Chapter 7
When Cheryl opened her eyes there was a man sitting on the edge of the bed, looking down at her. It took a moment for her to clear her vision. It was the young Black hood who had chloroformed her at the biology lab. She watched him warily.
"How do you feel?" he asked.
She looked at him with no expression. "How do you expect me to feel?"
He nodded. "Yeah," he said. "I guess I see what you mean."
"I suppose you're next," she said bitterly.
"No," he said. "I'm not next. I'm supposed to take you back to where I got you."
She was incredulous. "Do you mean it?" She sat up, not bothering to cover herself.
"I mean it," he said. His eyes flicked quickly over her naked, bobbing breasts, and he licked his lips. "Get dressed." He said it as if it hurt him.
She didn't waste any time. She fumbled into her clothes, which were still scattered across the floor like so many discarded rags.
She was curious to find out where she was, where this horrible place was. But the young hood had other plans.
When she was dressed, he handed her a bulky coat to disguise the disheveled condition of her clothes.
"Turn around," he said.
She looked at him questioningly. He reached into his pocket and brought out a handkerchief. She drew back, remembering that the last time he had brought a handkerchief out of his pocket, he had knocked her out with it.
"It's okay," he said, letting the handkerchief unfurl and hang loosely so she could see it. "It's a blindfold. The boss says you have to wear it."
She hesitated a moment. Was it a trick? She felt helpless enough without being blinded, too. Still, he was holding the blindfold, and he wasn't going to let her out of this place until she consented to wear it. Reluctantly, she turned around.
He tied the blindfold around her head, then took her arm and guided her to the door. She felt sure that they descended two floors before he led her out through another door and helped her into the front seat of a car. Another man--the second thug who had kidnapped her she felt certain-sat beside her.
They drove for a long time-maybe forty-five minutes. At first there were very few other cars. They were obviously out in the country somewhere. Then the sounds of city traffic became apparent. At last, she felt hands untying her blindfold. The car was on the main approach to the campus. It was broad daylight-Cheryl guessed it was the middle of the morning.
The young Black man pulled the car up in front of the dormitory. A few girls were starting off for classes-she didn't know any of them, and for that she was grateful. She didn't want to be seen by anyone she knew-in this condition, with these people.
The Black man turned to her and smiled.
"We're going to be seeing more of each other." he said. "The boss said for you to be ready to go with us again-without the ether next time. And if you have any other ideas-or if you go to the police about this-or tell anybody at all . . . your brother gets killed."
He said it in a flat voice, completely void of emotion. His eyes met hers.
"It's not just jive," he said slowly. "The boss doesn't say things like that unless he means them. Remember, your brother gets it-just like that."
"Just like that," parroted the thickset thug. She looked at the Black man in awe. Could there really be people like this in the world? It was like a crime movie, like a bad dream.
"I'm not going to tell anybody," she said slowly. "But if you think that I'm going to do this again, you're out of your mind."
The Black man grinned and shrugged. "No skin off my nose," he said. "I'm just passing along instructions."
She blinked.
"Go on," he said. "You'd better get out. If anybody wants to know who we are, just say we're discussing an insurance policy with you . . . a life insurance policy." He reached over and opened the door. Cheryl stumbled out of the car, turned and watched it cruise slowly toward the campus gates.
Upstairs, she locked the door to the room right away and sat down on the bed. She sat there for a long time wondering what she was going to do. She couldn't go back again, she couldn't let herself be used so vilely, degraded and humiliated like that again-it would kill her. But what about Bobby? She fumbled in her purse for the phone number he had given her, then dialed it quickly. The phone rang fifteen times without an answer. Cheryl hung up and sat staring blankly into space for a long time.
"Why are you so down in the mouth?" Cheryl looked up from her cup of coffee, which had long since grown cold. There was a man standing over her, grinning like an idiot, grinning like they were the best of friends. She looked at him with as cold and put-off an expression as she could summon, "David Andrews," he said. "Remember."
Then it all came back. He was the man who had saved her from the mugger that night. Her face softened.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I was thinking about something."
"Not anything very nice, I'd venture to guess."
