Chapter 7

There was just a faint look of disappointment on Mike Hanson's face when Wanda told him of her plans to marry in the spring. Sensing that it was not completely related to his political plans for her, she felt warm in the way a woman is warmed by that kind of sentiment.

"Then you will go ahead with your plan to run for City Council?" he asked after a brief pause.

"Yes, Mike," she answered. "I've discussed this at length with Art and he agrees. I've made a committment and I can't do anything but follow through on it. If I hadn't announced my candidacy publicly, I would withdraw, though."

"Thanks, Wanda," there was open admiration in his tone as he spoke to her. "That's the kind of loyalty I would have expected from you. I suppose though that your days in politics are numbered."

"Oh yes, Mike, very carefully. I'll give it everything I've got for one term. During that term, I'll look around for someone to take my place. At the next election, I'll do everything I can to get him elected and bow out gracefully."

"That's good enough for me," the reporter answered with a sincere smile.

Although Art was the man Wanda loved, it was still good having men like Mike and Sam Gold around. Like she, they were dedicated to the cause of good government for their city and their conversations provided her with the intellectual stimulation she needed.

But while she had enough to keep her mind occupied, she knew Art was even busier. It had been agreed that over the months while she was busy with her campaign, he would start transferring his operation back to the city.

By early spring, with the election over and his business moved, they would be free to relax at last, marry, enjoy a nice long honeymoon and settle down.

Assuming she would be elected, and she didn't doubt it for a minute in spite of the job the machine was doing to beat her, Wanda knew her political career was going to keep her very busy, but she had no intention of letting that interfere with her marriage and honeymoon.

No voter, she assured herself, is ever going to condemn a newly married councillor for taking a honeymoon. The public, she sensed, still loved the Kennedy image and would be all in favor of her taking time out for a honeymoon.

She did draw the line though when Mike and Sam suggested that she announce her engagement before the election. They saw it as a big plus and, considering the dirty pool the machine was shooting, they wanted it as a weapon.

"Sorry, gents," she replied firmly but with a smile. "My personal life remains my own. I'm marrying Art because I love him, not to win votes. Either I win the election on my own merits, or I lose it with a smile."

The argument ended right there. Both men respected her too much to press the point.

When nominations closed, Wanda found that as she expected, Joe Carson, the sitting councillor was her only opponent. In spite of the fact that he had held the seat for eight years and was considered solidly entrenched, she was confident she would beat him in a breeze.

As a good luck token, Art sent her a top notch secretary to run her campaign office for her. He also wanted to finance her campaign, but she drew the line at that.

"This is going to be one of the least expensive campaigns in history, darling," she assured him, "and I want to handle all the cost of it myself."

Understanding as ever, he went along with her. What he didn't tell her though was that he had engaged a couple of pros to go into her ward and spread the word for her.

Although she could have taken time off from the school to do a lot of her campaigning during the daytime, Wanda refused to do it and used her evenings instead.

Saturdays and Sundays, by prior arrangement, were reserved for Art. He flew in almost every Friday night and stayed until Monday morning.

During the weekends, they talked of her campaign, his progress in relocating the business and, more than anything else, their love. Of course, on that subject, they didn't restrict themselves to talk alone. They made beautiful love as often as they wanted and were able.

"You know, darling," she liked to tease him, "for an old man of thirty-five, you're a pretty ardent lover. Aren't you afraid you should ease up a little?"

She knew each such taunt would cost her another spank, but it didn't seem to be such a terribly high price in view of everything.

Both Mike and Sam were more than a little alarmed at her spending her evenings around the poorly lighted streets of the slum area. As for Art, he was more than just alarmed, but there was nothing he could do about it. That was the way Wanda wanted to do it and nothing any of them could say could stop her.

"Think of the things that could happen to you down there," they protested.

"Come off it," she would retort. "Maybe the people down there are poor, but that doesn't make it a jungle. I've had cruder passes made at me at respectable cocktail parties than anything that's happened there. Don't worry so much."

When Art offered to provide a bodyguard for her, she became angry.

"Art, darling, I know you mean well, but cut it out. I'm telling these people I understand them and want to represent them on council. How much respect are they going to have for me if they see I need a bodyguard to walk among them?

"They walk those streets every night, darling and they don't have bodyguards. If protection is needed, then it's up to our police force to provide it for everyone, not just me."

He wanted to continue fighting her, but she left him no room to fight.

Wanda thought of his arguments this particular evening as she walked the broken streets knocking on the doors of broken down houses to talk to broken down people about why they should vote for her.

Her first few calls had provided her with all the information she needed about what she was fighting. People who had liked and respected her suddenly seemed afraid to be seen talking to her.

Old Mrs. Kucherepi was the first to spell it out for her as they talked in the clean kitchen of the walk up flat.

