Chapter 6

We weren't going to pass; that's right.

Crime doesn't pay, I guess. Or maybe we'd selected the wrong variety of crime. Still, as far as I was concerned, it wasn't what you'd call a total loss. I'd found out about English teachers, and that was worth it. Though poor Dottie hadn't done nearly as well, but then, that's the way it goes, isn't it?

But in the middle of perspiring preparations for that doomful final exam, something cropped up.

We called him Ali the Assassin, though be never gave his name to anyone as far as we could find out. But whatever his name was, he knew something about us, it seemed.

As I reconstructed things, he'd been seen registering at a local motel, driving a big black car; and later he was here and there around town, sliding around. He was a slim, dark, Oriental-looking type, with dark glasses, and a notebook in one pocket. He kept scribbling in it, according to one source and another, and every so often he would hold whispered conferences with people. They never seemed to want to talk about those conferences either.

Rumors around town held that he was a spy, or an FBI man, or somebody from Internal Revenue; except for the drugstore clerk, who read a lot of science fiction, and who told me that Au the Assassin was off a flying saucer.

"He's not off any flying saucer," I told Dottie. "I wish he was. Didn't you notice the way he keeps watching us every time we happen to go by him?"

"What do you think he is then?"

"An assassin," I said, grimly, and shuddered. "Those Greeks. They were mobsters. Smugglers! They sent him to find out what we did with their hashish-end as soon as he knows ... ZZIP." I drew my finger across my throat, and Dottie nearly fainted.

"But we can't give it back!" she wailed. "The stuff was all used up!"

"Exactly," I said. "We're doomed!"

"And we're going to flunk, too."

There wasn't any course of action left, actually, except suicide. Or running away.

"We could go to the city and become models or something," I said, chewing my thumb. "If we're going to flunk, anyway ..."

"That assassin might catch us," Dottie said.

"If we stay here, he will," I said. "I'll bet he's only waiting for orders from the top."

So, three days before the finals, we decided to go while the going was good. We packed a small suitcase apiece, wrote notes, and quietly and rapidly left town.

It was about five-thirty, and we were far out on the south highway, several miles away from dear old Sodom. Cars were going by and we stood, thumbs out; with luck, we could make it all the way to the city before it got really dark, we hoped. Or halfway, anyway.

Unfortunately, we looked a little too young and a little too far out in our jeans; drivers seemed to be cautious. It took a long time before a car finally stopped, and we got in.

The driver, a peculiar-looking little man with a bald head, giggled at us in a very odd way, as he started up.

After a while, he introduced himself as Kreef. "Andrew J. Kreef," he said, leering. The car was going pretty fast, too, I noticed.

"I'm a ... hee, hee ... footwear man," he said. He looked at our feet, in sneakers, and uttered another weird giggle. In fact, he stared at them so long that the car wove around alarmingly before he got his eyes back on the road.

I was getting a little nervous, and I asked, "How long before we get to the city?"

"City?" Kreef said. "Oh ... several days, I suppose."

"What? But it's only a hundred miles," Dottie said.

"Not on this road," he told us, with another whinny. "We're on seven now, going west. Didn't you notice?"

And he was right, too, the little rat; he had turned and we were going at right angles to the way we wanted. We were well up in the woods country by now too, and there wouldn't be too much traffic going our way. I was mad, but I concealed it.

"I think we should get out here," I told hint.

"Oh, darn," he said, but stopped the car. He stared greedily at our feet without opening the door.

"Wouldn't you like to stomp on me a little bit?" he said, wheedlingly. "I mean, I just go ape over young girls in smelly sneakers ... ooh." He grabbed at my ankles, but I had the door open by now, and was following Dottie out, fast.

As he whizzed away, we stood under the pines, in the darkening twilight, and stared after him.

"Maybe we should have let him do whatever he had in mind," I said, looking around.

"Brr," Dottie said. "He might have some other really funny ideas. I've heard about people like that. No, thanks."

"It's pretty empty around here," I said. "We might be worse off than riding with him."

Little I knew, as they say.

Doom arrived fifteen minutes or so later, just as we had about decided to start walking. It was a simply gigantic Harley, with an engine that sounded like a truck, and it varoomed past us in a cloud of dust. A second later, three more of them shot by, and then another two. Each one had a rider-a bearded, leather-clad, weirdly dressed character bent low; two had equally weird females clinging behind them.

