Chapter 5

The racket of their exploding engines engulfed him like a physical wall. He had to slow down; they were all around him, behind him and in front of him and on either side of him. Headlights and road lights flashed in his eyes, blinding him, making him lose his bearings; his only thought was to avoid a collision with one.

It was eerie, appalling.

The damn fools were acting like they wanted to kill him!

None of them spoke, but by some prearranged plan they had him boxed in on a flat hard stretch of beach off the road, a gravelly part where their tires wouldn't skid and sink in so easily.

It was a cat-and-mouse game.

A deadly game in which he was the mouse and they were the cats. He slowed and swerved and zigged and zagged, using all the skill he had to try to break loose, but they had him and they knew it. Finally he was forced to a stop in the middle of a big open space.

Then the parade began. These guys were good, and Jimmy, angry as he was, had to admit it, even though he knew also that they were out to waste him. They fanned out and made a circle, a ring of moving bikes, circling around and around him in a precise geometric pattern, their road lights aimed dead at him so that he couldn't see a thing except vague shadows atop moving wheels.

He swore, cursed to himself and waited. There was nothing else he could do. They had him trapped like a fly in a spider web. If he hadn't been dreaming back there on the slope they never would have caught him like this. The Harley was fast, powerful, souped-up. He would have put it up against any machine in a road race.

But it was too late for that now.. Helpless, he waited for them to make the next move.

The circle became two circles, the smaller inner circle becoming tighter and tighter-the leaders, sizing him up, he guessed. Then he heard voices yelling things, at him and to each other.

"Hey fink! Your mama know you up this late?"

"Hey what's that thing he's sitting on, man-some kind of weird invention?"

"It's Dr. Zarkov, the man from Mongo!"

"Nah, he's just a fink is all!"

"Hey baby; quit blinking those beautiful gray eyes. The light bother you or something? Quit blinking, I said!"

"We caught us a big fish on the beach! Hey, men-like let's have us a fish fry, huh?"

"Let's dump his machine in the ocean!"

"Let's waste the fink!"

Jimmy didn't bother trying to reply to their taunts. He knew it was useless anyway-they were just doing it to get him steamed. He set his jaw stubbornly and waited. It stung him when they made remarks about his motorcycle, though, but he let his face go dead and expressionless, gathering his energy up coolly for the first chance that came along to bust one of them. They'd gang him and maybe stomp him, but with luck he could put one or two of them in the hospital first.

He was angry enough to do that much.

The inner circle thinned out until just three bikes were left, and they stopped finally, bracketing him in side a triangle. Before they shut down they revved up simultaneously, blasting his ears with the noise. Jimmy remained on his cycle, afraid they might do something to it if he got off. He didn't give a damn what they did to him, but if they tried putting so much as a scratch in the bright paint of his cycle he was ready to demand blood in repayment. So he sat like a rock, unmoving, until they stopped and got off their cycles.

A short, stocky young man with enormously wide shoulders approached him then. Like Jimmy, he had on a tight-fitting black leather jacket, but unlike Jimmy's jacket his was studded with brightly shining rivet heads and red, blue and gold ornamentation. He walked with a low swinging shuffle, the careless walk of one who was powerful physically and yet lazy about it-a threat of instant explosion seemed contained in that careless shuffle which made him seem all the more dangerous, in a graceful cat-like way. He wore a black and white short-billed motorcycle cap, crushed down over his head in the same careless way, almost but not quite hiding his eyes.

They were hard-looking eyes. Jimmy could see their steely glint in the reflected light.

He came up to Jimmy and Jimmy could see his face-a tough, mulatto face, swarthy skin and dark narrow eyes.

"What are you doing on this strip of road?" he demanded in a surly, slightly lispish voice. "Just riding," Jimmy said evenly. "Riding where?"

"South."