"I think you're good woman, Miss Tupper. I like vote for you, but man say if we do not vote for that man Carson, we get no more welfare money."

"That's a lie, Mrs. Kucherepi," Wanda explained patiently. "In America, no person knows how you vote. You are alone in the voting booth. You mark your ballot, it goes in the box, that's all there is to it. No person can tell who you voted for."

"But he tells me they have a way to know this. He says they will know who I vote for. If I vote wrong, I get no more money. I need the money. I am sick woman. I cannot go to work like I like. I do not care for me, I need this for my Maria. She must have the chance I do not have here in America."

"Believe me, Mrs. Kucherepi, she will have that chance and she will have it even better if you will vote for me. What this man tells you is a lie. You will get your welfare money no matter who you vote for. He cannot know how you vote. It is just a trick to fool you. You must trust me. You must know I would not lie to you."

"Oh, I know you do not lie. They say you are fire because you are a bad woman but I do not believe this. I know you are a very good woman. You are smart and you are honest and good. This I know."

"Then trust me, Mrs. Kucherepi. If I am elected, I will work very hard to have a good school for your Maria and all the other children here. I will have police on the streets at night. I will try to have better houses for you to live in, but I must get the people to vote for me. This man you speak of, he cannot know which way you vote. He is lying to you."

It was hard work, but by the time she finished, Wanda was sure the woman understood and believed her. Not only was she reasonably sure of her vote, but she felt that the woman would talk to her friends and tell them how she felt.

All through the campaign, Wanda knew, she was going to be faced with the same issue. Some of the people wouldn't tell her of the warnings they had received. They would be more difficult. She was going to have to read the fear in their eyes and compensate, for it without letting them know she was aware they were lying to her.

It was a tough, slow process so that instead of just a few minutes, each call took at least a half hour. It meant that she could make less calls each evening, but that those she made were good ones.

Each time she could convince one of these people that the machine was lying, she knew she had one more vote to count on. Still, she knew, it was a matter of time. Was there going to be enough time to talk to all the people she would have to get elected?

Where her original plans had called for having half the ward canvassed with three weeks to go, Wanda discovered to her dismay that she was far short of her target. What it meant was that instead of quitting at nine each evening, she would have to go on until ten or later.

In time, as the election neared, she even pushed beyond that limit and watched for lighted windows on her way home. Each time she found one, she would knock on another door and make another call in search of one or two more votes.

She had been confident in the beginning, now, there was still some confidence left, but not nearly as much as she had felt earlier. All of a sudden there was so much to do and so little time in which to do it.

Wanda had known right from the outset that she should be prepared for dirty pool, but the enormity of what the machine was doing to her had suddenly become overpowering.

Discussing it with Mike and Sam, she found that they had run into the same thing. Their confidence that they could lick it gave her the shot in the arm she needed to carry on the fight.

But now, her thoughts were on something other than the vote count and the machine. For almost an hour, she suddenly realized, the same two boys had been on every street she walked. She wondered why she hadn't noticed it earlier, but it was no time for recrimination, she sensed.

Her car was parked almost three blocks away. Since it was parked right under a street light and in front of a store that would still be open, she would be safe if she could reach it. Before that though, she was going to have to get off this street without letting the two know that she was aware of them.

She thought of them as boys, but on second thought, she guess their age at eighteen or nineteen. They were big and strong looking and she sensed that their motive in lurking against buildings in the semi-darkness had more to do with manhood than boyhood.

Even in the bad light, she knew she should recognize one of them. Somewhere, she had run into him before. The other one, she knew, was a stranger to her in spite of the fact that she knew most of the people in this part of town.

As she walked toward the entrance to the next slum apartment, she noticed that one of them had crossed the street and was just ahead of her. Remaining as casual as she could, she made a quick check and saw that the other was still on the other side of the street.

In spite of her knowledge of this part of the city, Wanda couldn't be sure just what this meant. For one thing, she knew it meant trouble, but she wished she knew exactly how.

A quick look at the building ahead was enough to tell her she had already covered it. She could still go in, she realized, but what then? If they were out to get her, they would be waiting outside for her when she left. The alternative was to phone the police from one of the apartments, but that still didn't promise anything.

For one thing, it would tell someone that she was afraid of the people among whom she worked. For another, it offered no guarantee that the police would come for her. Chief Markey's attitude was clear enough. If he would permit a policeman to come to her rescue, it was also a pretty good bet that the story would be leaked to the papers as soon as it happened.

The next day, they could tell all about how the candidate became nervous while canvassing her own ward and had called on the police to protect her. It wouldn't win her many votes among the people she needed. It would establish her as one of the uptown crowd. That, she knew, was the kind of image she didn't need.

