Chapter 10
"He should have kept away from that fucking detective," Karl said to Thelma Martin, as he locked the door behind Floyd Knapp. "It's a bad, bad thing when apprehension make a man bold. He should not sniff around traps."
He sank into a chair and sat staring moodily into space, while his companion set and watched him in silence. Thelma was heavy of heart and troubled in mind.
At last, as if giving expression to thoughts that had been worrying her, she exclaimed:
"Karl, what have I done to Janet? I've tried to keep our lives as far apart as I could, but it seems as if the devil had drawn us together to ruin her."
Karl shook his head.
"It is not so. It's the luck of the game-just a little bad luck. I will pass.. . "
Again the buzzer sounded its crackling note of warning. Once more Thelma Martin sprang to her feet, Karl following more leisurely. Going to the door, he said:
"That must be Skidd. He's been gone a long time. Something must have detained him."
Karl opened the door and an angry voice was speaking on the staircase.
"You're full of shit!"
"The hell you say! You can't call me no liar. Listen, goddammit! I know what I'm talking about."
"Oh, shut up!" retorted the voice of Simon Gage.
Karl looked back into the room where Mrs. Martin was waiting apprehensively. With a reassuring nod he said:
"Yes, it is Skidd. Gage is with him."
"I tell you I saw him on the corner," said the first voice again.
"I tell you to shut up!" retorted Gage. Karl smiled.
"I'm afraid Skidd has been drinking," he said.
He came back into the room, followed by a burly, pugnacious-looking individual whose watery eyes and ruddy nose suggested a more than passing acquaintance with the whiskey-bottle. As the newcomer entered he turned to Gage, who followed close at his heels, and spluttered:
"I tell you I know what I'm talking about."
The pickpocket entered excitedly and ran at once to the window. Breathlessly he exclaimed:
"Shut that door! This house is watched!"
Mrs. Martin, in alarm, rushed instinctively to Karl.
The counterfeiter turned a shade paler as he put his arm protectingly about her. Shaking his head disdainfully, he said:
"Nonsense! I don't believe it."
Skidd staggered to his feet and looked at his companions as if asking them to offer some explanation. But no one spoke, and he went on:
"What I want to know is, are they after us, or are they after the new skirt you've got in here? Who is she? What's she wanted for? What are we running here, anyway-a white-slave annex?"
Mrs. Martin shook her head.
"She's all right, Skidd. She's not wanted for anything. I know all about her."
Gage pointed to the door. Warningly he said:
"Well, Bill, you'd better hit the hay. You've got a ticket for a long dream."
Skidd grinned.
"Come on down, Simmie, and tuck me in." As Karl unlocked the door the pickpocket shook his head.
"I've got too much tuckin' in to do right here, Bill. You go along now-get sobered up. We may need you."
The fellow started toward the door. When he reached it he turned round, and in a maudlin manner he stammered: "Good night, Mrs. Mardn. I apologize-I simply 'pologize."
Throwing the door open, he staggered back a step or two and then lurched forward and out.
Karl with an exclamation of disgust, closed the door and went back to the table.
"All this trouble for nothing," he grumbled.
Gage shook his head distrustfully. Going toward the door he said:
"Well, I fly this coop in the morning-early mornin'. " Mrs. Martin turned to Karl. Anxiously she asked: "Is everything safe?" He nodded. "Yes."
Gage grinned.
"Nobody could find that stuff but the rats."
As he spoke there was a loud knocking at the door. Outside Skidd's voice was heard saying:
"Mrs. Mardn! Mrs. Mardn! Open the door!"
Gage ran quickly to open the door and then came back into the room. As the door opened Skidd rushed in, his face scarlet, his eyes protruding with fear and rage.
"Hey-what's all the excitement, Skidd?"
Skidd looked at each of them, his lips trembling.
"You better do something," he said excitedly. "There's a man-there's a man down there!"
Skidd was speaking the truth. The man he saw was Flint Stryker, and he was in Janet's room. He had come in earlier and they had screwed, but Janet failed to achieve an orgasm.