"Don't wise off, buddy. I asked you where." Jimmy shrugged, checking around him with the corners of his eyes to see if any of them had crept up behind him. Every nerve in his body was alert, knowing they would rumble and stomp him with very little excuse. He had heard about these motorcycle gangs, but this was the first time he had ever run into one.

"San Francisco, L. A. Just cruising around."

"Just cruising around," the leader of the gang mimicked. "How come you took this road then? Nobody brings a bike down this strip without permission from the Rattlers."

"I didn't know that."

"Where you from?"

"Upstate. Coram."

Somebody behind him laughed. "A square from nowhere. This cat isn't hip, Ronnie-think we ought to hip him?"

"Like yeah, man-let's turn him on to some real downstate action," another voice chimed in.

But the leader, the one they called Ronnie, held up his hand and they stopped talking. He faced Jimmy again, slowly and deliberately chewing a wad of gum for several seconds before he spoke.

When he did, his words came out flat, toneless. "The guys. You know, like they get excited, kind of Always looking for a wingding, they are. How old are you, kid?"

"Seventeen."

"Know how old I am?"

Jimmy shook his head.

"Twenty-five. Like I'm the oldest, see, so I'm the guy that says stomp or don't stomp. Me, I don't care, but I got to satisfy the guys, get them a little action, or else...." He made a noise with his tongue and drew his finger across his throat. And then laughed evilly. "Like what do you think I ought to do, kid?"

"I don't know," Jimmy said. "But if you want to fight me I'll take you on even."

Ronnie laughed again. "Hear that? The punk ain't no chicken. Says he'll take me on even, like a champ, like man-to-man, fair play shake hands and come out fighting."

The group roared with laughter.

"Hell, let's stomp him."

"We didn't bring the boxing gloves, Ronnie."

"Hey, maybe he's a professional, like Aragon, man!"

Ronnie turned to Jimmy again. "Like they're crude," he explained, in a pretended apologetic manner. "Like they never heard of Fair Play and like that, you dig?"

Jimmy took a slow deep breath and then said: "Weil, maybe they're afraid to see you get beaten up."

The silence was loud, thunderous. Like the waves pounding against the shore fifty or so yards away.

Ronnie pushed his cap back from his eyes and looked at Jimmy, a tight little grin turning up the corners of his thin knife-slash of a mouth, his hands coming to rest on his hips. They were all waiting to see what he would say. Jimmy had dared him with an insult, and now whatever happened depended on the leader alone. Jimmy kept his eyes locked with Ronnie's now, ignoring the others around and in back of him. He knew there had to be a fight, but the question was how many against one. The leader was tough and would know how to rumble, but if he agreed to fight Jimmy alone, Jimmy had at least a chance of just getting off with a beating.

He waited for the answer and it came.

"Hey I like you, man," Ronnie said. "I like the way you said that. You know there ain't one guy in this bunch who would say a thing like that, man? Like I know you just said that because you're a real kick who's never been nowhere, a cornball jerk from the sticks, like a real baby with a big new bike. Like that's what you remind me of-a baby. You're real cute, man. Like I bet all the chicks go for you at the drop of a hat, huh?"

His voice was laughing, mocking, but Jimmy wondered if there wasn't a note of sincerity underneath.

"What's your name, man?"

"Jim."

"That it! Like I knew you reminded me of someone!" He turned to the gang. "He's a ghost, you dig? His name's Jimmy and he's a ghost"

Nobody said anything.

Ronnie spat his gum out on the sand. "Okay, man off the bike."

Jimmy hesitated, and then got off slowly, not taking his eyes from Ronnie.

Ronnie just watched him, grinning. "Relax, man! Like I said, I dig you. We'll go over there on the beach, just you and me, see? You carrying a blade?"

Jimmy showed him his hunting knife, attached to his belt.

Ronnie laughed. "Wow, some blade! Like a real machete!" He made a quick motion with his hand and a silver switchblade popped open into view for the first time. "Okay, we go over there man. You other guys stay here, except for Paul and Lou. Don't want no cops horning in on this hassle."