Taking a deep breath, she decided to bluff it out and walk the three blocks to her car. The young man on her side of the street was staring into the window of a pawn shop as she passed him. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that he pretended not to see her at all. That worried her. She knew that in this part of town, young men didn't ignore women. They stared frankly, whistled, made crude suggestions, but the one thing they didn't do was ignore them.

She strained her ears to listen for sounds as she walked past him, but heard nothing. Across the street, she heard and saw his companion as he kept pace with her without pretending to be aware of her at all.

Suddenly, she saw the boy across the street begin to walk very fast. When he reached the intersection, he crossed against the red light, turned and began to walk toward her. This was it, she knew. All she had to do now was figure out what to do about it. She couldn't.

She sensed, rather than heard, that the one behind her was moving closer just as the distance between her and the one in front closed. Wanda thought of making a break for it and running across the street. Taking a quick look, she saw that the other side of the street offered even less refuge than where she was. There was no choice. She was going to have to try to bluff it out and hope they would turn chicken at the last minute.

They had timed it just right so that she met the young man right opposite the entrance to the alley. She held her breath as she waited for him to make the first move. Even then, she told herself, there would be time to shout and try to run for it. If she could raise enough disturbance, there was a better than even chance that they would run for it rather than risk being picked up by a patrolling cop who had heard her scream.

While she was still cheering herself with that thought, Wanda suddenly found herself unable to breathe. Only then did she realize that a strong hand had pressed over her mouth while a body pressed against her from behind. She had gambled and lost and now someone would dictate the price to be paid as a result of her stupidity.

Instantly, with all the precision of a football play, the other one moved in. While she was still trying to grasp the full significance of what was happening, she felt herself being carried down the dark alley by the two young men. The hand still pressed hard over her mouth to ensure that she would not make a sound.

They stopped then and one of the boys bumped against the door of the warehouse. It swung open and she was carried inside into pitch blackness. There was a flurry of activity and in a moment, she felt a rag being wrapped tightly around her eyes.

In her heart, Wanda cried out for Art to save her from what was ahead, but she knew it was a futile cry. He had offered her protection, but she had refused it. Now, she knew, she was going to pay a price for that gesture of independence.

Even through the blindfold, Wanda could see that a light had been turned on. She heard their voices for the first time then. They were the voices of men and they were contained in the bodies of men even though their years said they were just boys.

"We got us a real doll, buddy boy," she heard one of the voices exclaim.

"I told you so," the other answered. "This is the lady social worker. She likes to do nice things for people, let's give her a chance to do nice things for us."

There seemed to be complete agreement on that point. She drew a deep breath and hoped she would be able to keep her mind under control. Resigning herself to the fact that it was going to be rough, Wanda told herself that the big thing was to make sure she stayed alive.

Wanda felt the hands on her then and gritted her teeth to protect against crying out. The gag wouldn't permit her to make much sound, but she sensed that any gesture of protest would only serve to inspire them to be even rougher.

Their tastes seemed to differ since one grasped the front of her dress with both hands and rubbed her roughly while the other worked much lower.

She could feel herself being pulled down and guessed that they had a mattress there to serve as a playground for their crude tastes. While one still played with her through her dress and bra, the other had already slipped both his hands under her dress and was amusing himself roughly with what he found there.

"Hey," one voice called, "we got lots of time. Let's slow down and take some of these clothes off her so we can see what she got."

"Whaddya mean, some of them?" the other answered with a laugh. "Let's take them all off and let her give us a real show. I bet an old maid like this one would get a kick out of that. I bet she don't got any young guys to make her feel good."

As they enjoyed their laugh, they began working at her clothes. In a minute, her dress and half slip had been removed and she felt rough hands pawing at her through the bra and panties.

She guessed they liked what they saw because they were in no hurry to finish undressing her. Their probing became painfully intimate, but she refused to show resistance as they turned and twisted her to add to their fun.

When she felt two hands fumbling with the catch of her bra, Wanda knew they were tiring of fondling her and were moving on to the main event. Seconds later, the bra fell away, was pulled off her arms and she felt all four hands fumbling with what had been bared.

They pulled her back down on the mattress then and while one toyed with her breasts, the other turned his attention to her panties. Considering the fact that she made no effort to fight them, they were rough, a lot rougher than they needed to be. A few times, Wanda wanted to cry out, but even if the gag had permitted it, she knew it would be the wrong thing to do.

In a little while, she felt herself being dragged across the body of one of them and felt her panties being taken down. Their silence told her that all eyes were being focused on her body as they bared it.

There was even more intimate fondling of her nude body then. While one of them laughed as if it were the funniest thing he had ever seen, the other parted her thighs and began to kiss her in a different way.

