Chapter 10

"Now take it easy, lady," the policeman said soothingly. "Just tell us the story from the beginning. And try not to blubber."

Rene took a deep breath to control her sobbing. She wanted to tell it properly so that the officer would understand. He seemed rather cold and disinterested, as though he ran into this sort of thing every day.

Well, maybe he did. But it wasn't an everyday occurrence to her.

"My roommate's been missing for three days," she said.

"And her name is Dale Anders and she lives with you at the Coronado Apartments?"

"That's right. Oh, you've got to find her, officer!"

Lt. Dave Jones took notes, filling in a sheet on his desk.

"Well, Miss Clark, how do you know she hasn't gone off camping with some friends for a few days?"

"Well, I told you, Dale's not like that. She wouldn't go off and leave without leaving a note."

Jones tapped with his pencil. "You two girls are models aren't you?"

"I told you that."

"What kind of models? I mean, who are some of the guys you work for?"

"Why, what difference does that make?"

"If you want us to find your friend, you'll have to give us all the information you can."

"If you must know, Dale and I do figure modeling. Is there anything wrong with that?" Rene asked defiantly.

Jones shrugged and glanced at his partner, young, handsome Rocky Raven. "Nothing wrong about it at all. But just who do you work for? Give us some names?"

"Look!" Rene jumped to her feet, her eyes flaring with fire. "I know what you fellows think about models! You think we're all tramps."

"Now just a minute," Jones tried to cut in, but Rene screamed on.

"Well, I'm a respectable model, see? And I come to you because I'm a citizen and my roommate-she's a citizen too-is missing. And what do you do? You want to know the names of the fellows we work for so you can hound them and get them into trouble! Well, I'm not going to turn squeeler for you!"

"Miss," Rocky Raven cut in quietly. "That isn't the idea at all."

Rene whirled on him. "Don't tell me! Just because a girl is pretty and cute like Dale and me, you've got it all figured out that we have to be whores...."

"My kid sister's pretty and cute, too," said Rocky, grinning.

"Well, why don't you ask her these insulting questions?"

"You want us to find your friend, don't you?"

Rene's eyebrows furrowed. "Who?"

"Your roommate."

"Oh! Dale! Sure I want you to find her but all you're doing is giving me the third degree...."

Jones' mouth twisted wryly. "The third degree?"

"You want me to turn stoolie!"

Jones stretched back in his chair and yawned. "Look, Miss Clark. You and your little friend pose around town for some cheap, low-sex types of photographers. Sure you do pinups, and that's on the up-and-up, but we happen to know that you pose for some other things, too. Bondage and fetish stuff, is what they call it...."

"What's that got to do with Dale's vanishing?"

"We don't know if she's vanished. But the point is that you work, both of you, for some pretty kooky characters and she could have got mixed up with some of them. Maybe she's in some kind of trouble, maybe not; we don't know. But a girl could get in trouble, working for the weirdo's.

"I never did!" Rene said defiantly.

"You're very lucky. Do you want me to show you some photos of the girls who were victims of the very type of reader you cater to with the rope poses?"

Rocky came forward. "They're not very pretty, Miss Clark. They're downright revolting in fact."

Rene's eyes flashed but her voice was no longer as brazen. "You're trying to frighten me."

"Sure we are," said Jones. "We're trying to scare you into letting us help you and your friend."

"I don't know what you're talking about-bondage stuff. I never did any of that kind of posing."

"Miss Clark," sighed Rocky wearily, "we have a complete file on you as well as every other model in town."

There was a pause and a silence. Rene's eyes widened, then narrowed in apprehension, calculating what she had just heard.

Of course they knew all about what she and Dale did in the way of posing. But she also knew the characters and reputations of the photographers and agencies she worked for. And some of them were dangerous men. They didn't think a thing about cutting up your face so that you wouldn't be cute and pretty any more.

And who was going to help you then? The cops? Sure, maybe they'd find the man who did it to you, but what good was it? You couldn't even show yourself to your friends any more, much less work.

And as for your sex life-

Rene was suddenly sorry she had come. She stood up, smoothing the sleek skirt along her thighs, her hands trembling, her face twitching where she felt the imaginary razor slash across it.

"I ... I must be all wrong about this," she stammered. "I guess you're right. Maybe Dale is camping with some friends. Oh, yes! I just remembered. She said she was going down to Reno for a few days. How could I have forgotten?"

Jones' eyes were at half mast. "Yes. How could you?"

"Well!" Rene chirped brightly, "I have to be toddling along. Toodle-oo and thanks for everything!"

And her high heels tapped merrily as she swung out of the detectives' office.

Jones looked at Rocky. "What do you think?"

"Same as you. We scared her off."

Jones nodded, rose and reached for his hat. "We've got pictures on this Anders dame. Want to check her out?"

"Sure thing. That girl's scared. I'd hate to see her get even more scared."

"What do you mean, Rocky?"

The man strode toward the door. "If-just if, mind you, Dale Anders is in a jam because of the bondage boys she's mixed up with, so is little Miss Rene Clark."