"Motorcycle crazies," I started to say, and just then, I heard that varoom sound again; they had U-turned, and were coming back. I had a funny apprehensive feeling, but it was too late to do anything about it.

They came zooming up, and screamed to a stop ahead of us. The leading cyclist sat, staring at us through his goggles, his bushy red beard sticking out like a mop.

"Uh," he grunted. "Hey, you broads. Wanna ride?"

"Ah ... thanks, but we'd rather walk," I said, a little shakily.

There was a rumble of hideous laughter, and the leader growled, "She wantsa walk. Yuh. Oke. I dig blondies; I'll grunch this one. Hey, Scars, you take the other."

In seconds, we had been scooped up and deposited on the rear saddles; and we were hurtling along the road like rockets, hanging on tight.

It looked pretty scary, but I clutched the monster ahead of me, who seemed to be named King Kong. He had a certain resemblance to an ape, all right.

Then, the herd swung off onto a narrow road, and varoomed frighteningly around curves, through pines, and finally into an open glen, where they came to a stop. The two girls, both muscular-looking, blonde and silent, got to work with a small fire, and food appeared out of saddlebags. It was a picnic, of sorts.

"We're th' Purples," King Kong told me, as we sat leaning against his bike. He held a bottle of beer in one hand, and an enormous sandwich in the other; He broke off half for me and I ate it nervously.

"Hey, she's cute." It was one of the blonde riders. She stood, spraddle-legged, staring at me, and grinning. "Hey, honey, my name's Lila. Maybe we'll get together later, hah?"

"Listen, Lila, ain't I told yuh?" King Kong asked in a pained voice. "Perversions ain't allowed in this group. Whatcha want people to think-we're some kinda Hell's Angels?"

"So since when is a chick making it with a chick a perversion?" Lila demanded.

"Sure, it's a perversion," King Kong said. "We do it all straight, ya hear? None of that funny stuff. It ain't American to do funny stuff."

The other blonde approached, and stood listening.

"Gangbangs ain't a perversion?" she demanded.

"No, Sugar, of course they ain't," King Kong said. "I mean, when we done it to you, it was only one place, right? Not inna mouth, or the ear, or the armpit, just inna right place. So, that's the right way. It's the way we do it. Like, it's the American way." He stretched, and offered me his beer. "Want a little bellywash, sweetie? Before we start in?"

This could be awful, I thought. I mean, I like sex just fine, but I wasn't feeling too turned on by this mob. They'd take a lot of getting used to; and I didn't really think I wanted to try. I caught Dottie's eye.

"Well, gee, thanks for the sandwich and the ride ..." I said, getting up. "I guess we'll just walk along ... " And I started off for the dark woods, fast. Running, in fact, and I heard Dottie sprinting along just behind me.

But it seemed it wasn't going to be that easy. King Kong tackled me just as I made it to the edge of the fire lit area, and I thumped down on the grass on my face; he had my ankles, which he held up in the air as I wriggled like a fish.

"Hey, you're a real wild chick," he said, admiringly, and one huge hand grabbed at my waistband, and peeled my jeans off with an ominous ripping sound. "Wow, what an ass. Hey, I think you could be my old lady, maybe, hah?"

I was really annoyed about those jeans. I twisted around, and told him what I thought about him but he just looked down, laughing crudely. He dropped his leather pants, and snatched off my remaining clothes, all in one swift series of grabs.

"Hey, ol' King Kong gonna bang the blonde!" someone called. "Hey, King, look at this one. Ol' Snake and ol' Scars gonna do her, yeah."

They were all fairly drunk by now, and I caught a glimpse of poor Dottie, her long legs spread wide as one of the bearded beasts plumped himself down on her and began to shove and heave. King Kong himself stood before me, his erection up and ready, grinning down at me.

"Kinda nice one, ain't it?" he said, glancing down at himself admiringly. "Look at that; I got all my old ladies' names tattooed on it, see?"

"I've seen better," I told him, and let's face it, I had. It wasn't really impressive at all. Just adequate. But he seemed pretty sensitive about the subject.