In spite of her fears, Wanda was able to think of what they were missing. Surely, she thought, they had girl friends who would love to have them do this to them. Instead, they had to do it this way, by force.

Without being able to see, she sensed that the other boy was pulling him away from her. She had already heard the sound of a zipper and guessed that one of them was becoming overly anxious to advance from the playing stage to the real objective of the game.

A moment later, she felt her body being raised and found herself kneeling on her hands and knees. She knew her bottom was arched and defenseless.

Almost immediately, she felt a pair of hands around her waist and felt a nude body press against her from behind. It was going to be done this way, she thought. Strangely, that seemed better somehow than having him lying on her body even though she couldn't understand just why she felt that way.

She felt one of them probing her, heard them exchange crude comments in the crudest possible terms and knew this was it.

There was a quick flash of pain as he took her then and she cried out in spite of herself. Wanda knew that while it seemed loud to her, the gag had muffled her gasp of pain so that it was barely audible, if even that.

The one behind her had adjusted everything to his satisfaction now and while his hands held her, his body rocked and slammed against her as she tried to brace herself to keep from falling.

When she felt activity below her, Wanda wondered what was happening next. A little later, she found out. The other boy was obviously lying below so that his mouth and hands could reach up to claim her breasts which hung pendulously in their nudity.

Although all of her face was covered by the cloth which served as both blindfold and gag, she pressed her eyes tightly closed as if she could shut out some of the ugliness.

A new feeling deep in her body told her that the one behind her had finished. She felt him shivering against her for a minute before he finally drew away with obvious reluctance.

At the same moment, the other gave up his hold of her and hurried around behind her to take the place of the other. This time, she was pushed down onto her back on the mattress.

His hands were rough and urgent as he pried her legs apart and slipped his body between her thighs. The roughness of jeans told her that he hadn't bothered taking them down and was going to go ahead that way.

In a minute, she felt herself being claimed again with the same unfeeling roughness the other had shown. As the hard, muscular body bounced up and down on her, his hands returned to her breasts and played with the same brutal touch they had shown earlier.

After a while, it ended. She heard his sigh of contentment and hoped her ordeal was over.

Wanda heard their conversation then and shuddered as she realized they were discussing whether or not they should kill her. One seemed all for it, the other was opposed. In time, they decided it would be safer to just take her clothes and leave her there.

"By the time she gets that blindfold off and gets out of here in her bare skin, we can be home and in bed. Nobody can pin it on us."

"I dunno," the other wavered, "I'd still like to stick my knife in that nice smooth skin. That way, we could be sure she'll never talk."

"Don't be such a dope," the other snapped. "Let's let her go. This way, she may come back again some other night and we can give her the same big treat all over again. I'll bet she liked it so much, she'll be back for more."

For a minute or so, there was a flurry of activity then all was quite still. She heard a door close and knew she was alone. Tiredly, she worked at the knots of the cloth over her face. In time it fell away and she blinked as she looked into the bright light of the naked bulb.

Wanda felt dirty and terribly tired, but she knew she had to get up and start moving. As they had said, they took her clothes so that she was going to have to leave wearing only her garter belt and nylons. When she found her shoes, that helped. To her surprise, she even found her purse lying just off the mattress. It was open and the money, as she guessed, was gone. Still, her car keys and all her papers were there. That, she told herself, is something I should be thankful for after all this.

She took a minute to look around the room in search of anything she could throw over herself to cover her nudity. There was nothing. Near the door, she found an old trench coat hanging on a nail.

Just as she reached for it, she saw the cobwebs and a fat spider snoozing among them. That was enough to convince her that she would rather make her break for freedom in the nude than pull that coat on.

Pushing the door open, she saw that the alley was deserted. She stepped out quickly and pulled the door closed behind her. As she reached the street, Wanda peered around the edge of the building and saw two men coming along the side walk toward her. She scurried back into the alley and pressed herself against the rough wall of the warehouse.

As she waited for them to pass, she considered what would happen if they looked into the alley and saw her. It was more than she cared to consider, but her mind refused to turn off so that she had to consider the ugly possibility until she saw them walk past.

The next time she looked out, she saw that the sidewalk was empty. Her car was just a block away now. With luck, she assured herself, she could make it before anyone saw her. Before leaving the alley, she pulled her keys out of her purse and broke into a run then.

The key refused to cooperate for a few seconds, then it gave in and the lock opened. She threw herself into the car and slammed the door shut behind her. It wasn't surprising that she took the trouble to lock herself in.

The trench coat she had left on the back seat looked very good to her then. Reaching over the seat, she picked it up, slipped it on and buttoned it all the way.

Kicking the car to life then, she drove home. It had been a very bad night, but it was over now, she told herself.

In reality, she wondered if it would ever be over, if she would ever be able to forget it.