Flint lay quietly beside her, feeling quite pleasant, with one hand resting peacefully on her cunt. He had fucked her with all the fury of impatient desire, shooting off almost immediately. He had looked forward to fucking her for so long that he could not hold back under the stress of reality. She was much better than his imagination had allowed for, and that's what did him in. Taking his cock with a slight sigh of pleasure, Janet inserted it in her slit and began churning her ass with such passionate precision that he was spurting out his load within a few minutes.
"I'm sorry," he apologized, "but I just couldn't hold back. Just let me get my breath," he said, rotating his fingers on her clitoris, "and I'll see what I can do."
"Let me help you recover," Janet said, turning her body so that her face was over his cock.
She took his tool between her lips and teased it with her tongue. Instantly a feeling of desire surged through him, generating life into his relaxed shaft.
"Yeah, honey-that'll do it all right," he sighed, sinking a digit into her juicy cunt.
As his cock enlarged beneath her constant teasing, he buried his fingers in the hairy moisture, then plunged them deep into her channel of joy. She gave her lips a slight twist and moaned, to tell him what he was doing was enjoyable, and then, as the moan died away, she took his erect prick all the way into her warm mouth. He was soon throbbing with readiness.. .
Janet got up and straddled him.
"Now I'll get my earthquake," she said, inserting his prick into the folds of her vagina and lowering herself upon its length. She sighed low and long as the shaft penetrated to its furthest point. Then she fell forward, crushing her tits upon his chest. Flint gripped a fleshy mound of buttock in either hand and sought her asshole with his index finger.
She held still for a moment, waiting to see what he was going to do. She felt the finger insert itself in her ass and slowly push its way up her anus. It felt good, very good indeed, working, as it did, in opposite direction to his cock. Tingly waves of hot flashes swept over her and centered in one big ball of heat inside her cunt. They were both on their way to a rampant climax, and she knew nothing could stop it this time. She churned and pumped, riding him furiously until the ball of fire in her cunt exploded and consumed her whole body. At the same time he thrust upward and shot his steaming cream into her, so that their juices mingled.
They had finished and were barely in decent shape when a man stealthily opened the door and came into the room. It was Skidd, and when he saw a man as well as a woman in the room he ran out yelling.
Stryker decided to bluff his way through the impossible situation. He followed Skidd up the stairs and into the room where Karl, Thelma and Gage were waiting. As he entered the room, followed by Janet, Stryker heard Skidd say:
"There's a man-there's a man down there!"
Stryker came boldly in, making a great fuss of virtuous indignation and concealing only with difficulty the satisfaction he felt at the excellent opportunity which
Skidd's drunken familiarity had afforded to meet the crooks at close range.
Janet, realizing that the long-dreaded crisis was now at hand, but determined to help to the extent of her power the man she now loved, stood in the background pale and almost trembling.
Advancing threateningly on the retreating and now thoroughly sobered Skidd, Stryker thundered:
"What the hell do you mean by trying to force yourself into this young lady's room?"
Turning to Mrs. Martin, he added: "Mrs. Martin, is this the sort of protection she's to have in your house?"
Thelma Martin did not answer him. Instead, she turned to Skidd and pointed to the door.
"Mr. Skidd, you go to your room," she said, her tone sharp. Then to Stryker, she added, apologetically: "He's been drinking."
"Drinking my ass!" Skidd roared. "I ain't drunk, not by a long shot"
Prodded by Gage, the baffled and befuddled Skidd finally went protestingly to the door, still unable to understand what the stranger was doing there or why his associates seemed to be disposed to take his part.
Stryker stepped forward and, addressing Bruker who stood by, a silent spectator of the scene, said more amiably:
"Of course, if he's been drinking, he probably made a mistake in the room. I'm sorry if we disturbed you; but won't you see that Miss Boyington is not further annoyed?"
The counterfeiter eyed the detective narrowly, but there was no sign of fear on his face. A little diplomacy might save the situation. Skidd was a damned fool. Cordially he replied:
"I will see that the young lady is not molested in the future."
"Thank you."
"Pardon me," said Karl politely, as he passed in front of the detective to go to the door.
"Certainly," replied Stryker, in the same tone, not to be outdone in courtesy.
Karl went out, closing the door behind him. When he had disappeared, Stryker made a quick step forward to where Mrs. Martin was standing.
