Chapter 5

Frank Coppol was holding his weekly council. There was much business to attend to, reports to be made and acted upon and money to be received and paid out.

He speared the speaker with his one good eye. "Johnny," he said, his voice soft as usual. He was unruffled. "Johnny, that's your territory those whores are operating in. What do you know about it, so far?"

Johnny Leonard, tall, sun-tanned and good looking, a man who could be mistaken for a television or a movie personality, was visibly nervous.

"Not much, Frank. It seems to be a small operation.... maybe five, six girls at the most," he reported.

"Who's the guy running it?"

Leonard hesitated, glancing around the room for help that was not there. Helplessly, he said, "I don't know..."

"Find out! Bring him in!" Frank Coppol issued his orders still in that soft voice.

"Right, Frank," Leonard said, looking down at the rug, "Right away!"

Coppol dismissed the problem as having been solved already. He looked around the room at the alert, expectant faces. It might have been a meeting of the board of an important financial corporation. There were twelve men present, all well-dressed and meticulously groomed. His good eye came to rest on another face. "Next item," he said briskly, "is Guido's report on that problem down at San Pedro. I'd like to know why there was a work stoppage, after we promised there wouldn't be any more?"

George Marklin was not in Colorado. He had merely gotten into his car and driven to Santa Monica where he had parked in a numbered stall in the carport of a well-appointed apartment house, got out, mounted the stairs, knocked at the door of apartment 2IB and was admitted by a svelte brunette who greeted him warmly, put a dry martini in his hand and didn't object when he suggested after a few minutes that they go into the bedroom.

"You're not busy tonight, are you?"

"No, George ... I cancelled out an all-night John when you called me," she answered, matter-of-factly.

"I'll make it up to you," he promised.

They were lying on her bed.

"How would you like to make a party of this?" he asked.

"Sure, honey ... anything you want," she agreed, "another girl... or another guy?"

"Another girl," he said, reaching for the bedside phone.

He dialed an unlisted number and soon a woman's voice came over the wire to him, "Hello?"

"Pauline? Is Gloria booked up tonight?"

In the bedroom of her lavish home in Brentwood, Pauline looked across the bed at the red-headed Gloria who lay sprawled naked beside her.

"Yes, she's busy," Pauline lied.

"Oh, I see ... I'm at Fran's ... can you send Barbara over here?"

Irritated, but not willing to show it, Pauline consulted a small book on the bedside table. "Barbara's busy ... but I'll try to get hold of Joan ... she's available."

George remembered Joan. Yes, she would do, he decided. "Send her over ... Fran's - Olivewood Towers, 2IB," he said. "I know the address!" Pauline said testily.

"Of course."

"Is that all, Mr. Marklin?"

"Give my regards to Gloria."

The line went dead in her hands and Pauline slammed the receiver down. "That S O.B.!" she seethed, "Someday, he'll go too far!"

"What's wrong, darling?" Gloria asked.

"That was George! He's always wanting to sample the wares! The bastard! Some day, I'll figure out a way of getting back at him!" Pauline fumed.

"Don't worry, baby," the redhead soothed, "Come back here to me... I'm getting all cooled off ... "

Pauline smiled, relaxing, "How could I forget?" she said.

It was not really the work that had to be done, Jack Chavez finally admitted to himself. Sure, there were the tender, bedding plants in the greenhouse on the Marklin estate that needed to be watered. They wouldn't dry out before Monday, but it wasn't zealousness for his work - although he did take a measure of pride in it - that seemed to draw him, beacon-like to his place of employment; rather, it was his employer's wife. It was her body, that vision of blonde female loveliness that drew him hypnotically. He had to see her! She had been in Ids mind all night long.

It was easy to find prostitutes in L A. But that was not enough, anymore, for him. Mrs. Terri Marklin would still be there, in his mind. He couldn't shake it! He had to see her! ... But he was not supposed to work this Saturday. At about 8:30 he drove down the boulevard toward the Marklin estate. Parking his battered pick-up truck several blocks east of the sprawling grounds, he walked casually along the sidewalk, turning into the long drive that led up to the large mansion. Everything was quiet. No one stirred about the place. Actually, that was normal. Mrs. Marklin was a notoriously late riser usually getting out of bed well after her husband had gone off to his work at the studio.