Two of them moved up behind Jimmy but didn't touch him. The four of them began walking out over the sand onto the beach. When they got to a flat open spot, Paul and Lou hung back. Ronnie and Jimmy separated and laced each other.

Ronnie's knife was already in his hand. Jimmy took his steel hunting knife from his belt sheath and held it extended in his.

It was very silent. Except for the sea, there was no sound, and all the motorcycle lights had been turned off. Only the moon provided illumination in the early morning night, but it was sufficient, out in the open.

They circled each other. Ronnie whispered a laugh, stopped and began taking off his jacket, turning his back on Jimmy. Jimmy did the same. Then, in their tee shirts, they faced each other, and this time Ronnie darted in suddenly with a yell-"Yahhh!"-and catching Jimmy by surprise tore a long slash in the front of his tee shirt. He was barely able to backpedal in time to avoid a cut.

He was more wary after that. He crouched, moving to keep himself facing Ronnie at all times. Ronnie's expression was like smiling death, chilling-but Jimmy's jaw was set stubbornly. He wasn't a knife fighter, but he knew the elements. Keep low, keep moving, face your opponent, look for an opening.

Watch your opponent's feet, like in boxing. The feet tell you everything, telegraph his moves. Jimmy knew boxing, at least. His old man had taught him that. He used what he could of it now, setting up a little dance step counter to the wolfish shuffle of the experienced gang leader.

Ronnie lunged again, underestimating his opponent, and Jimmy was ready. He saw the knife hook toward his stomach and quickly brought the hilt of his down on Ronnie's wrist in a sharp, chopping blow.

Luck was with him. Ronnie had been underestimating him, trying to make quick work after Jimmy's first clumsy movements. The hard nub of the handle whammed into wrist bone and Ronnie's knife went scudding down into the sand. He lunged after it but Jimmy dove at him, colliding with him on the ground just as Ronnie grasped the handle of his switchblade.

He caught the wrist of Ronnie's knife hand and Ronnie caught his, and locked together they went rolling over and over down to the surf.

Jimmy could feel the power in his opponent's body; power like a panther's, those broad shoulders giving him great strength. The wrist of his knife hand felt like it was being squeezed in a vise. But he gritted his teeth and they got to their feet, standing in the wet surf, trying to arm-wrestle each other down or out of position.

Jimmy suddenly let himself go slack and fell backward at the same time. It was a gamble, but he had to do something because his opponent had more sheer brute strength and would have exhausted him eventually in a test like that.

Ronnie came flying forward, tumbling into him, and Jimmy lacked out-the deadly grip was broken as they both went down into the surf, the cold water splashing over them. Jimmy rolled and found himself on top of his opponent, his knife still in his hand, thrust against his opponent's rib cage.

He could have ended it there. He knew it and Ronnie knew it, looking up at him expressionlessly, waiting for the thrust.

But Jimmy couldn't. He wanted to, but he couldn't; he hesitated, and in that instant's hesitation his whole advantage was lost. Ronnie's strength was enough to throw him back and off, and then they were thrashing around in the surf, both their knives gone, pummeling each other with their fists.

The fight dragged on. Out of the water, their clothes torn and fouled with wet sand, they pounded at each other, fell down, got up, rolled, clutched, knead-on and on, each hurting the other almost equally, Ronnie's blows more crushing but Jimmy's quicker and more often hitting their mark.

Until at last they were both nearly exhausted. Down on the sand, locked together in a panting embrace like two lovers, their faces close together.

"Why didn't you, man-you could have back there in the water," Ronnie gasped.

"I don't know," Jimmy panted.

"That was real dumb, kid. I would have wasted you."

"I know."

They rolled again, this time Ronnie getting the advantage, his elbow crushing down on Jimmy's windpipe.

"I could waste you now," he panted, "I could waste you now, you rube hick!"