For a moment she looked at him and then with an effort she said:
"Mr. Stryker, I think it would be much better if you would take Miss Boyington away. You can see for yourself that I can't protect her in a house of this sort I can't have the responsibility."
Stryker shrugged his shoulders. With studied carelessness he replied:
"I can't take her away now. This house is being watched."
The woman started violently.
"What do you mean?" she exclaimed.
The detective hastened to explain:
"It has evidently leaked out that she is here. They may be reporters. They may be police detectives. I can't take her away without showing my hand, and she can't go alone. Isn't there a back way so you could escape with her to a hotel?"
Mrs. Martin shook her head.
"It's impossible," she murmured.
Janet now stepped forward.
"Let me go alone," she said.
"No-no!"
Cautiously Stryker went to the door and opened it with a quick jerk, as if expecting to surprise an eavesdropper. Finding no one, he closed it again and came to where the woman stood. Addressing Mrs. Martin, he said, firmly:
"You've got to go!"
She shook her head. Firmly she said:
"I shall not leave this house."
He looked at her in silence for a moment. Evidently, nothing he could say or do would influence this woman. She had a stronger character than he gave her credit for. There was no use beating about the bush any longer. Dropping the mask, he said frankly:
"Mrs. Martin, the men who are watching this house are operatives of the government's Secret Service."
"My God!" she cried, instinctively starting for the door.
Quickly stepping forward, he intercepted her.
"Wait! I cannot permit you to speak to anyone in this house or do anything to defeat the law in this matter."
Stepping back and trying to control herself, she asked: "Who is it."
"I'll not tell you."
"What does it all mean?" He made no reply, but pointed to the door. "I advise you to go with Miss Boyington now. Will you."
"No."
She sat down on a chair, an expression of determined resolution on her face. "Very well, then."
Involuntarily, Janet made an exclamation of distress. "What is it?" asked Stryker, going up to her. "Nothing! Nothing!"
The detective returned to where Mrs. Martin was sitting. Standing before her with folded arms, he said, deliberately:
"Mrs. Martin, my men are watching this house. The 'Personal' you answered was a plant." His listener started up in terror and then sank back with a groan as he went on: "There was no such legacy. I discovered that you and your husband are engaged with others in a gigantic counterfeiting scheme. I cannot promise you immunity from prosecution, but if you will do what is right by assisting the law, that fact will be taken into consideration by the prosecuting officers. I may be able to assist you there; but in turn you must do something for me."
"What?" she asked, almost inarticulately.
"Who killed Matthew Thomas?"
Rising to her feet, she staggered to the door.
"Why do you ask me? I don't know! I don't know!"
"You're the one person who does know!"
"I don't know anything about it."
"You do, and you can save yourself by telling."
She halted, her face deathly pale, and supported herself on the back of a chair. Tremulously she said:
"I don't care for myself! I don't care but for one thing in the world! What are you going to do with Karl Bruker?"
Stryker shook his head.
"I can't do anything for Karl Bruker."
She gave a shriek like an infuriated tigress.
"You must! You shall!" she screamed, at the top of her voice.
The commotion was heard outside, for Bruker reentered the room hurriedly. His quick, keen glance flashed inquiringly over the group.
"What's this? What's the matter?" he demanded, sternly.
Mrs. Martin rushed over to him. Regardless of the consequences, her first instinct was to give the alarm to the man she loved. Breathlessly she cried:
"This man has trapped us!"
The counterfeiter's lips tightened, and, drawing a few steps back, he closed the door and locked it. Calmly, he replied:
"Quietly, my dear, quietly. He, too, is in the trap! Now what is it?"
Stryker stepped forward.
"Bruker, the game's up. You are under arrest! Your wife is implicated with you and others in this counterfeiting. I have offered her a chance to save herself if she will tell me who killed Matthew Thomas."
The counterfeiter shook his head.
"She knows nothing about it."
"She knows everything about it," retorted the detective, decidedly.
Mrs. Martin laid her hand on her husband's arm. Despairingly she cried:
"Karl, can't you do something?"
The counterfeiter fell back, and, drawing a revolver, he said grimly:
"I'll kill him!"
