Chapter 7
Cliff was the first to rouse himself. He was already dressed and he had been lying with his face between Sally Parker's trembling legs. He still had his wits about him. He was over at the window in a trice, pulling the curtain back and looking out on the east lawn.
But he couldn't see anything, although he could hear a great deal. It sounded as if there was some sort of commotion going on in front of the house. He could make out shadows cast by persons moving back and forth under the front walk street lamps.
He looked back at Sally. She was still lying there naked, her lovely tanned arm thrown over her face, beads of perspiration broken out all over her magnificent body with its large heaving breasts and elegant contours. Was she afraid to look at him? She had shielded her eyes, and drawn one leg up so that her genitals were partly concealed excepting for the fleecy yellow triangle between her legs.
He went over to her and pulled a sheet up over her gradually recuperating body. He knew how she must feel. Shame, no doubt, because she had allowed herself to be loved by someone other than her husband. She was young, and no doubt faithful. In a way he felt ashamed himself and yet he couldn't have helped himself. Sally was just so beautiful and his devotion to her gorgeousness and perfect proportions had just been too strong.
He sighed and lit a cigarette. What if Viola found out? What if she had come in while Sally was moaning through her orgiastic routine? The thought didn't bear thinking about. He still loved Viola, even though their recent years had not been to happy sexually.
He sighed again. Well, perhaps he'd better go downstairs and find out what the trouble was.
In the second bedroom meanwhile Viola and Randy were getting dressed. The connecting door had been diplomatically shut. They both knew what had happened outside because Viola had climbed off Randy's rapidly deflating penis and gone to the front window in back of the bed. Obviously there had been some sort of collision on the front lawn, under the big oak tree they had brought over from Wilmette. There were about a half dozen motorcyclists rolled up on the lawn, in black leather jackets, apparently gathered over a fallen comrade who might have struck the tree.
The adulterous pair kissed each other briefly, then moved out the bedroom door into the hall. Viola's husband had already gone down. They went downstairs in his wake.
By now Sally had recovered some of her senses after the fantastic brain-shattering climax Cliff had given her with his mouth. She sat up in bed, her enormous breasts heaving, her long blonde hair flaring out in back of her, her nostrils flaring as she panted for breath.
If that was sex, she thought, it was the most wonderful thing in the world. At the same time, however, she was assailed by powerful feelings of humiliation and guilt.
She would see to it, if it took everything she had in her, that no such occurrence would ever happen again. She had been weak and drugged with liquor, but she was in control of herself now. It would never happen again.
But how could she face Cliff and Viola now, with such a terrible thing between them? Somehow their old relationship was forever shattered this night.
Then she remembered Randy and Viola, what they had been doing. Well, she had nothing to feel guilty about with Viola, after all that. But she still felt as if it would be impossible to face Cliff again.
And yet they would have to live with them for years! Next door, forever seeing each other, forever dreading it or awkward about it. Dreadful!
Somehow the whole world seemed to have gotten out of hand. She stretched and swung her nicely-turned legs over the edge of the bed. Then she got up and began picking up her clothes absent-mindedly. By the time she got dressed, Cliff and Randy were already carrying in the injured youth and putting him down on the couch in the living room. A gaggle of motorcyclists were mobbing in through the front door in back of them as they laid him out.
"What's happened?" Sally asked from the top of the stairs, forgetting for the moment her personal tragedy.
"Went head-on into the big tree out front," yelled Cliff. "You'd better come down and give us a hand."
Sally noticed that several of the young men were eyeing her appreciatively and making secret remarks to each other. Instinctively she straightened up so that the points of her bust were more prominent, then she started walking down the stairs. Viola came out of the kitchen beneath her with a big pot of hot water and some towels.
The motorcyclists were in black leather jackets, Levi's and boots. When one of them turned, she saw that Devil's Angels was scrawled across the back of his jacket. For the most part they were unkempt characters with excessively long hair. None of them were clean shaven. They all had a vaguely dirty appearance. It was clear that their jostling in the doorway was making Randy and Clifford excessively uncomfortable. They appeared to be in good spirits, despite the fact that one of their number was laid out on the couch with a nasty bloody crack on the front of his skull. They laughed and joked and kidded each other around while Randy and Cliff and Viola were doing all the work.
"Hey!" said Randy momentarily when one of the boys jostled him. When he looked away again, the boy made a face at him and the other motorcyclists laughed. It was apparent that the whole thing was getting out of hand. Someone would have to take a firm tone with them.
"You boys will have to wait outside," said
Sally as she reached the bottom of the stairs. "Go no, now, shoo."
"Go on, now, shoo," mimicked one of the boys mincingly, dancing around with a finger on his head. His friends laughed appreciatively.
"Go on, you heard my wife," said Randy turning on them. "Outside." He put his hands on the shoulders of two of them, but they just shrugged him off and headed for the bar around him.
"Hey, you got any beer back here?" asked one, opening the small refrigerator back of the bar.
"Get the hell out of there!" yelled Randy, grabbing the boy's collar and whirling him around. But suddenly a new and ominous note entered the situation for another youth, to the side of them, drew a switchblade knife and waved it towards Randy's eyes. He drew back and let go of the other boy.
"Hey, you'd better not touch one of us," said the boy with the knife. "We're the untouchables."
The other boys laughed. There were shouts of "We're the untouchables."
"That's right!" and so on. Randy fell back towards the couch, where Cliff and Viola were kneeling over the stricken boy.
"I think you'd better call the police," Cliff muttered up to Sally. But everyone heard him, and as she moved from the bottom step towards the telephone, one of the youths ripped the telephone savagely out of the wall.