He left the drive and walked noiselessly in the grass, skirting wide to avoid observation from the house itself.

"Damn!" he grunted to himself, "Anybody'd see me they'd think I was a burglar!"

Gaining the trellis from which he had climbed to the portico several times, he cautiously ascended, little by little, until he stood on the floor above, the double French windows only three paces away.

One thing he had decided: he did work on the estate, and that was in his favor if young Marklin accosted him. Those young plants in the greenhouse had to be watered today.

Jack listened. He heard nothing. The sweat stood out on his face, glistening in the sunlight. She must be sleeping, he decided. Good! He could wait, he had never watched her as she got up, first thing in the morning. This would be something new. Did she sleep nude? Fervently, he hoped that she did.

He moved, silently, to the place where he could look through the drapes. Kneeling as he had many times, he put his eye to the gap and looked into Terri's bedroom. She was sleeping ... but who was that on the bed beside her? Christ! It's the Marklin kid!

The coming of daylight had not awakened either Terri or Peter, exhaustion and the drugs had worked to induce a deep sleep, but when Terri did finally awaken to the new day, it was with the sudden realization that Peter Marklin, her step-son, was lying next to her, curled into a fetal ball; and next the memories flooded in on her now clear-headed mind. Peter had made love to her... and she had responded, making passionate love, saying things she had never said before in her life. Oh, God! What if George were to find out... ? What if he were to return early ... walk in and find them together?

Her mind raced. She had to get dressed and get Peter out of her bed ... out of her bedroom, and somehow, out of her life. This sort of thing couldn't continue! It was an impossible situation!

She sat up and slid her trim white legs over the edge of the mattress to the floor; then, she stood to look around the bedroom for a garment she could put on quickly. Glancing back apprehensively at the sleeping boy, she moved silently to her double dresser, opened a drawer and rummaged in it for a pair of panties.

Peter woke up; he was still slightly groggy from sleep and the after-effects of the marijuana. He sat up, saw Terri bending over the drawer and said, "Where in hell do you think you're going?"

Terri thought fast. "I thought you'd like to h - have something to eat," she lied.

"Looks more like you were trying to split!" he barked.

Leaping from the bed, he advanced upon her, eyes blazing with anger, "Like maybe you didn't keep your end of the bargain!"

"W - what do you m - mean?" she gasped, recognizing that she was in danger. She shot a glance at the bedroom door.

"You know ... like you promised not to run away if I untied you!" he said, stalking her now. "N-No!" she screamed, "No!" She bolted for the bedroom door. He was there, blocking the way, his hands grasping at her. She scuttled away from him, avoiding his lunge. She made for the French windows, unsnapping the night latch and jerking the glass door open to dash through it. Just as she stepped onto the portico, though, Peter caught her and pinioned her arms to her sides. He dragged her back into the bedroom.

Jack Chavez, just outside the French windows, jumped to his feet just as the door swung outward, concealing him from view. He had been a fascinated spectator of the action inside the bedroom. When Terri bolted for the door, his only thought had been for himself. He sure as hell didn't want to get caught looking in on them. It really was none of his business if she was banging her step-son while his father, her husband, was away.

The door remained ajar as Peter dragged her back toward the bed. Jack could see everything clearly. He was tempted to leave, yet drawn hypnotically to continue watching, not quite understanding, yet, the meaning of what he had so far seen and heard. He knew there were people who indulged in sadomasochistic sex acts, beating each other up to complete sexual arousal; sometimes they were tied up to do this, so he was not particularly perturbed at the mention of Terri's having been tied up and then released on her promise not to run away.

Couple of weirdos!

Peter wrestled his stepmother to the bed, his young, strong body easily overcoming her puny female strength. He flopped her face down on the bed and soon had the leather cufflets on her wrists, effectively immobilizing her. Breathing hard, he rose to his feet and looked down at her, "Like, listen to me, you little bitch," he grunted, "don't try that caper again!"

Terri was crying. She had not cried out during the scuffle. She was sure in her own mind that it would have been futile.

