were still on her breasts-or were those Nikko's hands? They had been very gentle. They were still gentle but they seemed much larger, more commanding. Another strange thing Nikko had been wearing a robe but that seemed to have disappeared, and her body seemed to have grown. Now, as she moved closer, close against her, she seemed to have become man-size.
She laughed at herself, at what had happened. There was no mystery to this at all. Nikko had started things, massaging her body, soothing her into a period of quiescence, but then after she had been rolled over on her back, at some point in the process Nikko had backed away and someone else had taken her place. And that was perfect-that was what she wanted-that was why she had come here.
She spoke slowly. "Hello?"
His voice was lower than Nikko's. "Hello, yourself."
"What do I call you?"
"Lars."
"I'm Connie."
"Yes. I know."
"Do I know you?"
"No."
"Should I open my eyes?"
"You can if you wish."
She shook her head, "I feel very floaty, very lazy. It would be an effort to open my eyes. Besides, if I saw you and didn't like you-that would spoil everything."
"Then keep your eyes closed."
"I think I will."
She laughed again. What she had said a moment ago had been very true. She felt floaty. She felt lazy. That was the result of Rudy's tea. She was completely relaxed. She could think as clearly as ever but her mental processes had been slowed down. It was crazy, possibly, not to look at the man who was about to help her, but she felt very good about him, right now. She could idealize him completely-as long as she didn't see him. And it was easy to keep her eyes shut. In fact, she wanted to keep her eyes shut. In the blackness of her imagination she was beginning to see some of the most beautiful colors-a wild riot of colors everywhere.
"I'm going to kiss you," the man said.
"You had better," Connie said. "You had better, before it's too late."
He must have grinned. "That's why I'm here."
He started kissing her, and that was weird, crazy, out of the world, but right through his kissing was a wonderful sunburst of color. She seemed to be caught in a sea of it, streaking colors, exploding colors. The world filled with colors, and against them a man was kissing her, her mouth, her cheeks, her throat, her tits. His hot mouth and tongue were working their way to her cuntlips ... She had been ready for him, minutes ago, ready for this love with color ... She realized, vaguely, that it was the LSD in the tea which had given her the sense of colors-but who cared about that.
A storm was building for her, a storm of color, each emotion a different shade swirling in with the others, mixing up a patchwork painting. She was building the picture, she and a man named Lars. He was vivid, startling-and she was the canvas.
There were all the colors fo the rainbow....
The canvas could be stretched on, and on, and on....
A masterpiece was being created....
She seemed to feel his huge cock penetrating her pussy. Now he was in to the hilt and fucking her with powerful thrusts of his prick....
Don't hurry this-Never-Take all the time in the world Finally, of course, the picture was done. He "came" and she felt a huge quantity of his warm, pleasant sperm shooting into her cunt. She could look back at it. A wonderful picture-one which had been drawn from the resources of her own body. A man had fucked her. Someone named Lars.
She lay on the bed quietly, still remembering the picture. All the colors. The midnight black, the shading purples, the startling blues, the greens, the yellows, the orange, the heavy red fading into a pink. The most glorious colors she could think of, radiant colors, living colors.
Then there was another picture to paint. A man sank down onto the bed beside her, spoke to her. "Hello, Connie."
It wasn't Lars. His voice was deeper, resonant. But she didn't open her eyes to look at him. She didn't want to miss any of the colors she was seeing. She asked, "Who are you?"
"Van."
"Am I going to like you?"
"I think so. We'll see."
His body was warm. His hand was gentle, comforting. His kiss was strong. He stirred the colors and she was watching but for a while she just lay there and let him work. He was babying her, plying her with kisses, her face, her shoulders, her breasts. Then, just as before, the new picture came to life, its colors streaking out in all directions. She felt Van's cock in her cunt.
By this time her twat had started moving. She clenched the man to her, fitted the tempo of her frigging movements to his. The colors now in her mind were all mixed up, flashing in blues, in reds, in greens and in yellow. Warm, glowing colors. She could see nothing else. She was in a pool of color-she and this man who was fucking her. What was his name-Van? She wondered if he could see the colors, too. At least, he was doing very good as a prick-pusher, and he wasn't hurrying her. Of course he wasn't. The painting of a masterpiece took time.
The picture was finally done-and Van had shot his load of sperm into her pussy and left but she held the colors in her mind. LSD colors a dream-but it seemed vivid, real. The dream seemed to have become a part of her. The strange tea Rudy Estrada had prepared for her hadn't disassociated her from the person she was. Her thoughts and her memory hadn't been blocked off. She knew who she was, where she was, and that at midnight she had to go home. But until then....
Again there was a figure on the bed beside her-a man's figure. He was warm, his hands would be gen tie and he would know just what to do. A new man she was sure. Not Lars, not Van....
His voice was gruff, "Hello, Connie,"
She smiled, but didn't open her eyes. "Who are you?"
"Dick."
"Can you see the colors?"
"Yes, I can see them."