"Arrgh!" he grunted, and flung himself at me. No style at all, really. He simply grabbed my knees, spread my thighs, and rammed. But it wasn't bad, actually. There are times when a girl might like that sort of direct action thing, I think. But I was pretty mad at him, too, though I could hardly help enjoying it.

"Uff, grr, oof!" he was saying, grabbing and grunting, bouncing away; the beer wasn't helping him much, I suspected, and neither was I. I let him keep it up awhile, until he started uttering happy noises; then, before he had time to resist, I managed to roll him over on his back I was still more or less impaled on him, you might say, but I had a couple of notions about what to do with him. With him on his back, looking slightly amazed, I rode on him, gripping tight, and banging on his chest with my fists.

"Go, go, GO!" I squealed at him, twisting my bottom and bouncing so hard that he gasped. "CHICKEN!" I insulted him, and he indignantly tried his best. In fact, he tried so hard that within minutes he lay, a completely inert lump; I had burned out his bearings, more or less.

I disentangled myself and stood up and there was Dottie, unlatching herself from the two who had been climbing all over her. Both of them were in the same destroyed condition as their leader. Another, unable to wait his turn like a gentleman, was rolling about in the long grass with one of the two blondes, and still another lay on his back in a beer stupor.

"If that's the best they can do, I'm almost sorry for them," I said, looking over the stricken field. "Gee, Dottie, you really did for those two, didn't you."

She giggled. "Shucks, 'tweren't nothing." Then, she sobered. "Oh, gee, look at our clothes."

That wasn't easy, because we hadn't any. Our biggest remaining hunk of cloth wouldn't have made a neck-tie; we had been undressed by a kind of tear-off method.

"We'd better get out of here, before there's any more of this," I said. "Clothes or no clothes. Come on; it's warm enough. Run."

So we ran. Into the dark woods road, and off, as quickly as a couple of naked chicks can Dottie was out-distancing me, and I suddenly remembered seeing a pair of boots in her hand; she had evidently swiped them from one of our late friends, and gotten them on in a hurry. They helped, all right; I kept hitting stones, while Dottie ran merrily ahead, a dim pale figure in the darkness.

"Wait - a minute!" I cried out, finally. "Whoa!"

I limped up to where she had stopped. "Can't run ... any more," I wheezed.

"Where are we going anyway?"

"Golly, I don't know," she said.

"We'd better get some clothes, anyway," I pointed out "At least shoes for me."

"I don't even know where we are," she said in a slightly-panicky voice.

I sat down on a tree stump and caught my breath, staring around in the starlit dark. There was an especially bright star, low on the horizon ... only it wasn't a star. It was a yellow light.

"I'll bet that's a house," I said thoughtfully.

"What'll they think?" Dottie asked. "I mean, a couple of nakeds walk up and say, hey, we were gang banged by motorcycle crazies, wow, can we borrow some pants?"

"Don't be a dope," I said. "They might have their washing on a line. We could steal something."

"You," Dottie said. "First you got me into balling your dopy brother, and then the next thing you know I was getting fooled around with by that awful Lesbian, and now you want to be a BURGLAR."

"Corruption," I said, "Oh, come ON."

We walked toward the light, along a narrow path; it was a lot further off than I'd thought, and we were really footsore by the time we made out anything about it. Also, we had run into several thorny, spots, and nudism just didn't seem so much fun anymore.

The light was a single bulb on a pole outside a big low-roofed frame building; behind it there was a shadowy outline of one or two more similar buildings Barely visible, we made out a sign.

GIRL RANGERS, TROOP 69, CAMP JOLLY.

"I told you there'd be laundry!" I whispered, pointing. Sure enough, a line held flapping garments, indistinguishable in the dark. Both of us advanced on the line, grabbing indiscriminately.

"They're all MIDGETS," Dottie whispered. "I couldn't get this blouse on, not in a million years."

"I found a skirt that fits-nearly," I said. "Listen, don't you complain. You had boots on. My feet are KILLING me."

"Oh, here's one," Dottie said, and began to get into the clothes she'd found, while I checked out for socks. I put on four pairs, one after another; they'd have to do instead of boots.