Before he could pull the trigger, Mrs. Martin sprang at the hand holding the weapon. "No, no, don't!" she cried.
While Karl hesitated, Stryker turned quickly in the direction of the hidden microphone. Loudly he exclaimed:
"I'm trapped, boys! Come and get me!"
Janet, in an agony of suspense retreated to the end of the room, covering her face with her hands. The excitement was too much for her nerves. As she saw Stryker threatened with instant death, she fainted, falling heavily on the sofa. Seeing her fall, Stryker turned to Mrs. Martin and pointed to the prostate girl.
"Your daughter-she's fainted!"
The woman stared at him in astonishment.
"What-" she stammered. "You know-you know-she's my daughter?"
Kneeling at the couch, Stryker took Janet's hands in his and patted them; then, taking a brandy-flask from his pocket, he put a few drops on her mouth. Contemptuously he cried:
"Do you think I'd have sent her here if I hadn't known you were her mother? I wouldn't have her hurt or even frightened for all the damned counterfeiters in the world! Good God, haven't you any feeling for her at all? I might have known I couldn't trust her to a woman who left her when she was a baby for a crook like Bruker!"
Mrs. Martin staggered forward and gave a little exclamation of triumph. Turning to Karl, she cried: "Karl, we've got him!" The counterfeiter stared, not understanding. "What do you mean?"
She pointed to the detective, still on his knees at the side of the prostrate girl. "He's in love with her!" Stryker rose to his feet.
"And if I am--? "
Advancing toward him, she said, defiantly: "Whatever you do to me, you do to her! She's my daughter, and I'll claim her."
He shrugged his shoulders as he exclaimed: "You're a rotten pair!" She returned to the attack.
"I've kept out of her life until now, but from now on she'll get what I get!"
Incensed beyond his customary self-control, Stryker shook his fist in the woman's face. Furiously, he cried: "You can't drag her down so low that I won't drag her up again. She's accused of this murder, and the only way I can clear her is by showing you up."
Infuriated, Karl once more drew his revolver and covered the detective.
"Damn you!" he exclaimed, his finger on the trigger. Stryker did not flinch. Advancing boldly he said, defiantly:
"Go on-shoot, and your wife goes to the chair for it!" Overawed, realizing that it was no use adding the crime of murder to the other charges against him, Karl lowered his pistol, and Stryker went on: "This house is surrounded! My men hear every word we say! I've only to whisper an order to have it obeyed. The moment you threatened to kill me they started to raid the house." As he spoke the electric buzzer sounded violently. Stryker said: "There they are!"
Outside there was the sound of crashing glass and wood, followed by loud voices. The raiding party had effected an entrance and were already on the way upstairs. Quickly, Karl rushed to the door and looked out. What he saw convinced him that the game was up. Returning quickly into the room, he put his revolver to his head. Mrs. Martin with a terrible cry rushed forward to stop him, but too late.
He pulled the trigger. There was a loud report, the sound of a body falling heavily; and when the smoke cleared away the leader of the counterfeiters was seen lying on the floor, blood trickling from a small wound in the side of his head. With a despairing cry, her arms outstretched, Mrs. Martin threw herself over the dead body.
"Karl! Oh, Karl!"
Stryker, at the couch, held Janet in his arms, reviving her with brandy. The voices outside came nearer. All at once, the detectives headed by Bill, burst in. While the others halted to stoop over the dead counterfeiter, the assistant rushed over to the place where his chief stood.
"Did we get here in time, sir?"
Stryker smiled grimly as he pointed to Bruker.
"He has saved the government the expense of a trial. Now all we've got to do is to find the man who killed Thomas. Call a cab, and we'll take Miss Boyington home."
CHAPTER ll
Dressed in somber black, her drawn, pinched features partly concealed by a veil which only served to intensify her extreme pallor, her eyes swollen from weeping, Thelma Martin advanced slowly into the room, a grim figure of stalking tragedy.
Flint Stryker watched her with pitying eyes. She made no sign of recognition, but, going up to his desk, stood there motionless, waiting for him to speak. To her this man, who had robbed her of everything she loved, represented the enemy. There was a feeling for murder in her heart as she stood near him. If she only had a weapon in her hand! Quickly she would use it, reckless of the consequences.. .