"I don't believe it," Connie said. "But I can see them. They have grown very quiet. I want them stirred up."
"I'll stir them up," Dick said, and his hand settled on her breasts. "I'll stir them up, plenty."
He was a little more rough as he fucked her than Lars or Van, but perhaps it was time for that.
She lay where she was, watching the colors come to life, waiting until her cunt was caught in the rhythm of a new picture.
She had no idea how late it was ... his cock was screwing her willing cunt so thrillingly....
She hoped that midnight was hours and hours away....
Lorene Tucker slept on, but at the thin edge of consciousness. Her nerves were too tight to give way to a deep and absorbing sleep. They prodded her now, knifed through the alcoholic haze which had numbed her mind, shook her insistently, invaded her dreams. She remembered, or she seemed to remember a clock in her parent's home-long, long ago. It had chimed the hours. She could hear the sounds now, drumming at her ears.
She stirred restlessly, opened her eyes, stared vaguely at the ceiling. She thought she had heard a clock striking the hours but she wasn't sure of it now. Actually the bell tower from the church around the corner had aroused her.
But she didn't know about the church and at first she couldn't guess where she was. At first, she dozed-and remembered. She didn't want to remember. She wanted to push Jud and Aunt Emily into the past-but they wouldn't stay there.
Of course Jud was dead. He had died in her bed, his head dented from the edge of the flat-iron she had used-and Emily was just down the hall-asleep.
Suppose you were a guest in someone's home. Suppose you were a girl, nineteen, and your host was found in your bed with his head smashed in. How could you explain a thing like that? You could tell the truth-at least you could try, but if you said your host had raped you and fucked you again and again, the judge would have said, Why, again and again? Didn't you enjoy getting fucked at first? Didn't you entice him to your bed? Didn't you kill him out of anger-because he wouldn't get rid of his wife?
So what did you do with your host after you killed him?
How could you protect yourself?
That morning-the next morning, Lorene left Jud under her bed, an old sheet around his head. She didn't go back to bed again. When it was dawn, she went to the kitchen, started the fire, started breakfast. She was supposed to do that anyhow.
At eight, Aunt Emily showed up. She wasn't yet dressed. She was wearing a bathrobe, and she couldn't have looked around her bedroom very carefully, for Jud's clothes were still in sight.
"I suppose Jud's outside, working," she said casually.
"Yes," Lorene answered.
"Did he say what he was going to do this morning?"
"No."
"Strange, but I didn't hear him leave."
"He left early."
Emily frowned. "The coffee's too strong. It's bitter. I wish you would learn to make coffee."
"Yes, ma'am," Lorene said.
"You can straighten up my room."
Lorene turned, left the kitchen, hurried to the bedroom. That gave her a chance to pick up Jud's clothing. And later, when Aunt Emily went down to the creek to look for Jud, she had the chance to get rid of his body.
What do you do with a dead body-a heavy body-with time pressing on you? Lorene could think of only one possibility. The well. It was supposed to be deep. She boosted him into it, head first. There was a hollow splash when he hit the water.
That afternoon, Aunt Emily worried about what had happened to Jud, but she wasn't so worried she couldn't take a nap.
Then, while she was napping, Lorene left, fled to the highway, hitched a ride. The man who picked her up was driving a truck. He was about forty and he seemed very nice but it had been a mistake to take a ride with him. His name was Wayne Boland.
He was her second shadow.
She shook her head, shook it again. She told herself that Wayne Boland was a bad dream-a nightmare. She pushed him out of her mind, looked up at the ceiling again. She was in a room somewhere-on a bed. And someone was on the bed with her. He had suddenly started snoring.
He was entirely nude!
And he was a stranger!
Or was he? His face looked vaguely familiar. A thin, narrow face the lower part of it darkened by the stubble of a beard. He had a thin body, a flat stomach....
She was on this bed with him, as nude as he was. Her breasts were a little tender-as though she had been fucked. But just a little. He might have screwed her, but she doubted it. At least if he had she didn't remember anything about that. She had come here to see him because....
With a sudden burst or realization she remembered Ernie Snyder. Fat, slobbery, his eyes mean and hard. A man who seemed to have six arms and six hands. He wouldn't let her alone. Back there in the kitchen he had started after her-but the back of his head had split open. She could remember Ernie's lunge-could remember the slashing meat cleaver-the splashing blood. She could remember Christy Huggins standing above Ernie. His face had been ugly, bitter. He had saved her, but that wasn't the reason Ernie was dead. Christy had hated the man-she was sure of that. He had killed Ernie, had taken the money-and had fled. She was innocent of Ernie's death. She wasn't running away from him. She was running from the past-from Jud Stebbins and from Wayne Boland, who had died in his truck. She couldn't face a police investigation.
That was why she had come to see Mr. Grinned. He had said he was an attorney. He had offered to help her if she got in trouble. She went to see him, but what had happened then?
