Chapter 4
"Goodbye, Sam," Lonnie Winston said primly as she stepped from Palmer's Ford.
"Honey, I...." Sam licked his lips, still feeling abashed. "Listen, it was just one of those things that happened."
"Well, it won't have a chance to happen again."
"I guess you'll never understand," the older policeman groaned, staring sadly at Lonnie's curvaceous figure as she stood on the sidewalk.
"No," Lonnie replied crisply after a moment's hesitation, "I don't think I will. I don't think I want to."
"What is it with you, anyway? You liked it, didn't you?"
"Yes ... yes, of course I did." How could she deny it after her own lewd surrender.
"Next time will be better, I promise. I won't act up."
"There ... won't be a next time, Sam."
"Why not?" Palmer frowned up at her through the car window. "I told you, it's one of those things that happen, that's all, and I've apologized until I'm blue in the face. You can't stay angry with me forever, not for one little mistake!"
"I'm not angry," Lonnie said, and as if realizing for the first time her own emotional responsibilities to the sordid incident on the blanket, she added in a lower, milder tone: "In ... in fact, I'm very satisfied. You were very good, Sam, and I'll remember it as long as I live. But, but it's finished, and ... and...."
Her chin suddenly started trembling, and her face dissolving in a rainshower of tears, Lonnie Winston pivoted on her heel and dashed for her house without being able to finish her sentence. She fumbled for her door keys, then lurched into the living room, slamming the door behind her. Sam Palmer's car edged slowly from where he'd parked along the curb, as if reluctant to leave her .., Lonnie leaned her back against the door, quivering fitfully as she gasped for her breath. She choked back a sob of self-loathing, feeling an irrational desire to purge herself, to cleanse her body and mind of all the traces of her guilt. She stumbled forward through the living room and into the bath, twisting on the chromium handles of the shower. A thick stream of water cascaded down into the porcelain tub, and she turned the hot water control all the way until great billows of vapor filled the small room like a hot, humid sauna.
Quickly then, almost feverishly, the tortured policewoman stripped her blouse and shorts off, throwing the offensive clothing and her brassiere into a corner. Bracing herself for the shock, Lonnie stepped into the tub and pulled the shower curtain closed, gasping as the scalding stream broke over her skin, turning it an angry pink.
The shame-ridden woman made no move to leave, but stood fast, and mercilessly scrubbed soap over her naked body. Her full sensuous lips were pressed tightly together as she endured the burning water, accepting it as just punishment for having allowed herself to fall prey to prurient desires twice in as many days. She thought miserably of her suddenly unchained sexual cravings that she had denied and suppressed for so long, and how they had unaccountably risen into an unquenchable force that was threatening to ruin her life forever. First it was letting a dog tongue her to defeat, then rutting fouly out in the open like some devil's trollop ... dear God, was nothing sacred to her any longer? How much lower could she sink?
Only when the water heater emptied and the spray became lukewarm did the anguished woman step out onto the circular throw rug. She dried herself briskly with a fluffy towel, and then padded naked across the narrow hall from the bath to her bedroom. She opened her closet and cloaked her burnished flesh in a full-length wrap-around nightgown. It was white, for purity she considered sadly, with many layers of sheer satin that was soft against her bruised and sore skin, and she was very cautious how tightly she tied the drawstring in front, so that the gentle material did not rub too closely to her sensitive breasts or tender pubic mound.
She contemplated going to bed and trying to sleep, for her mind was exhausted with shame and horror. Yet, simultaneously, a tingling euphoria glowed within her betraying body, and she knew she would only toss and turn in frustration, sleep a million miles away and impossible to catch.
With a heavy, regretful sigh, she retraced her steps to the living room and snapped on the television in hopes it would temporarily take her mind off her troubles. She went into the kitchen while the set was warming up, and then she sat down in an overstuffed armchair, her hands folded in the lap of her long flowing nightgown. She stared sightlessly at the inane quiz show being broadcast, her brain still churning unwantedly on more than the raucous games being played on the silver screen before her. On the table beside the chair was the rest of the bottle of Scotch, which is what she'd brought from the kitchen, and this time she was not going to bother with ginger ale. It was the only sedative she had in the house to soothe her nerves, and she was determined not to risk diluting it so the alcohol failed to let her forget....
... Meanwhile, Lonnie was not the only person thinking of drinking herself insensate. Sam Palmer rested disconsolantly on a bar stool in the neighborhood tavern close to his apartment house. The Rooster Bar & Grill was relatively empty, which wasn't surprising for the early hour, and Wednesday evenings were never the busiest time of the week. Sam was just as glad not to be bothered. He was in the mood to sulk, sulk and drink, and he was on his fourth double Scotch since he'd left Lonnie at her house. He had the grand intentions of reaching a dozen martinis, providing he could remain intact on the stool that long.
He was just getting to the point where he threw down the last of the Scotch and ordered another drink, when somebody slapped him on the back. "Sam! Hey, buddy, whatcha doing here?"
