Chapter 4
Still finding it difficult to believe, Kiki sat nakedly on the rumpled bed looking out the window Serge had leaped through. Could he actually have thought it was the door? Impossible; or had the Fates again become somehow involved. Kiki's eyes looked up at the ceiling trying to decide whether she should suddenly become hysterical or simply faint. Then she remembered one of Wang's remarks, that people who survive difficulties in life tend to do so by developing the habit of thinking only about their need for survival and not what the Fates might possibly have or have not in store for them. To Kiki, Wang's philosophy and reasoning still contained much of value even if he was an avowed murderer which he probably was by now in the eyes of the Fates, and in the eyes of the police, also.
Then, as she slipped into her panties, still moist in the crotch, she thought about Dick Whitty, Bull and Clive; and then a little about Joey and of course, Manny. Now she could add the name of Serge to a list that was beginning to confound her. Realizing the confusion a body falling from the eighteenth floor of a downtown hotel could cause, and especially at a moment when a big convention was moving into the hotel, Kiki came swiftly to the point. It would be figured Serge jumped, leaped, or was pushed from her room after the police had a moment or two to confer; and that meant she'd better get the hell out of the place. Then too, lots of the other employees knew Serge Romanofski had his evil eye on Kiki and that wouldn't help matters either.
Suddenly she was snapped out of her reverie by the sound of sirens wailing down in the street. Dressing in a short miniskirt she'd bought on one of her shopping journeys the second day on the job and then into a tight, clinging blouse that really emphasized the curves of her darling, ripe breasts, sandals, and with her long hair brushed out and lying on her shoulders, Kiki rapidly went down the hallway and stood waiting for one of the elevators.
She hadn't been there one minute before one of the doors flew open and out rushed at least six policemen, two in civilian clothes. Kiki was badly frightened and before she could get into the elevator heading down for the lobby, the doors slid shut in her face. Her escape route was cut off and she began trembling ... until she noticed no one was paying any attention to her, but just to make safe, she ducked into a linen closet near the elevator. For a long time, it seemed, she waited trying to make herself comfortable on a stack of towels and sheets. Men were jabbering in the corridor and she was quick to recognize the voice of the house detective, a man she despised.
"Yeah, it looks like murder to me, Chief," he said to a uniformed police Captain.
"Yeah ... yeah," answered the police chief impatiently, "so what's the rundown on this oriental kid who lives in the room you figured the boss jumped out of, huh?"
"Like I told you, it's next to his. He has the hots for his little Jap ass; see, why I figures it that way, and the Jap boy ain't cooperatin' and you know, these orientals, regardless of their size, man, they plenty strong so this Jap kid just pushes the faggot Serge right out the fuckin' window. That's how I sees it, Chief," said the hotel detective respectfully.
"A coupla queers, huh?"
"Yeah, you can say that again," replied the hotel cop.
Kiki could hear the voices drifting away and then she heard them clearly again. "Yeah," the policeman was saying, "it looks like murder all right, the bed all fucked up, blood all over the sheets, the oriental kid missing, just his waiter's uniform there, no luggage, probably a drifter. Look," he said, pointing his finger into the hotel detective's shoulder, "looks like murder and I'll get the boys down at headquarters to get out an all points on him. Then I'm gonna put a squad on all the exits here to watch for this Jap kid." He turned and jabbed the house cop in the shoulder again. "Listen to me, Jack," he said, "keep an eye open on the oriental end of this business. I heard it said like the top people think there's some kind of Eastern conspiracy, an oriental looking gal upstate just last week escaped after helping a Korean in a mass murder ... yeah, keep your ears open, Jack."
Kiki almost fainted in the closet, and not only because there wasn't much air to breathe. Every time she'd peep out there'd be more people in the corridor, policemen and the curious, photographers flashing lights and men talking "from the scene of the crime" on the radio. To Kiki every time she'd peep out, it looked as if everybody was having a great party for themselves.
Except her. How on earth was she going to escape? She didn't dare take a chance on just walking out; there were too many people. She rummaged around in the closet after turning on a light to see if she could find something more decent than the miniskirt she wore.
Then luck was with her. Her hand fell on a stack of expensive silky sheets used only for the Very Important People. Grabbing one of these, she ripped off her blouse and skirt and then, oriental-sarong style, wrapped the silky covering around her naked body stylishly. Using her teeth as scissors she soon fashioned a belt and when this was tied about her waist, her new costume made her look radiant indeed!
So now if the police caught her at least the newspaper photographs would be exciting. Wearing the sexy sarong and feeling the cool silkiness of the material clinging to her body so deliciously naked under it, made her spirits brighten and she caressed her breasts through the material, her nipples stiffening and then she began to feel the gentle flames of passion burning behind them as it always did when she stroked them herself.