The two detectives stopped to get a picture of Dale from their files and then got into their car.

"Where to, Dave?" asked Rocky.

"Let's pay a call on some of the studios on Main. And let's see what we can turn up besides a nest of vermin."

"Enough is enough!" Daisy hissed to herself. "What am I, a leper or something? Joe's gotta screw today or I'm gonna find out what's cooking and where he's getting it!"

She was alone in the agency late in the afternoon. Joe had left her in charge while he traveled downtown on business. The blinds were drawn and the door was locked. There was a half-filled bottle of scotch on Joe's desk and Daisy took a deep belt right out of the bottle.

"There!" She checked her watch. "Now I got enough in me to do what I gotta do, and it's almost time. Joe'll be back soon. So here goes. Daisy, do your stuff, sugar!"

She pulled her sweater up and off over her head. Her full, rounded knockers burst forth, red-tipped and cream-colored. They bounced as she looked down at them with bloodshot eyes.

"Yes, Ma'am, Daisy," she whispered. "You still got the best looking knockers in town. And you used to be the best model in town, too, till that two-timing pimp made you quit 'cause he said he was in love with you."

She fumbled with the zipper of her skirt and in another moment she was down to her panties,, clinging tightly to her hips, silken and smooth as the skin itself.

"I'm beautiful!" she exclaimed. "Daisy is beautiful! I only wish I were a man so I could screw me, Daisy, myself!"

The panties slipped down her thighs and legs and now she was standing naked, her hands running feverishly and excitedly over her, flesh and she closed her eyes in passion.

"He can't turn me down! How could he! No man could! Not even if he's getting laid someplace else! When Joe comes in and sees me like this...."

She heard rapid footsteps on the stairs. Quickly, she rushed to the couch and stretched out, wantonly, her arms and head hanging from the side.

"Hurry, Joe!" she whispered. "Hurry and jazz me!"

The door knob twisted uselessly. She had locked the door. Then she heard Joe curse as he fumbled for his key, inserted it, and opened the door.

"Daisy!" he growled angrily. "What the hell's the idea of putting this Closed sign on the door downstairs?"

Then he stopped and saw her. He held a small sign in his hand and his eyes were blazing even in the darkness of the room.

"What the hell's with you?" he croaked, staring at her naked body on the couch.

"Boff me, lover," Daisy said dreamily. "Come over and slip it between my legs."

"You damn nut!" he roared, locking the door.

"I love you. I need you!"

Her eyes sparkling, her mouth wide open, Daisy rose and threw her arms around Joe, running her hands up and down his body as she pressed herself against him.

"Please!" she moaned. "It's been so long. .!"

"I ... I can't!" he stammered. "Don't you understand, Daisy?"

Her mouth was on his, her teeth bit into his lips. "I don't care if you're jazzin' somebody else! Just give it to me once in a while! Give it to me now!"

"Oh, hell!" Joe pushed her away as she fought to hold on to him. Her flesh was heated and soft with the ardor of her passion. He could feel it seething under his fingers. "Not now, Daisy! I just can't!"

"You bastard!"

Daisy glared at him, standing back, feet wide apart as her swollen knockers rose and fell. "What is this-the full brush off treatment?" she spat. " I was pretty good when you needed me, but I'm no good for you now, is that it? What are you trying to do, lover-make an ass out of me? I stand here naked, hot for you, my legs spread a mile wide and you turn me down! What's the matter, have you gone queer?"

Joe bit his lower lip. "You know that's not so, baby!"

"Then why don't you lay me?"

"I ... I can't tell you...."

"You can't tell me!" she sneered mockingly. "You! The guy with the fastest tongue in town-at a loss for words! You're not even man enough to tell me you're through with me! I'd respect that more than this, you rat."

Quickly, she pulled her clothes on, her eyes blazing at him.

"Well, I wouldn't screw you now even if you begged me on your hands and knees," she went on. "Not only that, Joe my'boy, I'll find a way to make you sorry you ever met me!"

"Honey, please!" he pleaded. "Try to understand! Trust me!"

"Trust you?" Daisy yanked her dress into place. "How would you feel if you wanted me to jazz you and I treated you the way you treated me? Would you trust me?"

Joe hung his head. "I'm sorry."

"You'll be sorrier still!" she snapped.

He turned his head toward the door. "Please, Daisy. Be quiet. Someone's coming up the steps."

"One of the broads. Is that who you're getting it from these days? I'll give her a piece of my mind!"

Daisy flew past him, unlocked the door and swung it open. Two men were standing there, looking at her with hard eyes.

"We're closed!" she barked. "We're closed!" she barked. "We've got no models to pose for you jerks today! Try the place down the street! They've got blondes and redheads and even a Chinese girl or two...."

And then she stopped. These men didn't look like customers. They didn't have that bleak yet eager look in their eyes. There was no mysterious, never-satisfied hunger in their faces. The younger of the two looked past her into the office.