Jimmy felt his eyes begin to blur with the pain as he gasped for breath. Everything seemed to grow dim, darker! he could hear a high thin ringing in his ears the sound of his own blood. This was it, he thought, and relaxed. He just didn't have any more to give.

But the pressure eased suddenly, and then they were both lying there, gasping, totally spent.

Paul and Lou came over and watched, but neither of them said anything.

At last, Ronnie spoke to them: "Okay; you guys saw it-who won?"

Paul, a small wiry guy, shifted on his feet. "Why didn't you do it, Ronnie? You had him that time!"

"Who won damn you!"

"You did, man."

"Lou? You think I did enough to him? Or maybe you want to try it with me, huh?"

Lou was bigger than Paul, almost as big as Jimmy, but he shook his head quickly. "No, man; you won. You could have wasted him but you didn't. So that's your business."

Ronnie laughed, getting to his feet. Jimmy, hardly able to move, was surprised when he reached down to help him up also.

"Listen, man-never do that again, what you did back there in the water. Never with anyone, dig?"

Jimmy nodded slowly, wiping some blood streaming from his nose with his torn undershirt.

He was barely able to stand. Ronnie threw his arm up across his shoulder, and together they lurched off up the beach, staggering back to the group squatting and smoking around their bikes.

Ronnie let go of Jimmy, who promptly fell back on his rump in the sand, the pain of battle really making itself felt now. He could see Ronnie was still bleeding from several cuts and wondered at his ability to stand up and talk normally, as though nothing had happened.

"He's Jimmy," Ronnie announced. "He fights like one of them big old mountain lions, dig? He almost wasted me. Anyone want to try him out now?"

There were a lot of nervous, questioning glances at the two of them, but nobody spoke up.

"Anyone wants to try him out, go ahead. Only one at a time, see?-his rules. Go ahead; try him you dumb chickens! But when you get done with him, then you got to go through me, too-dig?"

Somebody laughed, breaking the tension. "Hey, I bet you got those muscles picking apples, huh Jimmy?"

The others began laughing too, and Jimmy realized dully that they were laughing with him, not against him.

"That's a boss set of wheels you got there, man," Paul said, comming over to Jimmy with a pack of cigarettes and offering him one.

Jimmy took the cigarette eagerly, his hands shaking now with the sudden relaxation of tension. But he managed to get the flame cupped in Paul's hands, and the long drag of smoke soothed him. He felt sore, battered-and exhilarated.

"Yeah," Jimmy said. "I just got her a week ago."

"Bet she purrs."

"You bet. You guys never would have caught me if I'd opened her up coming down that slope."

"Come on, man! My Indian will take you any time."

"Not the Harley!"

"We'll race. Hey Ron-how about a race, huh? Down along the beach?"

"Nah, not tonight. See-it's getting light already! We'll just camp out here for the morning and make it tomorrow."

"He staying with us?"

All eyes turned on Jimmy. Ronnie came over to him and tousled his hair roughly.

"How about it, baby? Think you could make being a Rattler?"

Jimmy thought about it. These guys didn't seem so bad, now that he had proved himself. They were being real friendly, in fact. And there was a strange thrill at being accepted by a group of real tough cookies like them-guys who raced their cycles and knew all about them. He could talk to them, share the joy of roading with them. For awhile, at least.

Why not?

"Why not?" he said, grinning.

"That's it man-why not?" Paul said, whooping and jumping up and down like a crazy bird. He started a little dance, taking off his jacket and waving the bright red and yellow and green emblem of a coiled rattlesnake about to strike, painted on the back of it. "A Rattler! A Rattler! ah man, he's going to be a Rattler, a Rattler! Bring out the booze, man-we've got to have an initiation right here!"

The others jumped up and began whooping and laughing along with him, making a circle around him and Ronnie and doing some wild kind of Indian dance step Jimmy had never seen before.

He watched, fascinated, as each one passed before him and shook his hand.