"PI - please, Peter," she pleaded, "h - haven't you done enough to me ... already?"

"Hardly!" he bit out, "The fun's just getting started!"

"Oh, God, P-Peter ... don't r-rape me... again!" she begged, her feeling of complete helplessness overwhelming her.

RAPE! Jack Chavez couldn't believe his ears. The little bastard had raped her? He had tied her up and raped her ... and now he was going to do the same thing again! This wasn't something Mrs. Marklin was doing because she wanted to ... she was being forced! But, what could he do? He was a voyeur, watching from a concealed place ... and he just happened to be watching at the wrong time! He couldn't call the cops ... wait, maybe he could ... make an anonymous call to headquarters, then get into his truck and beat it. That's it! Make the call and get the hell out of there. It sure wasn't any business of his. If he were caught anywhere near there, he might be suspect himself ... and if he barged into the bedroom to take some kind of action himself, the kid might try to shift the blame from himself to the Chicano ... the simple gardener!

Well, Jack Chavez wasn't that simple!

Whoever believed the gardener in these cases? It was time to get the hell out of there! Right now!

But his attention was caught by the struggling couple in the bedroom. In desperation, Terri bit the palm of Peter's hand! The blow resounded loud in the room. Peter had slapped her full in the face. "Slut!" he roared, leaping from the bed to gather up his trousers from the floor. He unthreaded his belt from the belt loops and doubled it in his hand.

Terri watched him in wide-eyed terror. "Ooooh, God! P-Peter ... Nooo!"

The boy stuffed a gag in her mouth, but just before her words were cut off, she managed to spit out, "Just like your father ..."

"Maybe!" His eyes were wild, insane.

The belt swished through the air to crack across the twin white mounds of her buttocks, leaving an ugly red welt.

Terri's body quivered, the searing pain slashing through her whole being. She screamed, but only a squeaking, muffled sound was released through the effective gag in her mouth.

Outside, on the portico, the gardener winced, experiencing the blow vicariously, his face screwing up into a grimace of concern for his employer's wife.

He groaned to himself, "The little S O.B. is a monster! A real weirdo!"

Peter's arm descended again, the loud whack coming clearly to Jack, and he could see the second stripe on that beautiful white female flesh. I can't let this go on!

Jack Chavez stepped through the French doors, angry and menacing with a righteous anger that boiled up white hot within his compact, muscular frame.

"Drop it, mister!" he said, his voice deadly but surprisingly soft.

The boy gaped, but recovered quickly, "Like, what the hell are you doing here, Chavez?"

"I'd like to ask you that same question!"

"You're trespassing, Mex! Like split! Get the hell out of here!"

"Love ... Peace ... and all that crap of yours," Jack taunted him, "Where is it now, man?" He advanced two more steps into the room.

Young Marklin was no coward. He moved forward, making a cut with his belt at Jack's face. The belt caught him across the cheek, opening a long slanting gash.

The gardener's fist lashed out, the blow striking Peter flush on the chin, rocking his head back, and his body crashed backward, the back of his neck at the base of the skull striking the edge of the double dresser as he went down. The sickening crunch of bone told Jack, instantly, that the boy was seriously injured. Man! I'm in it now ... I'm in it... !

He leaped across the room to kneel at the side of the fallen boy. His hand went out to feel for a pulse at the neck, but there was none and he put his ear to the young man's chest. He's dead. Stone dead. What do I do now?

He looked up at Terri where she lay stretched out on the bed, her wrists tied, the two raw welts startling red on her body, her eyes streaming tears, pleadingly, muffled sounds coming through the gag on her mouth; her sheer helplessness was obvious to him in the uncontrolled trembling of her limbs, and he knew that this had been no lover's game. It was for real! ... And the dead boy on the floor was very real and very, very dead!

In a daze, completely stunned at the turn of event that had brought him, unwillingly, into this situation, he rose, went to the bed and untied the ropes that bound her wrists.

Quickly, she sat up, ripped the gag from her mouth and screamed long and loud, hysterically. Jack sat down beside her and begged, "Please, Mrs. Marklin ... please settle down ... there's no more danger... please don't scream that way."