They stared steadily at each other, one with hatred, the other with pity. Finally, unable to control herself any longer, Thelma Martin burst out:
"God, but I wish I'd let him kill you!"
Stryker shrugged his shoulders. Carelessly glancing over the papers on his desk, he replied, calmly:
"What good would that have done? If I hadn't caught him, someone else would. You were both playing a game that you couldn't win. You knew it. You said so. You told him yourself that every prison in the world was waiting for him."
"He's dead! He's dead!" she cried, sinking into a chair near the desk.
He watched her in silence, allowing her time to calm herself and organize her thoughts. He could not forget that this was the mother of the woman he loved, and he wanted to help her if he could.
"You killed him," she accused him, her voice cold and lifeless.
"He killed himself when he went into this. The government would never have let him out. He'd have been buried alive."
Almost beside herself, hardly conscious of what she was doing, she made wide, extravagant gestures with her arms. Distractedly, she cried:
"Oh, let me alone-let me alone!"
"I would if I could," he replied. "I've had to make you a good deal of trouble; now I'd like to give you a little help if I can. You haven't anyone to advise you, have you?"
She looked up at him, her face plainly showing her distrust Cautiously she said: "You fooled me once"
"I'd fool you again, if I had to-and could. But as far as I'm concerned this case closed with the arrests. I want to help you."
She shook her head despondently.
"I don't want any help."
"I want to do what I can," he went on. "It's not necessary for you to go to prison. You have something to offer the government in exchange for clemency. If your husband left any plates, or any formula, or any record of his method, it will save you, if you can turn them up."
"I won't tell you a thing!" she said, determinedly. He looked at her fixedly. If that was her attitude, he must try different tactics. Changing his manner, he said firmly:
"I'm not asking you-I'm telling you. If you refuse to give up those plates, the government will put you where you can't use them."
"I don't care. I don't care what you do!" she cried, defiantly.
"If there aren't any plates, haven't you any records of his process that you could give up to save yourself?"
"I don't know anything about his process, and I wish to God he'd never known anything about it!"
"If that's true, there's no need of your going to prison as a counterfeiter. You're practically innocent. You can go on the stand as State's witness, and by your testimony that these other men know nothing of your husband's process you can save them from long terms."
She nodded wearily.
"Yes, yes, I can do that"
Having turned the conversation round to the point where he wanted it, he said quickly:
"You can do exactly the same thing in the Thomas case."
Sensing a trap, she rose to her feet and clutched wildly at the table with her two hands. Excitedly she cried:
"Why do you say that? Why do you pretend I know anything about that?"
The detective also rose. Bending forward and fixing her with his steady gaze, he said, slowly and emphatically: "Because, after Mr. Thomas fell, dragging off the tablecloth, you were leaning forward-holding on to the table with both hands, as you are doing now."
Realizing the full significance of his words, she drew back in terror.
"What!" she exclaimed.
Quickly he drew the hand-prints from the drawer.
"These are the finger-marks you left on the table that night These are identical with the ones you left here on my blotter. This is jury proof of complicity-"
Overcome at this revelation, she fell back gasping. Hoarsely she exclaimed:
"I had nothing to do with it-nothing!"
He shrugged his shoulders as he retorted:
"To prove that you will have to confess who did."
Bounding forward like some infuriated animal trapped into an admission, she cried, wildly:
"You can do what you like! I don't care! I don't care! It doesn't matter!"
"It matters to an innocent girl," he replied quietly. "Your daughter's life is ruined unless we can clear her now from this charge of murder."
Leaning forward over his desk, she cried in a hysterical manner:
"Her life's ruined if you drag me into this case! You can't-you can't do it without uncovering everything-everything! You won't do it! If you love her you can't do it!"
For a moment he hesitated, but only for a moment. Raising his head, he replied, emphatically: "I must do it!"
Almost hysterical, Mrs. Martin sobbed:
"I don't want her to know me; I don't want to know her. I'm dead as far as she is concerned."
"If you go on the stand as State's witness, your past can be absolutely protected. Your daughter need never know."