It was pretty hard to see, but it was just as well we couldn't see each other too well, or we could have died laughing. The Girl Rangers' uniforms were a kind of mud-green color, with skirts right down to the knees and a weird sort of military effect.

"I wouldn't want to get caught dead in these," Dottie whispered.

"If those motorcycle crazies ever catch us, you will be found dead," I told her. "I'll bet they really love their boots. And you had to rip off a pair, didn't you?"

"I think you've got some kind of hex on you, Honey," Dottie said, and I saw her eyes getting all round and glittering with fear in the dim light.

"Why?" I asked.

"Every time you say something awful is going to happen, it does!" she said. "Can't you hear that noise?"

Varoom, varoom. Oh, darn.

"They're looking for their boots," I said. The sound of their motors echoed distantly, but getting closer.

We hadn't any choice. There were the dormitories, and there were the oncoming motorcycle crazies. We opened a screen door, and dived for cover under a bunk where we stayed, listening to whistling snores and other sounds of what seemed like a regiment of under aged females.

The motor noises got closer and suddenly we saw a headlight reflection in a window. There were loud, cursing voices nearby, and now several of the Girl-Ranger types woke up, asking questions. A light went on.

Then a deep, loud voice came thunderously from outside.

"All right, you," the voice said. It was a woman's voice, too; and suddenly Dottie clutched at me like a drowning girl.

"It's HER!" she squeaked.

"Who?" I whispered. "And keep your voice down!"

"Miss STRONG," she hissed, with a shudder.

The bull dyke. Oh, my, oh MY. We had ALL the luck.

"Now, you men, turn around slow, hands in the air," the voice came again, and it sent shudders down my spine now.

She was evidently armed too-as if her voice wasn't enough to send even the motorcyclists into a panic.

"Now, you chicken bastards, start walking," Miss Strong's voice boomed. "And you, the ugly one ... yes, you. Zip up your fly, 'Third-face. This camp is full of sweet innocent young girls, and you're leaving. Coming in here with your heads full of dirty male ideas, I'll wager. Not as long as I'm Ranger Commander, you don't get the chance to play your obscene tricks, you hairy monsters. All right, quick-march; I'm right behind you with the shotgun, and it shouldn't take us all long to get down to the sheriff's office."

"Jeez, lady, our bikes!" somebody wailed. It sounded like Snake. "Hey, I can't walk, I ain't got no BOOTS."

"If you don't start walking, I'll blow off your balls, Mac, and then you won't need boots," Miss Strong advised him. Then, apparently directed at the windows of the dormitory ... "CORPORAL DIANE! GET THOSE CHILDREN BACK INTO BED, YOU HEAR?"

There was a wild squealing from the mop-pets who had been peering out the windows. They sounded like thirteen or fourteen-year olds, mostly, though the one addressed as Corporal looked a bit older, as I caught a brief glimpse from under the bed.

I heard the complaining as the motorcycle types walked away, herded by the indomitable Miss Strong. Until she was apparently out of sight, there was dead silence among the Girl Rangers; and then, a renewed squealing broke out.

"He had it hanging right out!"

"Whee!"

"Oh, go on, my boy friend's got a better one."

This from a blase young voice.

"I never saw one before," somebody else said, in an awed tone. "How can anybody get such a big thing inside? Wow!"

There was a chorus of giggles and females squealing.

Bare feet went by, and there were heavy thumps on the bed above us. Corporal Diane was having a hard time keeping order with the General gone, and some of the games were a little wild from the sound of it, as well as the conversation. The younger generation was getting out of hand, I guess.

There was loud whispering going on just above our heads, where at least three of the girls had apparently managed to crowd into the bed, from the deep sag of the springs; voices and giggles came clearly to our ears.

"Don't DO that," a voice whispered, and another answered, "How about this, then?" And there was a squeak and a twang of springs. Somebody breathed heavily, and gasped.

"Oh, gee, Linda, that's ... oh, boy, don't. Ooh."

"It's a lot better with real boys," somebody else whispered.

"How would you know? Have you been over the lake to the boy's camp?"

"Not yet, but ... EEEEEK!"

It was Dottie's foot, sticking out; the girl above had seen it and was shrieking like a fire siren. Dottie tried to pull it back, but it was no use. We were caught.