Chapter 13

It was morning.

Marsha set up and yawned. She got up off the floor and walked into the bathroom. When she finished washing, she went back into the bedroom to dress. Terry Scott was sitting up.

"Are you going to have breakfast with me?" she wanted to know, putting on her bra.

"I'm skipping breakfast," Terry said. "I'm going for a dip in the pool."

Marsha stepped into her panties. "Well, enjoy yourself, Terry. I'm too tuckered out to go swimming."

He got off the floor, started for the bathroom. "A good swim will give you more of an appetite."

"No, thank you. I'm going to eat and then sleep."

He stepped into the shower, turned on the cold water to wake him up. Then he shaved. She was gone when he came out.

The pool was deserted.

Terry dived in, swam for awhile, then turned on his back and floated. The sun was on his face and chest. He closed his eyes and felt sleep invading his body.

Suddenly, he heard a splash. He turned on his side and saw Leona Gay's head bobbing on the surface. "Hello," he greeted her.

"I love the water," she said. "It cleans everything away ... almost everything."

"Do you take a swim every morning?"

"Oh, yes. It's a ritual with me."

They swam to the lip of the pool and climbed out. Her short hair had curled into ringlets from the water.

She had on a two-piece suit. She saw Terry admiring her tall, trim body. "There are better shapes floating around," she said. "Do you want to get fixed up for tonight?"

"Oh, no," Terry groaned. He picked up his robe, put it on.

"Are you a fairy?" she asked bluntly. "Right now, I wish I were."

They sat on the beach chairs. "I suppose you met Elvis last night?" she said. "Do you have a cigarette"?

"I met him." Terry fished a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his robe's pocket. "Does he have a last name?" He offered her the pack.

She took a cigarette and he lit it for her.

"I've never heard him called anything but Elvis," she told Terry. "I think he's from Fleetwood. He usually arrives by car."

"How would you like to go for a drive later? he asked.

"Where?"

"To Fleetwood. We'll see what the town's like."

"Gall won't like it."

"He doesn't have to know," Terry said.

"I work for Gall," she reminded him. "How do you know you can trust me?"

"What can I really lose, whether you tell him or not?" Terry reasoned. "So I want to see Fleetwood. He can't shoot me for that."

"He can if he gets into his mind you're a fink."

"I'm just restless. But skip it if you're scared."

"I was just giving you a good piece of advice," she said. "I'll provide you with a car if you're so anxious to go."

"You mean that?"

"Sure. When do you want to go?"

"This afternoon will be fine," Terry said "Meet me in back of the house which the girls use," seat and keep down till we're out of sight from prying sea tand keep down till we're out of sight from prying eyes."

"You're going with me?"

"Yes. What the hell! I have to get away. This place reeks with perversion. I'm stifled."

"All right. This afternoon.

"Around one," she said.

"Want to go for another swim?"

"No. I'm going to my room." She touched his arm with long cool fingers. "So long, Terry, till one." She got up from the beach chair and walked away.

Terry studied the movement of her slim thighs and small buttocks. When she disappeared into the house where she had her room he lay back on the chair and closed his eyes. This time, he fell asleep.

Terry Scott put on a pair of powder blue slacks, a cotton shirt, and his jacket which still had five thousand dollars in the lining. He went to have lunch.

Helen and Marsha saw him, joined him. The girls had on halters and shorts. "They're putting on a special tonight," Helen said. She rubbed her knee against Terry's. "How would you like to go with Marsha and me?"

"A special?" he said, bewildered.

"Yum, yum," Helen said. She forked a piece of fried fish, shoveled it into her mouth. "Two of the girls and two of the guests. They're going to put on a show."

"Don't act naive," Marsha said.

"Sure," I'll go with you girls. If that's what you want." Terry finished his lunch, stood up. "I'll see you girls tonight then."

"Wild," Helen said throatily.

"Crazy," Marsha murmured.

Terry left the restaurant. He walked casually about the grounds, innocently found himself behind one of the smaller houses. There was a Bentley sedan idling, motor running. Terry slipped into the back seat and settled down low.

The car jerked forward, took off.

Leona said. "You're sure nobody saw you?"

"Quite sure."

When they were at a good distance away, she stopped the car and Terry got into the front seat. He lit two cigarettes and gave her one.

"Tell me about yourself," he said.

"There's nothing to tell." She concentrated on her driving. "I'm just an ordinary madam."

"Tell me about the gambling."

She jerked her head at him, her eyes narrowed. "Who've you been talking to?"

"Does it matter?"

She looked straight ahead again. "I suppose it's no secret. Yes, I like to gamble. I get pleasure out of it. Some women have their sex or dope ... or children. I have my gambling. Why are you so interested? Are you trying to reform me?"

"I'm just interested."

"Well, don't be. My private life is my own. I don't interfere with you; you don't interfere with me."

"Sorry."