A drink-and then this bed! Men, she thought. Men! I hate their cocks! She sat up-and was sorry she had. Her head was throbbing from a hundred hammers pounding at her skull. She was sick. Horribly sick. She wasn't sure she could make it but she had to-had to get to the bathroom or she would have heaved all over the bed. In some way or other, she managed it-got up, found the bathroom.
During the next twenty minutes she tried to heave out her stomach. She did fairly well. But none of this made her feel any better. She was shaky when she walked back to the bedroom. She wanted to collapse right there-on the bed. She could have done that very easify-but she wouldn't. She knew the cost of such a thing. The man would wake up-and he would start at her cunt with his prick ... She could be sick, she could cry, she could fight-but none of those things would help. Tonight, the most gentle man in the world wouldn't have been satisfactory.
Mr. Grinnell was still sleeping.
She let him sleep. She found her clothes, started putting them on, but stopped at her nylon uniform. It was white. It was too noticeable in the darkness. Trousers would be better-or even a light coat. She found a light coat in the closet, tried it on. It was too big, of course, but it would do. She slipped it on, headed for the door.
The time was twelve-forty.
She was carrying her purse when she left Ty Grinnell's apartment. It held no identification, but it did contain a key to a locker at the bus station, where she had left a suitcase. And it held two five dollar bills, and about three dollars in change. The change was from tips. The two five dollar bills came from Ernie.
Ernie Snyder, deceased-his head split open by a cleaver.
Right now, possibly, or at least by morning, the police would have found Ernie's body. They would want to question Christy Huggins. They might be sure he was guilty. He was a Negro which was one strike against him. Ernie had been killed by a cleaver and Christy was his cook-strike two. Christy had fled-strike three and you're out. But if the police didn't get Christy right away, they would look for the waitress Ernie had hired. They would be after her. Somewhere she had to hide.
It was hard to think clearly. It was hard to think at all. Those hammers in her head were still pounding. Her stomach was still churning. Her legs were not steady. It was hard to walk a straight line down the sidewalk. But she had to. It might have been late but the night was still warm, and here and there, people were sitting outside. People who might notice her.
A man stepped out of the shadows, joined her, took her arm. His voice was very pleasant. "Is it possible that I can help you, Senorita?"
She pulled away. "No. I am all right."
"I thought...."
"No!" She snapped the word at him.
The man's voice was still pleasant, cultured. "Ah, you do not know me. Permit me to present myself. I am Senor Rudy Estrada, health foods and diet adviser. This is my shop."
The streets were rocking. She wasn't sure how long she could stand-but she wanted nothing more to do with pleasant appearing men. Jud had been most pleasant. Wayne Boland had seemed quite friendly. Mr. Grinnell, who she had just left had seemed very trustworthy-but it was a nice question which had been most evil, most ugly.
"Ah, this is what I should have done," Rudy said. "Let me call my daughter. If you are in trouble...."
"I ... I just want a room," Lorene said. "If I could."
Rudy raised his voice. "Nikko ... Nikko ... will you come here for a moment?"
A girl appeared from the shadows, walked toward them. She was very small, was wearing a Japanese robe. He seemed oriental, too, and that seemed strange. Rudy Estrada was not a Japanese name. Nor had Rudy sounded like a Japanese.
"Hello, Miss," Nikko said. "You are in trouble?"
She had a delightful accent. She seemed very sweet. And she wasn't a man. That was wonderful.
"I was looking for a room," Lorene said. "I ... that is...."
"You will come with me," Nikko said. "It is a far distance to a hotel which can be trusted. In the morning we will find one."
"In the morning...."
"Yes."
"I can stay here?"
"Yes. We would like you to stay."
"I can pay...."
"We will talk about that in the morning."
Lorene looked around. Rudy seemed to have disappeared in the darkness. At least he was nowhere in sight. She stared down the street. There must have been a hotel not far away, but she couldn't see any lighted signs which said so. And she was getting tired ... terribly tired. If she could just lie down for a time....
"You will come with me," Nikko said. "There is nothing to worry about. I will take care of you."
It was only five steps down to the door level.
It was only two steps to the door.
Nikko helped her.
Rudy Estrada smiled expectantly as Nikko joined him as he squatted on an Oriental rug in the rear of the shop. They sat near a low table where a brazier of perfumed incense was burning before a large brass Buddha.
"What does the merchandise look like, Nikko?"
"She is young, fair and completely unblemished," Nikko replied with a faraway look in her dark eyes. "She has skin as white as the first winter snow. Her titties have the curved, thrusting perfection of Mount Fuji and the nipples are like red, ripe cherries. Her thighs are full and womanly, with buttock cheeks of the most exquisite roundness." Nikko took a deep breath and continued.
"She has a hidden navel, most exciting, and she is a dark, natural blonde."
"Did you fuck her?" Rudy leered.
"No," Nikko replied looking him straight in the eye, "I did not sample the fruit, ripe and tempting though it is. She is in a state of exhaustion and turmoil now. Later when she is rested and relaxed, that will be another story. And I insist on first cunt-rights!"
"We shall see," Rudy said as he watched the blue curls of incense rise in front of the brass Buddha.