She looked at him abstractly. "No," she said. "I guess not."
"Do you mind if I sit down?"
She hesitated. She really didn't want company -she had to come to some kind of terms with her situation. But, after what he had done for her, she couldn't very well tell him to get lost. She owed him that much. But, she was worried that he thought she owed him more than that. She nodded toward the empty chair across the table.
"Go ahead," she said.
It had been over a week since the nightmare in the mansion with the perverted Frenchmen. She had tried constantly to get in touch with Bobby. If she could only find him, they could work something out. They could leave-they could go away for a while-surely they weren't that important to Frank. But if she left now, she would be risking his life. She had been told to remain available. She had no intention of remaining available, but she had to warn him before she ran. Once he knew, then she wouldn't be responsible for him anymore if he didn't want to come with her. But she couldn't get in touch with him.
So, she had been spending most of the week sitting in the coffee shop, making periodic trips to the pay phone in the corridor outside. She hadn't wanted to hang around the room because she hadn't wanted to take the chance of running into Annie. Annie would know that something was disturbing her-deeply, and she couldn't tell Annie, she couldn't involve the blonde girl in this, too. There were too many people involved already.
"Hey," said David brightly from across the table. "You're drifting off again."
"Am I?" she said vaguely. "I'm afraid I'm not very good company today."
"You're fine for me," he said. "I've been by your dorm trying to ring you half a dozen times in the last week. You weren't home."
"No," she said. "I wasn't. I've been busy."
"Busy with what?" he asked bluntly.
She studied him before answering. "I've had a lot to think about," she said. She was watching him with a deep feeling of distrust, and for the life of her, she couldn't decide whether he deserved it, or whether she was reading something into his manner that wasn't there. She hadn't been able to look at men objectively since that night of torture. Perhaps she had never been able to look at them, but now it was all she could do to be in the company of a man. She knew, somehow, that they weren't all like Frank, like those disgusting Frenchmen, like the two thugs--like the mugger on the street. After all, David hadn't been like that. He had helped her, he had defended her, and he hadn't tried to take advantage of her. But, as she watched him, she found herself expecting him to push his advantage. Maybe all men weren't muggers and rapists, but she was beginning to suspect that down deep they were all animals who carried their minds between their legs.
It was true, David himself had given her no reason-so far-for thinking of him this way. But she couldn't help feeling that all he needed was a chance.
"Okay," he said, raising his hands in mock exasperation. "I won't probe any more. But I think you need to get out and get a little fresh air. Why don't we take a walk-through safe neighborhoods only, of course."
"No thanks," she said. "I'll just stay here."
He smiled. "You're a tough one," he said. "Sticking to your guns all the way. You treat me like I'm out to rob you, and all I want is a little fresh air and some company-and maybe a smile. You look awfully grim."
She looked at him for a moment. She hadn't smiled in so long that she had forgotten what it felt like. There just didn't seem to be anything to smile about these days. It had been an hour since she had tried to call Bobby. She had been three days in this place, only slipping back to the room late at night-after Annie was asleep -then leaving again early in the morning. She couldn't keep this up for much longer-centered around the pay phone, watching the door nervously, expecting every person that entered the room to be one of Frank's goons come to kidnap her for another session of perverted sex. It was one of the reasons why she didn't dare to leave the coffee shop. She felt sure that if they did come, they wouldn't take her away forcibly in a public place. There was always a campus security cop on duty anyway. But she couldn't do this forever.
Suddenly she realized that she was smiling back at David. Was she losing her mind because of lack of sleep, because of the pressure under which she had lived for this past week?
Then she felt the tears in her eyes. She tried to blot them away, but it was a release that could not be held back, it had been building for too long.
"Come on," he said. "Let's go." He pushed his chair back and stood beside her. She let him take her by the arm and guide her from the room. The coffee shop was filling with students coming in for their mid-afternoon break. She didn't think she could stand to sit through another rush hour-sifting the throngs of students with her eyes, trying to pick out someone who might be following her. She didn't want to trust
David-she knew that she shouldn't trust him-but right now, she had no choice. She couldn't go on alone any longer.