By degrees her heart-rending sobs subsided, and she threw her arms around the gardener. She felt safe, protected, in his sinewy arms. Softly, he crooned to her as he would a small child, comforting and reassuring her.

She was still nude, and for the first few minutes of her hysteria, Jack was hardly aware that she was in his arms. She was just another human being who needed comfort. Then, he began to realize that she was the luscious woman he had been watching in secret, the woman whose body he lusted after ... whom he wanted more than anything else in the world! Until this moment, she had been an unattainable dream, he had never thought he would ever hold her naked in his arms, like this, under these circumstances or any other way.

Now, she was calmer, she looked up into his face and saw the wound made by Peter's belt. She sat back, all practical woman, "We'll have to fix that."

"Later..." he agreed, aware of the throbbing heat of his body, "We'll have to do something about him ... first."

Terri looked down at Peter for the first time. She had not known until then how seriously he had been injured. She had thought he was merely knocked unconscious by Jack's blow. Now, she stared in open-mouthed, wide-eyed terror. "He's so - so s - still! Is he ... ?" she was unable to say it.

Jack finished it, "Yes, he's dead! The back of his head hit the dresser when he went down ... I hit him pretty hard ..."

"Oh, my God!" she screamed, "Peter!"

She fell back on the bed in a dead faint, the shock of it too much for her overtaxed emotions.

Breathing heavily, feeling the immense burden of his act and what he still must do, Jack went into the bathroom, soaked a small towel in cold water and returned to the unconscious girl on the bed. Tenderly, he bathed her face and neck and idly allowed his hands to roam, feeling the swell of her breasts and the curve of svelte hips and thighs. Unbidden, lust for her swept over him. It would be easy! She could be all mine! Then, with almost superhuman effort he thrust the temptation from him.

Young Marklin was dead. He supposed that made him a murderer, but he knew that his interference had been right. It was just cruel fate that the boy had died. It was an accident, he had certainly had no intention of killing the young man. He had only defended himself, but self-defense, he also knew, was a tricky thing in a California court. And being Chicano already registered one strike against him.

Terri was not yet coming out of her faint. He decided there were other things he must do. His mind raced. Peter's body couldn't be found here. He would have to take the corpse some other place ... make it look as though he had died accidentally.

With an effort, he withdrew his eyes and his hands from Terri.

Loathing his task, he carefully dressed the dead boy, picked him up and carried him downstairs to his own bedroom. He propped the boy in a chair, his mind busily conceiving a plan to use the young Marklin's own car to stage the accident.

The car was parked in the triple family garage, next to Terri's Jaguar. Opening the hood, he looked at the engine, grunted with satisfaction, and went to find a twig of the proper dimensions. He started the engine and placed the twig in the accelerator linkage, holding it open at near-maximum r p.m. It would work, he was satisfied. All he would have to do was reach in and pull the shift to drive and the car would surge forward. Now, he had to find a suitable site.

He re-entered the house to see whether Terri had come to her senses. It was necessary to explain his plan to her, she had to be a part of it, because he would need her help.

Terri was in the living room, dressed and dry-eyed. She came to meet him. "I - Is he really gone?"she asked.

Jack assured her solemnly that it was true. She sat down wearily, a sigh escaping from her lips. "It was an accident... wasn't it?"

"Yes, it was, Mrs. Marklin," he said sadly, "Now, we've got to make it look like the accident happened with his car."

"We ... ?"

"Yes ... we!" he said with determination, "I have to have your help ..."

Swiftly, he outlined what he planned to do. They were interrupted by the ringing of the telephone. Terri was startled, but Jack motioned to her that she should answer it.

"Hello ... ?"

Pauline's voice floated over the wire to her. "Terri... I want you to come down to the shop today ... about two-thirty!"

"But ... I - I don't understand ... you said ..." she began.

"I've changed my mind! It's important that I see you!" Pauline's voice was hard, decisive.

"Yes, of c-course, ... I'll be there," Terri murmured.

Hanging up the phone, she turned to Jack and said, "I have to go downtown ..."

"Drive Peter's car," Jack told her, "and meet me at the lake!"