"We're police, Miss," he said softly. "You in charge here?"

Daisy's eyes narrowed. She stepped aside. "Some fuzz to see you Joe," she said.

Rocky Raven and Dave Jones entered the office. She went out to the hallway and closed the door, her heart beating wildly with anger and frustration. "Whatever trouble he's in," she told herself, "let him go it alone! I'm through helping that bastard!"

She started to go down the steps, went halfway down and halted. The love and longing she had felt for Joe was dead now, as gone as yesterday's news. All that was left now was hatred ... and the need for revenge.

She turned and, walking with the soft tread of a cat, went back up the stairs. She stopped at the door and leaned forward, listening, her fists clenched white.

"Are you sure that Dale Anders isn't on your list of models?" one of the officers was saying?

"I'm positive," Joe's voice replied. "I never even heard of her."

"Do you keep a list of your girls?"

"Sure. Want to look at it? Here it is."

Daisy knew that Joe was telling the truth. She also knew that his list was a straight one. He was too careful to do anything that would put his business in danger. There was a silence as the officers looked through the list.

Then Joe said, "Can I ask what's wrong?"

"We'll ask the questions," said a curt voice. "Who's this girl? Does she work for you?"

Daisy knew he was indicating one of the names on Joe's list. "Rene Clark?" said Joe. "Sometimes; not often."

"Sir," said the voice of the other detective, now grating and hard, "do you ever send any of your men clients to visit these girls?"

"What do you mean?" stammered Joe. "I don't know what you mean."

"Come off it. You know damned well what I mean. You don't run any art school, buddy. I'll repeat my question just one more time and that's all. Did you send a photographer to visit Rene Clark any time in the last few days?"

"Why, no! Honest! Why would I do a thing like that?"

"For loot. The same reason everyone else in this racket does things."

"But I didn't send anyone at all. Honest. Why?"

"We're looking for a man; a certain man."

"Who are you looking for?"

"That's what we want you to tell us. Who did you send to see Rene Clark?"

"Nobody, I told you."

"All right. If you change your mind and remember, call us at the station. My name's Raven and this is Lt. Jones. Ask for either one of us."

"And if you don't call us in a day," said the other detective, "we'll come back to talk to you some more. Meanwhile, think it over and think hard if you know what's good for you."

Daisy drew away from the door gritting her teeth. Then she moved quickly down the steps, mumbling to herself, "The dirty little rat's lying to the fuzz! He did send someone to see the Clark dish! He sent that weasel-faced little guy with the hungry eyes and the space in his teeth!"

She was waiting downstairs when the detectives came out in the street, waiting in the doorway so that she wouldn't be seen by Joe if he was looking out the window.

"You looking for somebody?" she asked them softly.

The two men glanced at each other. "How do you know, miss?" asked Jones.

"I've been listening. Any law against me listening?"

Dave Jones shrugged. "What's on your mind?"

"You're looking for a guy," Daisy whispered. "A guy who was sent to see that Clark broad. That's right, isn't it?"

"Right so far," replied Rocky.

"He was here a few days ago and Joe sent him out to see her."

"Name?" Jones asked, his eyes level.

"Didn't give any. They never do. Joe gets his cut from' the dames after they get together with the guys."

"What good does this do us, then?"

"I'll tell you what he looks like, though. You can't miss the guy if you look for him."

"Give."

"A little guy. A rat face. Big head and pointed chin. Funny looking nose, too, like a mole, you know?"

"I'm getting the picture. Anything else? Color of hair?"

"Black. Like his eyebrows. Thick, straight eyebrows, too. Black eyes; funny, sleepy-like." Daisy shivered. "He gave me the willys."

"What's your name so we can contact you?"

Daisy gave them her full name, her address and her phone number. Then she added, "One thing more, officers. His teeth."

"His teeth?" Dave Jones repeated.

"Yeah. He's got a part between his front teeth."

"That's a pretty good description miss." The two men started to move on. Then Dave Jones stopped. "Do you work for the fellow up there?" he asked Daisy.

She shrugged her soft shoulders. "I used to be with him."

"Why are you telling us this?"

Daisy's eyes traveled up and down Dave Jones' tall frame, lingeringly so that he found himself squirming. She smiled archly. "You ever hear of a woman's fury?"

"That which hell hath none like?" asked Dave.

She took a deep breath, causing her breasts to rise and push out against the fabric of her dress.

"Imagine somebody scorning me?" she asked.

"Couldn't possible," murmured Dave.

"You're nice," she said. "You've got my phone number. Call me sometime, even if it isn't on official business."

And she walked quickly down the street, her hips bouncing with each step, her backside in rhythm with the unsung song in her frustrated soul and body.

The two men stood looking after her. Then Rocky sighed and said, "You remember everything she gave us, Dave?"

Dave's voice was heavy. "Yeah, everything."

"Remember something else, friend."

"What?"

"Remember you're a married man." And the two detectives grinned at each other as they got into their car to look for a small, rat-faced man with a space in his teeth.