The daylight was brilliant enough to hurt Cheryl's eyes. They pushed their way through a clot of students.
"Let's go somewhere away from the campus," she said. "Somewhere where we don't have to look at students.
"My sentiments exactly," he said. "Students are never quite there. They always seem to be passing from one class to another. In fact, the state of being a student itself is a passing thing-a time of preparation. It's a little trying after a while. I like to be around people who are there, who are living their lives-for better or worse, rather than preparing themselves to live it."
She thought about what he had said as they made their way down the walk that split the main quadrangle toward the bustle of the nineteenth street business section. She had never heard him say anything philosophical before, but she had to agree that he had hit the nail on the head. She smiled bitterly to herself. In a short week, she had left the company of students. She was playing it for real now-maybe that's why the freshness, the untested quality of the other students depressed her so. God, she was so tired of sitting in that damned coffee shop, listening to talk about exams and fraternity social events.
The people on Nineteenth Street were more worn looking, tougher and uglier, but she felt comfortable walking among them, to her surprise. After what she had been through, she felt that she had a right to walk with them as equals. There were hookers. She had always looked down on hookers with contempt, but was she any better, after what had happened to her?
David seemed at home on the street too. In fact, many of the passers-by seemed to know him.
"Come on," he said, drawing her into the doorway of a little greasy-spoon cafe. "You look like you need to eat."
With a jolt of surprise, Cheryl realized that she had eaten nothing for the last three days but a couple of tuna fish sandwiches from the snack bar.
The place was deserted. David guided her to a booth in the back, out of the light of the window. He seated himself so that she could face the door. She noticed his consideration with surprise. It was true, she was too paranoid right now to be able to relax with her back to the door. And he had sensed it.
"Now," he said. "Let's try again." He smiled at her across the table, and she had to laugh at him. It was different now-here, in this place. It was good to be someplace new-someplace where she was not known. There was a feeling of safety in that, but now she was ready for any kind of safety she could get.
David ordered hamburgers for both of them. When the order came, Cheryl wolfed hers down without looking up. She was starved-she just hadn't thought about it-her mind had been elsewhere. She found herself beginning to feel more human again. But then she realized that he had done an expert job of thawing her out. And that made her wonder about his motives.
"How about going to a movie with me?" he said, after a long silence.
"No thank you," she said. "I really have to be getting back."
He hesitated. "Look," he said. "I won't pry, anymore. But if you need any help;"
She looked up quickly. Did he know? No, of course not. How could he have known?
"What do you mean?" she asked.
He shrugged. "Anything you want me to mean," he said. "I like you. If I can help you settle your problem-whatever it is-then I want to do it."
"And why would you want to do that?" she asked.
He looked puzzled. "I just told you," he said. "I like you. I like you a lot. Of course I'm white and . . . "
She didn't understand. Then she did, and she laughed. "No," she said. "That's not it. Believe me-if that was all that was wrong."
"What is wrong?"
He eyed her levelly. She met his gaze for a moment, then looked away.
How could she tell him the truth? He would do something about it. He was that kind of man. And, whatever he did, he couldn't win. Not against Frank's kind of power. He had done well against a single mugger. But Frank-whoever he was-was another story entirely. She would be endangering him by telling him, as well as Bobby, and herself.
"No," she said. "I can't."
He paused for a long minute. "All right," he said. "I'll walk you back."
As soon as she was back in her room, alone, Cheryl tried to call her brother. There was no answer. She lay on her bed for an hour, feeling herself sink back into the state of depression that David had managed to pull her out of for an hour or two. She had dozed off when the phone rang.
It was the desk calling.
Bobby was waiting for her in the lobby. He wanted her to hurry.
She ran down the stairs not even bothering to put on a coat.
As soon as she appeared in the lobby, he took her arm and ushered her out. His car was still running. He drove quickly, in the general direction of downtown. His eyes were quickly, and frequently checked the rear-view mirror.
"Where have you been?" she demanded. "I've been trying to get in touch with you all week!"
"I've been busy," he said. "Now listen to me, I'm going to tell you the truth. I know about what they did to you . . . " He turned and glanced at her.