"We all have some sort of a quirk," she said. "I like to gamble. I'd rather gamble than do anything else."

"Are you sure about that?"

"You're talking about sex, aren't you?" she said. "I'm disgusted with sex. Do you want to know why? Because it's forced on me. Donny Gall, my lover. I have to give in to his demands. And I have to work myself into a frenzy to please him. But I don't get anything out of it. Nothing, not a thing. But I have to pretend or he'll get sore. So I pretend I'm enjoying myself and the bastard is happy. He thinks he's giving me pleasure. He thinks he's a great lover. What a laugh!"

"Is Gall your only lover?" Terry asked.

"Yes," she said bitterly. "I don't have anything to do with those mugs. Oh, they've approached me, all right. But I fend them off. Bad enough have to screw for Gall. But hell, another slob to wrestie with? No, thank you."

"Maybe one of those mugs could change your mind about sex," Terry said. "All you need is the right partner."

"And you may be it, is that the idea?" she sneered.

"I wasn't thinking of myself," Terry said. "I've enough on my hands."

"Oh?" Leona glanced at him. "So you've been busy, is that it? And I was beginning to think you wore panties and a girdle under your pants."

"I'm as human as the next guy," Terry said.

"Who's the girl?"

"That would be telling."

"Can I take a guess?"

"Go ahead," he said.

"Marsha Hale."

"Correct."

"It was an easy guess."

"I know," Terry said. "She was the only girl without an escort for last night."

"How was Marsha?"

"Delicious."

She laughed delightedly. "I'm glad she pleased you. We want satisfied customers."

"Well, I'm more than satisfied. In fact, I'm actually sated. And tonight I'm supposed to witness a special."

"The special was my idea," she said. "Your idea?"

"Of course. I'm die social director. It's my job to keep the boys happy. There's nothing like a special to send them to cloud sixty nine."

"And you watch the special yourself?"

"Sure. Why not?"

"Do they ever excite you?" he wanted to know.

"Sometimes," she said. "And then Gall puts his lob in me and the excitement dies down."

"Then it could be Gall you're disgusted with and not sex," Terry said.

"Perhaps."

"You're missing out on a great deal."

"Am I? She laughed. "I still think you're trying to make me."

"Are you kidding? After Marsha and Helen...." He stopped, realizing he had said too much.

"Helen?" Leona said, interested. "Helen too? My gosh, you must be quite a stud."

"Don't take it out on her," Terry said. "She just had a yen."

"But she spent last night with Lester."

"She went to Lester after a little session with me," Terry said.

"And then you took on Marsha?"

"Well, she was there. And the proximity was too much for me."

"I know," Leona sighed. "You're only human."

"I have to have some sort of interest. You have your gambling and I have...." Terry shrugged his shoulders.

"You think you could cure me of my revulsion for sex?"

"What?" Terry frowned. "Listen, I'm not curing you of anything. Go pick on someone else. Try one of the guards if you're seeking a cure. Leave me out of it."

"What's the matter?" she asked, angrily. "Am I ugly or something?"

"Of course not. You're lovely. But I'm pooped. And I have no wish to be used for experimental purposes."

She started to say something, then changed her mind. She was obviously angry. "We're coming into Fleetwood," she told him. "Take a good look. It isn't very big. We'll be through it in a little while."

"Do you have to do any shopping?"

"I could use a few items," she said. "But I didn't bring any money with me."

"That's all right." He took a twenty dollar bill from his wallet. "Will this be enough?"

She looked at the bill suspiciously. "What's going on?"

"What do you mean?" he asked innocently. "You're trying to get rid of me," she said, accusingly.

"Don't be silly."

"Okay, have it your way." She took the bill. She parked in front of the general store. She slid out from behind the wheel, slammed the door shut, marched into the store.

Terry Scott waited five full pregnant minutes, then got out of the car. He wandered around, till he found the building which housed the Marshals office.

The Marshall's office was on the ground floor in back. There was a partition with a desk and a deputy scowling at something in the paper he was reading. Behind the desk was a door which said: PRIVATE.

The deputy put the paper down, stood up. He was lanky, young, and his hair was the color of straw. "What can I do for you?" he asked.

"I wanted to see the Marshal," Terry said.

The deputy jerked his thumb over his right shoulder. "Just go right in. The Marshall don't believe in bein' formal." The deputy stuck his paper under his arm. "Do me a favor and tell the Marshal I went out to eat." He brushed past Terry. "Haven't eat nothin' since breakfast."

Terry watched the deputy leave the outer office, then lit a cigarette. He opened the door to the Marshal's office.

The Marshal's back was to Terry. He was busy at a filing cabinet. He was a big man. He had on a gray uniform and a Sam Browne belt. There was a holstered gun at his side. He turned slowly, smiling. "I heard your voice outside, talking to my deputy. I recognized it immediately." His hand went to his holster.

The Marshal was the man known as Elvis. The Marshal was the boss of the Den of Iniquity.