"You don't need me to clear her! You know she didn't do it You know it was someone else. Leave me alone! Leave me alone! Find him yourself!"
"Who? Knapp?" asked the detective, quietly.
He watched her narrowly to judge the effect of the name, but she remained impassive. Shaking her head, she said:
"I didn't do it I didn't say who did do it. I haven't said, or told, you a thing."
At that moment Bill entered from the outer office. Stryker looked up quickly:
Ts she here?' 'Yes."
"Bring her in."
The assistant went out, and Mrs. Martin turned to the detective. Supplicatingly she cried:
"Who is it? Janet? Oh, let me out of here! I don't want to see her! I won't stay here!"
Before he could reply the door opened and Janet appeared. She had heard Mrs. Martin's appeal, and the grieved accents of the woman's voice had gone right to the young girl's heart. Sympathetically she said:
"Please don't go yet. I wanted to see you again. I'm so sorry."
Mrs. Martin turned away. Shaking her head, she said, bitterly:
"No, no! I don't want any sympathy. I-" Stryker spoke up.
"Miss Boyington, I'm trying to persuade Mrs. Martin to tell me who killed Mr. Thomas to clear you."
"He knows-he knows!" cried Mrs. Martin wildly.
"Yes, I know. But I can't prove it. I can't clear her, and you can."
The young girl took the older woman's hand.
"Why won't you? To help us?"
Shrinking from the contact, Mrs. Martin cried, hysterically: "No, no! He trapped me into betraying them all-through you! I've lost everything through you-all I had! I hadn't anything but him. They've killed him-they've killed me! I don't care what happens now. I won't do anything for any of you-I won't-I won't...I won't!"
Looking back and making a last gesture of defiance, she turned and left the office.
Janet sighed as he laid down the receiver. "Oh, poor woman! I wish I could do something for her!"
Stryker smiled.
"Don't worry. She'll be all right."
"You won't send her to prison?"
"No, no; I'm only trying to get a statement from her to clear the case up. We must have it to prove her innocence and yours."
"I wish I could help her."
The telephone rang. Stryker picked up the receiver. After listening he said: "Oh, tell him to come right in." Turning to Janet, he smiled and said: "It's Fred."
The office door was pushed open, and Fred Thomas entered hurriedly. The news of the morning's papers had at last given him a clue to Janet's whereabouts. Her sudden disappearance and the air of mystery surrounding it had worried him to distraction and given rise to all kinds of rumors. But his own confidence had never failed. He and Eva were sure that it was for the best, whatever she had done. Coming forward, arms extended, he cried:
"Oh, Janet!"
She fell into his arms, tears threatening to fall, and kissed him on the cheek. He smiled, and said: "I'll take you home now."
Stryker opened the door for them himself. Janet paused and smiled at him.
"Will you phone me later?" she asked.
Would he phone her later! And much, much more he would do! There were delectable orgasms yet to be enjoyed, and each time he looked at her Stryker was ready to fuck again.
"Yes," he said. "I'll phone you later in the day." He watched them go, and then returned to his desk with a silent sigh. What a woman! Every day he liked her better. His thoughts were more full of her than of his work when suddenly Helen Wade entered the office.
She leaned over and whispered, "I suppose I'll have to take on Billy now."
Stryker grinned, appreciative of her attitude.
"Don't throw me away just yet," he said. "I can't let Bill take you on all by himself the first time, you know. That wouldn't be fair to him. As soon as we wind up this case, the three of us will have a jamming party."
"That may be sooner than you think," she said, smiling. "Knapp is here."
Stryker came upright with a start. The critical moment had arrived. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, and said:
"Have you got that confession rigged up?"
Helen held out a legal paper. "Right here."
Stryker glanced it over and smiled. "Looks damn convincing," he said. "This is where we pull a woman out of the water in which she's determined to drown.. . send him in, Helen, and the minute I touch this button send in Mrs. Martin."
"I understand," she said.
Helen Wade walked to the door and opened it. She looked down at Floyd Knapp, who was sitting there-waiting.
"Come in, Mr. Knapp."
Floyd Knapp received a call from Flint Stryker earlier in the day. Helen Wade spoke to him.