"Bobby, we've got to get out of here . . . let's leave now . . . tonight."
He shook his head tautly. "No."
"But why? They'll never find us."
"That's not the point," he hissed. "If I run out now, I've accomplished nothing. I've wasted everything."
She looked at him in total revulsion. After what had happened to her-all he could think of was his personal fortunes-his money, his slick car, his stylish clothes.
"You're wrong," he said. "You don't understand. I'm a cop."
Cheryl's eyes opened wide in astonishment. "I don't believe you," she said softly.
"I don't blame you," he said, allowing himself just the flicker of an ironic grin.
"Who would have ever thought it?" He paused and fumbled for a cigarette. "But it happens to be true. Frank is a big man in a very big organization. His organization is trying to establish a direct connection with a very big French heroin syndicate. Those boys that you entertained were ambassadors, so to speak. I'm the only one in a position to blow the whole thing apart. But you have to co-operate-for just a little longer."
She closed her eyes; her head was spinning crazily. "Bobby," she said. "Do you have any idea what they did to me?"
He didn't look at her. "Yes," was all he said.
"Do you really?" she insisted.
He hesitated for a long time, choosing his words carefully. "Sis," he said at last. "I saw movies of it."
"You what?" She recoiled in horror at the idea of anybody, much less her brother seeing what they had done to her.
"It was Frank's idea of a fun thing to do," he said. "It was kind of a test."
"What did you do?" she whispered. "Did you laugh and make obscene remarks?"
"Yes," he said. "I did laugh and make obscene remarks. I had to." He turned and looked at her. His eyes were pleading.
"My God," Cheryl groaned. "Oh my God." She felt sick to her stomach. A little vein was fluttering crazily in her temple.
"Cheryl do you have any idea how many people-how many of our people die every year in this city of smack overdose-and how many more might as well be dead?"
She stared before her sightlessly.
"Look around you," he said.
He had turned into Fillmore street-the main drag of the San Francisco ghetto. The streets were filthy with trash. It was a chilly evening and on every corner stood little clots of ragged-looking men. In many of the doorways stood chocolate-skinned girls with very short skirts and stiletto heels-hookers. There was a tenseness about the street scene-everyone looked hungry, on the make. There were conspiratorial little conferences between well-dressed men and the girls who strutted up and down the sidewalk-displaying their bodies like pieces of merchandise.
She looked closer. Most of the men she had taken at first to be elderly bums were really quite young. A few looked as if they might be in their teens-younger even than Cheryl herself. She knew the scene-her family had been lucky enough to move away from it-to free themselves of the continual struggle for survival of streets like this one-but she knew all about it. She had known friends who had died of smack--she had known many more lives ruined, families wrecked. But that was something abstract-something detached from her life. What those beasts had done to her was anything but detached-it was terrifying.
"Bobby," she said, feeling the heat of tears scald her eyes. "Don't make me do it . . . don't make me go back there."
She looked at him beseechingly. His eyes flickered to the rear-view mirror, widened and did a double take.
"Sis," he said in a funny, quiet voice, "I'm afraid it's out of my hands."
She turned around quickly. The silver Mercedes was right behind them. The young black man and the other man-the heavy-set man-were sitting in the front seat. The black man, who was driving grinned casually and waved.
"Okay, now listen," Bobby said-half whispering, as if he were afraid of being overheard from the car behind. "There's not much time. In two blocks, I'm going to pull over to the curb, and you're going to run back and get in the car with them."
Cheryl moaned.
"You have to do it," he said. "Now it's not a question of your civic spirit-it's a question of your life-both our lives. At the first sign that we aren't going along with them-we're both dead. Do you understand?" He reached across and seized her wrist for emphasis-keeping his arm below the level of the front seat. "Do you understand?" he repeated, hissing the words between his teeth.
She nodded. Her teeth were literally chattering. She wasn't sure she could make herself get in that car with those men.