And then he discovered something for the first time.

Three of the Rattlers were girls!

They made a big bonfire right there on the beach, and before the sun came up the flames were roaring.

It seemed like a silly time to have a bonfire, but after cans of beer and pints of whiskey were passed his way, Jimmy got "with it," as Paul, Lou and Ronnie told him in a half-complimenting, half-joking way. One by one he met each member of the club. There were a dozen of them assembled there and more, he learned, back in L. A., where they had originally started out from. Some of the members were from San Francisco also, and a few other towns and suburbs.

They were all tough. That was one thing they had in common; a city toughness which was closely connected with an awareness of a lot of things Jimmy had only read about. And that happened to be their highest word of praise for anything-when a thing was really approved by them, whether it was music or a motorcycle or a chick's looks, it was "tough." All of them carried knives somewhere about them and Jimmy suspected from the way a couple of them talked that they had guns, also.

Hoodlums the guy back in the roadside tavern had called them.

And maybe that was all they were, but he wasn't forming any judgment on that particular subject right now.

He was getting drunk as hell.

Bombed out. Ronnie had called the rumble a draw in front of the other guys, which made him something of a hero. Lou and Paul were his lieutenants and they backed him up, and when the drinking got going Jimmy heard a lot of stories about guys Ronnie had wasted in previous rumbles, so he figured he had been pretty lucky. Tired and sore as he was, the alcohol hit him too quickly; he could no longer think by the time things really got going.

And things were really getting going. The three girls who rode with the group, a blonde named Margot, a brunette named Jill, and a redhead called Nikki, all had been giving him the eye since the fight on the beach. Jimmy noticed this but didn't act on it because he knew they probably belonged to various members, and one rumble in a day had been more than he could handle.

Still, they came up to him and eyed him, and he couldn't help eyeing them back. They were all pretty, but in a hard, bold-faced way he wasn't used to in girls. And the fact that they were totally accepted by the group meant that they must have been pretty tough too, in their own way.

Real tough.

Only he couldn't figure out who they belonged to.

The blonde played up to Ronnie, but his mood had turned inward and surly and when she tried to sit on his lap on the beach he pushed her roughly away.

Inevitably, they all began taking off their clothes for a morning dip. It was a funny sight, a mob scene, undressing on an open beach, stoned to the gills, laughing and pushing, tossing empty beer cans out into the ocean and some getting thrown into the water with their clothes on by others.

In a kind of dull, stupefied way, Jimmy found he was enjoying himself. At least this was something new, something different from Coram. There seemed to be an atmosphere of close-knit friendship among the club members, combined with a feeling that there was nothing that, as a group, they wouldn't do. Ronnie was unquestionably the leader, but he didn't push it most of the time. In fact, Jimmy discovered that he was silent and aloof a lot. The guys ranged in age from seventeen to their early twenties, and Ronnie, as the oldest, perhaps had a kind of dignity to maintain.

The girls undressed first. And there was no going stripped off their jackets, undid their motorcycle belts, kicked off their boots and undressed, while the guys watched, encouraging them. Verbally, with wolf whistles and remarks.

"Let's see them, Margot baby-you know you've got the best set in L.A.!"

"Hey Nikki-you wearing anything under that shirt?"

"Quit straggling, you guys-let's spread the blankets out for them for when they come out."

And, incredible as it seemed, they were doing just that-spreading some wool army blankets out on the sand behind some rocks which partly shielded them from the sight of anyone going down the beach road.

Margot was the first to get undressed. Stepping out of her pants, Jimmy saw that she had on the smallest bikini he had ever seen-a mere twist of green cloth around har tanned and neatly shaped little buttocks. Three guys were scrambling out of their clothes just as she emerged from hers, and it looked as though they were going to blanket her before she made the sea. But she had legs like a gazelle and made the water before they did, and then the other girls and club members following in a big splashy fray.