"Hey!"
The boy threw the phone off the floor contemptuously. "You'd better send up smoke signals, straight-head," he said.
The motorcyclists laughed, then they all moved toward the refrigerator and began taking out bottles of beer amid laughs and shouts, and fighting over the bottle openers.
Randy and Cliff and Viola and Sally exchanged glances. Everything was getting out of hand. As for the boy who'd suffered the accident, he was coming to, but the nasty cut across the front of his forehead was not clotting and kept seeping blood. It was keeping them busy just wiping off the excess. Clearly he needed stitches, and he would have to go to a hospital for that.
Cliff stood up and held out his arms. Viola was almost surprised at the air of command in his tone. "All right, you guys, now you've had your fun, but your buddy's gonna die if we don't get him to a hospital."
One youth came over and looked down at the casualty. "Hell," he said, "Fredo's been hurt and worse than that falling off bar room stools." Everybody laughed.
"He's going to die if you don't get him to a hospital," Cliff reiterated firmly.
"Oh screw, let him," retorted one of the boys at the cooler, tossing his long brown hair out of his eyes. He was a skinny lad with a small goatee. "He won't be no great loss."
"In that case we will have to take him to the hospital ourselves," said Cliff. "In which case I will have to ask you all to leave."
A tall, blonde, sullen boy laid himself deeply into one of the big leather armchairs, propping his boots up on a Louis XIV coffee table. "But we like it here," he said morosely, taking a swig of beer.
"That's of no importance. You're going, and now," said Cliff, moving towards him.
Almost immediately at least four switchblade knives made their appearance in the boys' hands. Cliff took a step backward.
"Hey man," said a short redheaded boy with a blonde beard, "let's lay our cards on the table. We like it here. And if you want to get fucking nasty, we're going to pull a fucking Charley Manson on you."
"Yeah," said the blonde boy. "Now, siddown." And with that he whipped from his back pocket a small caliber snub-nosed revolver.
Cliff stepped back. The two couples looked at each other. An entirely new and even more ominous factor had been added to the situation. Knives were something that might be taken in a struggle, but few people had the stomach to struggle with a gun. It only took a strong finger on a light-pull trigger to cause injury. Besides, Randy and Cliff could tell themselves that they had to be careful for the girls' sake as well. They fell back into a cohesive group while the black leather boys helped themselves to the beer and slammed the front door. Now they were really locked in until the gang tired of their little game.
"I'm Tex," said the tall blonde boy, "Tex Villari. Or they just call me the Big Boy. I'm six foot three and I've got a cock to match."
"Watch your tongue!" Cliff flared angrily, but he stepped back as Tex waved the gun again.
"I can see you're going to get dangerous," said Tex, waving his gun. "Tie them up." He pulled the safety back until it clicked. "Now, if you want to give me an argument, mister, I'm going to start shooting. What do you say?"
"You can't get away with this!"
The boys laughed, swilling their beer. The injured boy on the couch opened his eyes and looked around groggily. "Gimme some fuckin' beer," he croaked, and another boy brought him a bottle.
Viola and Sally had gradually edged closer together. They looked significantly at each other. Two motorcycle boys were removing their black leather belts. They approached Cliff and Randy as their companions kept the gun and switchblades at the ready.
"We're just gonna tie you two guys up until we finish our beer," said Tex, shaking a shock of wild blonde hair out of his eyes. He spoke softly and it was clear to Sally that his cool assurance had taken some of the readiness to fight out of Randy and Cliff. The idea being, of course, that if that was all the cycle gang wanted was to swill a little beer and sit for a few minutes, that was nothing to risk death or serious injury over.
"Then we'll go," added Tex, almost as an afterthought, and suddenly Sally wanted to cry out: No, don't believe hint! Because she caught the obscene gleams in the boys' eyes and her suspicions were fully aroused. She didn't trust them at all, no matter what they said.
The two boys with the belts grappled first with Cliff, jerking his arms in back of him and tying his wrists tightly together with a thick leather belt. Then they moved to Randy.
Neither husband resisted, and in a moment their arms were tied snugly behind them. Then all the boys let out a whoop, cuffed them several times about their heads, and dragged them off toward a corner of the living room. Neither Randy nor Cliff said anything as the blows rained down. In another moment they were dumped in a far corner next to each other.
Tex roared with laughter and let the safety on his gun click back again. Then the boys all finished their beer and began fishing around in the refrigerator for more, knocking each other aside in their urgency to get more bottles.
CRASH! A bottle broke against the wall where Tex threw it. He stuck his pistol in his belt and approached the two women, who were now huddled together with their arms around each other's waist. They crouched backward as he approached, towering over them, blonde, beery and dirty in his black leather jacket with its general's stars all over the shoulders and numerous chained pockets. The clump of his big dirty boots across Viola's neat living room floor was enough to make them tremble. What did they want, both girls wondered? What could they expect from these filthy dregs?
"You'd better stay away from us, you bastard," Viola spat suddenly, surprising everybody.
Tex roared with laughter and looked back at the others. "You hear that, men? We've got a cunt here with real balls. She's gonna be plenty good fuckin', huh?"
"You bastards!" Cliff snarled from across the room, drawing a quick series of kicks from virtually all of the boys, and finally a mouthful of raggy gags for himself and Randy. Now the two husband could only watch horrified.
"Well," said Tex quietly, looking back at the two women, shaking up his beer bottle, "I guess that settles it then. We'll just have to fuck the life out of you until you learn to like it. Right?"