Chapter 18

Vivian watched the sexy girl dance with one butch after another, her body pressed close to those of the masculine girls and her arm held tightly around their shoulders. She wanted her, but she didn't even know her name. The girl hadn't been near her since their brief talk earlier in the evening.

Now, Vivian was well-nigh drunk. She stared at the girl, wondering what the body under that pink dress looked like. As she continued to stare, she wondered just how drunk she was, because now she was seeing part of that body-very clearly.

A very big, very round breast emerged from the bodice of the low-cut dress. Whether it popped out accidentally or whether it was released by its owner or grabbed by her partner she did not know.

All she knew was that it was there, and that it was promptly tongued by a strapping diesel while the others cheered.

Then, rather irrelevantly, Vivian thought, the sexy girl twisted her arm around into what must have been a painful position under the circumstances, and looked at her watch.

Vivian's mouth watered as she stared at the succulent tits. God, they were big! She climbed unsteadily off the stool and started down the aisle.

Just then the door opened. Two tough-looking women in slacks entered, but she paid them no mind until she saw the two dark-suited men on their heels.

The girl pulled away from the butch, grabbed her purse, opened it and took something out.

"You're under arrest," she announced, flipping open a wallet with one hand as she tucked herself back into her dress with the other.

The quartet that had just entered began collaring the butches as some of the girls nearer the door went rushing out.

"Hey-"

"Let 'em go, we got enough. Come on, girls."

"You sonofabitch, get your fuckin' hands off me!"

One of the tough women grabbed Vivian, but the girl in pink stopped her. "She's with us, let her go.

Vivian blinked and stared open-mouthed, about to speak, but just then a bevy of blue-suited policewomen entered. Pandemonium broke lose. She was carried on the crest of the struggling crowd as it moved toward the entrance.

A fight broke out on the sidewalk. There were flashes of arms and legs, yells and curses, and a few shutter-quick exhibitions of judo. Vivian saw it all through alcoholic shock; it looked like a film running at top speed. The girls were hustled into some waiting cars and carted away.

"They're going to lock it up. Come on in the squad car with me," the girl said, taking Vivian's arm. She saw some male policemen going inside the bar, turning off lights. One of them waited outside with a paper in his hand.

"I had to do it on lewd acts in public," the girl went on. 'Tim was all fired up about a dildo but I knew they weren't going to go that far in there, and I'll be damned if I was going to be alone with any of them. Besides, it was the bar we were after, not one individual."

Vivian shook her head. "What? What do you-"

"Here's the car. Come on."

She kept up a steady, seemingly compulsive stream of chatter with the male pair in front all the way to the station.

"God, it was awful, I could throw up. Imagine a woman wanting to put her mitts all over another woman! My flesh is still crawling. And the way they dance-God, I never had a man do some of the things to me on the dance floor that they did-God! And one of them told me what else she'd like to do to me-honestly, Frank, I never even heard of it! Oh, I feel sick...."

When they walked into the station, the first person she saw was Tim. He was eyeing the crew of girls, a small smirk on his face. Then he turned and saw her.

Vivian smiled at him. The script was already written, and she planned to follow it-for awhile, anyway. And he had no choice, as usual.

"You're a sly fox," the girl said to him, punching him companionably in the ribs. "You didn't tell me your wife was going to come in with us."

"Yeah," he grunted.

"I'm afraid I didn't do much," Vivian said modestly. "I'm sorry, darling, but she's so efficient...." She nodded in the direction of the girl. What the hell was her name?

He swallowed. "What did you get, Babs?"

"First, what they were doing to me." She pointed to her jutting breast and made a slurping noise. "They were also doing it to several others. I witnessed that, and also there's an underage girl in the pack. I could swear she's under twenty-one. They were passing around pot. Here it is," she said, producing two reefers from her pocket. "Oh! There's the kid!" she exclaimed, pointing to a young girl. "Frank! Check her age. That's the one."

Vice Squad Chief Huskey joined the trio. "Ed, did Tim tell you he was putting his wife on this job?" Barbara Quentin said coyly, coming forth with another one of her ole' buddy punches.

Huskey looked dumbly at Vivian. Tim spoke quickly. "Yeah ... I thought I'd plant her there, just in case we needed another witness."

Huskey's eyes widened. "Are you nuts? They'll be screaming about citizen vigilantes, conspiracy-"

"I got that figured out. It's for the paper," he said, winking broadly. "You know-wife replaces editor. I couldn't very well go in there for a story. They wouldn't let me in the place."

Huskey shook his head. "Jesus, Tim...."

Vivian laid a light hand on his arm. "Don't worry. You can bill me as Molly Pitcher."

The girls were booked, phone calls were made, and people started arriving. The young girl turned out to be eighteen. Her parents came in, and she ran sobbing into her father's arms.

Huskey smiled brightly. "Eighteen, huh! Great. That'll do it. That and the pot are the best things we've got."

He tuerned to Barbara Quentin. "Was she drinking?"

"Beer," she answered. "Terrific! There goes their license."

"What about the sex, though?" she asked, frowning.

"The point is to close 'em up. Tim can handle the irate community from his side."

She grabbed him by the arm. "But can't I testify about what they did to me?"

"We might not need it." He motioned to the girl, and then held the reefers up, winking at her. "Good job, Babs."

They drifted off, leaving Vivian and Tim alone. Someone had handed them some coffee. She felt almost sober now. She looked stonily at him.

"Okay, you win," she said evenly. "I'll go along with it-I'll have to, won't I? But on one condition."

"What's that?"

"I'll stick by you until the election. Then, when things settle down, I want a quiet, dignified divorce."

He looked steadily at her for a long moment. "Okay. It's a deal." Then: "You dyke bitch!"

"You're not up on your gay vocabulary. You're supposed to call me a filthy muff diver."

"I think I could call you just about anything without going wide of the mark. You're not getting near the kids."

"Good, I don't want them. They're all yours. I'll take five hundred a month, though. Remember, I still have those sizzling love letters you wrote, plus a few other choice bits of miscellaneous information."

The story of the raid broke the next morning, but it was shoved out of the top left-hand corner by another much more serious crime.