"Now listen," Bobby continued. "It won't be like last time-at least I don't think it will. Those boys were small fry-the big man is in town, and that's what this is all about. He likes black chicks, dig? That's why you were recruited. I don't think he's a sadist-he just likes black chicks. You have to keep him busy for as long as you can. It's very important. I'm not telling you everything. There isn't time, but you have to trust me." She looked at him with fearful eyes. She was chilled to the bone. At least she could have worn a coat. She felt so vulnerable and helpless. What had she done to earn this? All she had wanted was to be a student-to lead a normal life. She hadn't asked for a life like this.
"There's no choice," he said. "If we slip up, then they'll kill us."
"Where . . . where will you be?" she asked.
"I'll be near," he said. "Trust me . . . I know it isn't easy, but it's your only hope-our only hope."
He pulled the car over to the curb with breathtaking suddenness.
"Get out," he said. "Get out and go with them."
She looked at him with pleading, frantic eyes, but this time his face was set. She was so confused-she felt like she was in a dream, where things didn't connect logically. She tried to imagine her brother as a cop, or working for the cops. He had always hated cops. But he had always hated heroin too. He had had friends who had died of it. She didn't know what to do. He leaned over and opened the door. She shivered against the cool night air.
Then she was on the street, and Bobby was pulling away.
She turned and looked at the silver Mercedes. The back door opened. There was a man back there, gesturing for her to get in. It was Frank. Feeling as if she were walking in slow motion, she commanded her body to walk to the car and climb in. Frank slid over and closed the door, and the black driver steered the car back out into the traffic.
"Well, we meet again," Frank said.
She looked at him, unable to disguise the hatred in her eyes. She didn't trust herself to speak, but she couldn't make herself look away from him. He grinned at her obvious non-verbal show of emotion, then glanced quickly over her body, clucking appreciatively.
"Did your brother fill you in?" Frank asked.
She looked away and paused for a moment before nodding.
"It's not going to be like last time," Frank said. "You've earned better than that. But you'd better be good tonight. If you're good tonight, then I should have no more use for you."
She looked at him and saw the lie in his eyes. He saw that she saw, but he just laughed. "Well," he amended. "No immediate use."
She looked him in the eye. She wanted to spit in his smug face, but she didn't.
"All right," Frank continued. "The man's name -for your purposes-is Rene. He might be a little kinky, but I don't think you'll get hurt. Who knows? You might even like it. Those Frenchmen are supposed to know a thing or two."
Cheryl grimaced and Frank laughed and patted her naked thigh where her short skirt had ridden up. She flinched at his touch, but did not draw her legs away. She had to restrain herself from antagonizing him.
He took his hand away and produced a blindfold. He handed it to her, and she put it on without comment. Somehow her hatred of him was so intense that she realized it had gone a long way toward displacing her terror.
So, what could they do to her that would be worse than what they had already done. She could put up with one night with some dirty old man-she wouldn't like it, but she could do it.
A month, even two weeks before she would have died at the very thought. But she had learned a lot about herself in two weeks. At least now she knew what she was doing-and, in a manner of speaking-why she was doing it. It wouldn't be like last time when she hadn't known anything at all, when she had just been snatched out of her normal routine and taken to the incredible, baroque torture chamber. The fear wasn't of the unknown. She thought of Bobby, praying that he could pull off whatever he was trying to do, praying that together they could send Frank and the whole lot of animals that worked for him to prison for a long, long time.
She kept thinking of her hatred for Frank--thinking of him rather than of what was coming. As they drove, he spoke softly, as if he didn't want his words overheard by the two thugs in the front seat.
"Now I'm going to have one of my girls fix you up so you look presentable. Rene likes black girls, as I'm sure you've been told. But he also likes educated, cultured ones, wihch was a bit harder an order to fill. You are to act as if you care about him, at least as if you're anxious to please him. Do you understand ? "
Cheryl forced herself to nod.
"Good. Now you are to do whatever he asks you to-no matter what. Who knows? Maybe he won't be in the mood for sex tonight. Maybe he'll just want to talk about great books." His ironic laugh left no doubt in Cheryl's mind that the prospect of an intellectual evening was remote.
There was no talking for a while. Gradually the traffic sounds of the city receded, and Cheryl knew that they were getting close.