Jimmy stayed back on the beach with Ronnie. He was too tired and too stewed even to want to get up and take his clothes off, and Ronnie simply lay smoking a cigarette and watching, like the lord of all he surveyed.

"Somebody's going to get a surf job," he said, grinning out of the corner of his mouth.

Jimmy nodded, not quite sure what the remark meant.

"Which one do you like, man?" Ronnie said, nodding toward the three girls.

"I don't know," Jimmy admitted. "They're all nice."

Ronnie laughed. "They're all little tramps, I mean, which one do you want to do afterward?"

"Do?"

"Yeah. I mean, like make man-dig?"

"Well, uh...."

"Margot's a good one. Nice boobs and everything. She thinks she's in love with me or something, but if I give her the word you can cop." He yawned, stretching lazily, and handed a near-empty pint bottle of bourbon to Jimmy.

"Knock it off, champ-you're an honorary Rat tier now."

Jimmy tilted the bottle up and finished it off. He felt too stoned to move.

Ronnie went on talking about the girls. "You take Jill, now-she's a pretty good lover, too. Just about every guy in the club has tried at least once. She's only sixteen, too.

"Or Nikki. Nikki loves to tumble man, but she's like really stuck on herself. Thinks she's the greatest on the west coast or something. But all you got to do is kid her along a little and she'll give you anything you want. And she ain't bad, either. Damn good in fact. You want her, you just give the word."

"Which is your girl?" Jimmy said finally.

He laughed. "All three. And none. I got a cute little Mex chick back in L. A. who's my true love. She's only fourteen, but she don't take on anybody but me, and I like things that way. She's got a knife, man, and like whenever I go down to see her she says if she catches me with any other chick she'll cut that chick's boobs off! I like that."

Jimmy tried to picture a pretty dark-eyed fourteen-year-old Mexican girl cutting Margot's boobs off. For some reason, he laughed.

"I'm not putting you on, Jimmy," Ronnie said. "She's a fierce little trick. Hey man, I think I'm drunk, telling you this!"

"I'm drunk too."

"That's cool. Which chick are you going to take?"

"Well, I don't know...."

"I'll let you have Margot"

"She's nice."

"I'll take Nikki."

"That leaves Jill."

"Yeah. Like she's going to be very busy. You ever been to a real orgy?"

"No."

"No. I like that, the way you said that. Some guys, they'd try to put you on about that, make up all kinds of stories. You're okay, Jimmy. You stick with me, huh? I'll show you some things you've never seen before."

"Sure, Ron."

"We'll go down to San Fran together. Know all kinds of chicks there. They all love me in San Fran."

"Nice."

"They'll love you too, baby. You're cute."

"Cut it out."

"A real sensitive cat too, I can see. But that's okay-you can handle yourself. Only don't ever give a guy a chance the way you gave me. You'll get wasted some day, doing that."

"Maybe you're right."

"I'm right. You weren't so cute, I'd have wasted you after you let me up in the water there. Here come the chicks."

The three girls came out of the water. Ron got up lazily and went down to them, and the other guys held back, waiting for the signal. Ron talked to the girls by themselves as Jimmy stood a distance away, watching. He saw Jill make an angry face and turn away, spit in the sand and walk off down the beach. The other guys looked at her and then Ron; Ron nodded and they began to follow her.

She began walking faster, and then running. But they caught up with her, and pretty soon she disappeared with them around some rocks out of sight. Jimmy heard a lot of yelling and a few screams, but he couldn't see what was happening, "That Jill," Ron said. "Some actress. Like she ought to be on TV or something."

Margot shrugged, giving Jimmy the eye. "Hi, man. You're shy, aren't you?"

Ron laughed. "Yeah, he's shy baby. You got to teach him not to be shy."

"That ought to be fun," she said, coming over to him and putting her arm through his. The water had washed the make-up from her face, giving her features a much softer look. She was more out of the bikini than in, and her wet hair was tangled like seaweed around her head. Her damp cool skin felt electric against his. Jimmy felt very, very drunk.