Again she peeped out of the linen closet door and deciding now was the time, as she'd done when she jumped into the rear of Manny's and Joey's truck, she walked proudly, her hair bouncing on her bared shoulders, right towards the bank of elevators. Fortunately or was it the Fates, she wondered Wang was looking over her in her present distress, because one of the elevator doors opened and in she scooted. She had made up her mind. She would take the elevator down to the lobby, and with the money from Mrs. Rankin which she had folded up compactly and tucked up into her vaginal channel, she would find the exit door and simply go out of the Metropolitan Hotel the way she'd come in. If they caught her, they caught her! There was nothing she could do about that. Wang had told her this over and over again; it was the Fates and they didn't listen to you; you listened to them and you obeyed what they told you to do, even though their voices weren't always audible.
Kiki was coming more and more to accept and believe in all the funny oriental things he had told her about during their brief period together. God, she hoped he was getting along okay and that the police were feeding him his rice the way he especially liked it cooked.
There was a ceiling-high mirror in the elevator and as it descended to the lobby, Kiki examined her reflection and found it more than satisfying, the hills and valleys of her splendidly-formed young body surely tantalizing to anyone who might look, the silky material tied carefully over one naked shoulder and then spread provocatively over her two ripely mature breasts. It was indeed a very respectable sarong exposing a wide expanse of her ivory smooth thigh and on the left when she turned sharply, just a teasing glimpse of her shimmering buttocks.
Kiki emerged from the elevator and, expecting to be jumped by the state troopers, instead found herself in the middle of a perfumed crowd of dandys and their ladies, everyone in fine clothing, the men tuxedoed and the women in expensive gowns touching the toes of their glistening slippers. Their jewelry was blinding to Kiki's eyes. Feeling greatly relieved and now surrounded by all this opulence and society class elegance, Kiki walked casually towards a softly lit ballroom. In the distance she could hear a full orchestra tuning up and suddenly everything all around her seemed to be terribly romantic. An almost unsupportable weight was lifting from her shoulders.
"Hi, there, gorgeous, how come I've never seen you before, huh?" came a masculine voice and Kiki found herself looking up into the shining masculine face of Tony Worthington of the Boston Worthingtons whom just everybody knew about. As if dreaming, Kiki shook her head and her long raven hair streamed over her satiny smooth shoulders; now, after the ghastly business with Serge upstairs, she just refused to believe this dramatic change was taking place.
Kiki giggled as he took her arm. She had often read about society's darling "Tony-boy" in the newspaper columns. He was everybody's favorite. He was daring and owned and raced fast cars. He loved horses and young girls. He was worth more than a million dollars and every girl Kiki had known at any of the foster farms had a dream picture of Tony Worthington in the back of their mind as the man they'd all most want to run away with and marry. Tony was the ideal young, handsome, always smiling millionaire.
"C'mon, baby, what's your name? You speak a little English, no?" he teased her. He cocked his head. He couldn't figure out how he'd missed this lovely beauty with the demure oriental look in her gorgeous face and such soft skin and wearing so daring a sarong that left almost nothing to his active imagination....
"It's Kiki," she responded, looking up at him, so strong and so tall and so very good looking. God, she thought to herself, she could eat him alive. She'd never seen any man so handsome.
'That's all?" he wondered. "No last name?"
"It's difficult to pronounce," was her answer as she followed him out to the dance floor, terribly conscious that almost everyone on the sides was watching them. She gripped Tony's arm protectively and hoped she was free of the police.
"Where are you from, Kiki?"
She was thinking of Wang. "Korea," she answered simply and then he was hugging her closer than he should as they danced out to the center of the brightly lit ballroom. They had little conversation, mostly remained silent with their eyes staring into each other's, and Tony Worthington holding her warm shapely body closer and closer so that she could feel the delightful pressure of his slowly hardening cock rubbing ever so discreetly against her thigh and then over her mossy pussy hair.
"You know, Kiki, darling," he was whispering into her ear, "I'm falling in love with you right out here on the dance floor. Isn't that just terrible, darling?" said the young, impassioned millionaire.
"And ... I love your dress. What exactly is it?" he wanted to know.
She sighed deliciously and then she made up a little story about the sarong being a Korean ceremonial gown worn by young unmarried girls of great wealth.
"You know what?" he said with a tone of conspiracy in his voice, "it feels to me like you've got nothing on under this." His eyes were wild and he was rubbing harder and harder against her now that the floor was crowding up and the lights had dimmed for a slow waltz.
"And you want to know something, you've guessed right," was her reply.
"You mean, that you're...."
"Yes," Kiki whispered, loving the feel of his cock as it began to poke up between her parted thighs as they stood almost still weaving to the music, "yes ... under my sarong I am all bare," she said, affecting an oriental accent she used to practice on Wang to make him laugh. Then she shivered deliciously in his strong arms as their lips met in the soft light.