"Mr. Stryker wondered if you could find time to come over and see him today, Mr. Knapp," she had said. "He said to tell you it was a matter of some urgency."
"Why-well-let me see," he stalled, requiring time to think. What could Stryker possibly want to discuss with him? Surely he was in the clear-no one could put him with the counterfeiters. Or could they? Thelma Martin! She could involve him. No. Thelma hated the police, and she hated Flint Stryker most of all; she blamed him for Karl's death. No. Thelma wouldn't talk. She was an old pro, and old pros never talked.
"Why, yes," he said, "I'll change my schedule around and come over sometime today."
But after he had hung up the nervousness swept over him again. He gulped a shot of whiskey and sat down, his hands perspiring and shaking. He was afraid, and he didn't know of what. He needed courage and had none.
Then he thought of Cleo Burgess. Yes, Cleo! He'd go have a session with Cleo and get rid of his nervousness.. .
Cleo Burgess led him to the basement playroom. She charged him an extra fifty dollars, because he had said it was vital that he see her and she had cancelled another important client to accommodate him.
He stripped down while she removed her clothes and put on her black leather boots.
"I'll put you in the stocks this time," she said, as he stood trembling before her. She looked at him with disgust; her lip curled. "You are in a bad way, aren't you, pig?"
She directed him to the center of the room, to an instrument that was an exact copy of an early American device used to punish mild infractions of the law. The stocks. A large plank-like construction with one large hole for the neck and smaller holes for the arms.
Cleo lifted the top plank, and Floyd Knapp placed his neck and wrists in the holes. She lowered the plank into position and locked it Knapp was now her prisoner, and she could do anything she desired to him. He was helpless.
Floyd Knapp stood, his legs straight, but his torso bent forward at the waist, so his body formed a living L toppled and askew.
Cleo went across the room and returned with a thick, wide, leather belt She stood behind Knapp's exposed buttocks, caressing the skin with her palm.
"Just a minute, you dirty swine," she said, with a fiendish laugh. "I have something special for you."
She crossed the room again and returned with a dildo, which she expertly strapped on herself. She greased the long, flesh-like hard rubber prick with vaseline, and smiled at its length and circumference.
"Now I've got you where you belong, pig!"
Cleo stepped back and brought the belt down on the mounds of flesh. Whack! Knapp shuddered and moaned as the belt fell again and again on his buttocks, raising welts and bruising the flesh.
Knapp's prick leaped into an erection, and he cried out to her:
"More, more-I'm no good! Punish me for the pig
I am!"
Cleo tossed the belt aside, and, placing her hands on his hips, she guided the greased dildo between the quivering buttocks and snugged it against the tight orifice.
"No, no, no," he cried. "Please, not that!"
"Shut your filthy pig mouth!" she commanded. "You're my prisoner, and I'll treat you the way you deserve to be treated."
Cleo braced her feet and gripped his hips. Then she lunged, driving the dildo into his anus with one strong thrust. Knapp screamed in agony. But the more he cried out, the more Cleo enjoyed his suffering. She pumped the dildo in and out of his ass, feeling her own juices start their flow.
The screaming stopped, but not before Cleo had reached a furious climax.
Now she wanted to stop, to withdraw and remove the dildo and return to the belt, but Knapp wouldn't let her.
"I deserve it," he cried. "Don't stop. It hurts so good!"
He gasped and began to rotate his buttocks, twitching and trembling; low, animal-like groans escaped his throat Suddenly his prick spouted its fluid, shooting it against the planks of the stocks, and his body grew limp and almost lifeless.
Cleo released him. He dressed with renewed confidence, his fear all gone.
"Thank you, thank you," he said, shoving a handful of bills into her hand. "I needed that, Cleo-you'll never know how much I needed that."
And he had gone to Stryker's office full of confidence and swagger. He was the king of the world, capable of handling any situation.
He smiled at Helen Wade and entered the office hurriedly, his furtive, uneasy glance quickly returning; and with it he scanned Stryker's face, as if trying to read his mind.
"Good afternoon," he smiled, with cheerfulness that was obviously unfelt Stryker lit a cigarette. "Good afternoon, Mr. Knapp."