Ron and Nikki were walking away from them.

"Come on," Margot said. "Let's go with them."

"Maybe they want to be alone," Jimmy suggested, feeling uneasy.

She laughed, bumping him with her rounded hip. "I doubt that, honey. Not that I wouldn't mind being alone with you. But Ron wants to make this a party, so let's swing with them."

They followed the other couple around another outcropping of rocks, going around to where the blankets had been spread out on the sand.

Jimmy didn't know what to do. But he didn't have to worry long about that.

Margot began doing things for him. They sat together on a blanket, and then she was pushing him back, her marvelously built body against his and kissing him on the mouth. Jimmy felt his head begin to spin from her lancing kisses. Her breasts were like big soft pillows against his bare chest. She reached behind her and loosened the halter of her bikini. It came away from her breasts when they parted.

"You like them honey?" she said proudly, sitting erect and thrusting her chest out like a model posing tor a girlie magazine.

She had wonderful breasts.

Amazing breasts.

He forgot all about everything except those breasts, soft and white and damp next to him, the rosy tips sprouting into large hard buds.

"Beautiful," he breathed.

"Kiss them."

He kissed them. He could taste the salt of the sea on their snowy mounds; the nipples became hard as chestnuts when his lips covered them.

"Oooh-that's right, that's good; you know how, baby!"

He became very excited. While he played with and kissed her breasts, she loosened his belt for him, and soon he was struggling to get out of his pants. The sun was up now, bathing everything in a bright morning light. Drugged and excited, he got his clothes off while Margot lay back on the blanket and untied the side knots of her green bikini.

He lay down with her again, this time his desire unwavering. She sighed in appreciation of his body; clasped him to her and caressed him with her hands, skillfully, even though that wasn't necessary.

"You're marvelous," she said. "I just knew you'd be like this!"

He was drunk with the feel of her cool flesh. Absolutely crazy with her. His fatigue seemed to melt away as he worked, kissing her mouth and throat and breasts; kissing her and cupping her big breasts in his hands like a child building castles in the sand.

"Hey look-a technician!" he heard Ronnie say, and he looked around to see him, remembering suddenly that they were not alone. Ron's blanket was only a few feet away, and both he and Nikki were sitting up, naked as jays, their arms around each other, and watching Jimmy and Margot.

"Go on man-make out!" Ron grinned. "Don't mind us. We're getting charged just watching you."

Jimmy was embarrassed as hell, but Margot quickly put him at ease. She caught him in her deft cool hands and drew him toward her, lying back so that her splendid breasts flattened out on her chest like pillows smoothed down under a blanket at the head of a bed.

Ripe, soft pillows.

Living pillows.

And she was driving him crazy with her hands, continuing to draw him to her.

His excitement was intense. Terrific.

Suddenly he didn't mind being watched any more. That seemed to add something even.

He knew what he could do to this girl and he was proud.

He began.

Slow at first, taking his time. She urged him to hurry, but he purposely made himself go slow, remembering how he had gotten Myra all worked up this way once.

That worked this time, too. Before he was done she was begging him, pleading with him to go further. He moved. Faster and faster.

She wrapped her arms around him, wild for him and for what he was doing to her, raking her nails down his back.

"Go, man, go!" Ronnie shouted.

He went. He went like crazy, losing himself. Her wild cries drove him on, faster and faster, on and on, the fiery sun now burning against him, the sweat pouring out of him in buckets, losing himself.

And then the world shook and a tidal wave seemed to rise and sweep both of them away in a roaring rush, and that was over.

He fell back, exhausted, his whole body suddenly sweetly heavy with want of sleep.

The last thing he saw before closing his eyes was Ron and Nikki. They were standing up, framed by the morning sunlight, she clinging to him as though she were climbing a tree.

They were making love.

And then his eyes closed and all sensation left him. Peace.