He turned around, malice in his eyes, and saw it was his roommate, Olin Hale. Olin was older than Sam, having turned forty-five his last birthday, and his hair was thinning and turning a grey around the temples. There was a bit of a paunch to his tubby physique, but he was a hard-muscled man after his years of working on the docks, and the network of ruby viens along his nose and cheeks told the story of how he played as hard as he worked, especially if it included a bottle and a broad. Good-time Olin, everybody's foul-mouthed pal ... but Sam wasn't certain he could endure his own roommate's overbearing company now, not in the afterclap of Lonnie's shattering refusal to see him again.
"Hey, what's the trouble?" Olin asked, sitting down beside him. "You got a face lower than a cockroach's ass."
"Nothing," Sam replied curtly. "Nothing at all."
"Aw, come on. You can't fool me, Sam. What is it, woman problems? Weren't you supposed to be out squiring that luscious partner of yours today?"
Sam pursed his lips, then shouted to the bartender: "Hey, Woody, make me another, will you?"
"Sure thing, Mr. Palmer."
"Make it a double."
"Make it two doubles, Woody," Olin called out then. "I'll take the other." Olin leaned his elbow on the walnut bar, frowning at his friend. "Jesus, Sam, you can't keep it cooped up inside of you. That ain't no good for you, and six-two and even that you can't drink your way out of it, either. Hell, you've got to go to work tomorrow."
"Speaking of work, you found any yet?"
"No, I was out looking all day, Sam, and nobody down at the docks is hiring. Scout's honor. But I hear that Black Feather is taking on cargo handlers next week, so I'll try there first thing Monday morning."
Sam grunted something unintelligible in the Scotch Woody served. Olin picked up his, sipped it, and continued prying for information. "It is about that dame, isn't it?"
"Yeah," Sam admitted after a hesitation.
"Lonnie. That's her name, isn't it?"
"Lonnie Winston, yeah."
"She's really got you gaffed by the gill, ain't she?"
Sam buried his nose in the martini for another moment, then sighed and said: "I deserved it this time, Olin. I really pulled the prize boner of the year."
"Yeah? What happened?"
"Usual thing that happens between a guy and a gal," Sam said with a shrug. "I had too much to drink and she looked too good to pass up."
"So what's the matter with that?"
"She threw me out on my ass when it was over."
"Tied a can to your tail, eh? Didn't she go for it?"
"That's the strange part, Olin. I mean, hell, I've bummed around enough to sense a sexy chick when I meet one, and Lonnie always struck me as being that way. And damnit, she was hotter than a pistol when she got going. But then...."
"Yeah, I know what you mean," Olin said philosophically, "Some women are nuts that way. Something to do with their pride. They can never fuck and just like it, they have to be drunk and not remember, or raped and never want it again ... or some fool excuse to make them feel pure and holy again."
"Yeah," Sam said. "Woody?"
"Another, Mr. Palmer?"
"Yeah." He turned back to Olin, feeling better now that he had broken his reserve and was talking it out with him. "Well, Lonnie's like that, I guess ... but there's more to her than that. Sure, I get the same number of dreams about fucking my girl as any guy gets, but that doesn't mean I was right to take advantage of her today. Lonnie is awfully sensitive, and I hurt her a lot by acting like a caveman with her. Ain't right what I did, Olin, ain't right at all."
"So what're you going to do about it?"
"Nothing much I can do."
"The hell you say. You should go over and tell her what you've been telling me."
"I'd get my head blown off," Sam said bitterly, tasting his sixth double Scotch. "Or she'd sick that bruiser of a dog on me."
"What are you going to do about tomorrow night, when you go back on duty with her?"
"I dunno about that, either. She'll probably ask for a transfer, or tell me to get one. Jesus, what a mess."
"All the more reason to shag it over to her place and strike while the iron is hot. You let her simmer on this, and she'll treat you colder than a pickled herring. You don't, and you may wind up in a lot of dutch with your captain you've been telling me enough how touchy they are about her as it is. Why, she blows the whistle on you, and you'll be out herding goats in Flushing."
"But I ... I can't go see her now!"
"Ain't got a hair on your ass if you don't, Sam. I'm telling you straight, if you want to keep your job steady and patch things up between you two, you've got to go over there before she has time to collect her wits and bowl her over." Olin jabbed Sam in the ribs, winking slyly. "I don't mean bowl her over the way you did today, either."
"Jesus!"
"Do it, Sam. You won't be fit to live with until you do ... and hell, if you lose your job, then nobody'll be able to pay the rent!"
Sam laughed at this, his spirits bucking up. "Okay, you bastard, I'll do it. Don't be surprised if I come back with my head under my arm, though." He slid off the stool ... and kept on sliding downwards until he landed in a sitting position on the floor.
"Had a little to drink, Sam?" Olin said, looking down at his roommate.
"A touch," Sam replied, then shook his head dazedly, clutching the bar railing for support. "Jesus, I must have a snoot full!"
"You can't drive like that."
"Well, I sure as hell can't walk like this. How else am I supposed to get over to Lonnie's?" Sam propped himself upright and sagged against the bar. "I can see the visit is out, Olin. I'll just sit back down here and have another drink."
"Oh no, you don't! I'll drive you."
"You don't have to do that!"
"What are friends for, Sam?" Olin said with a grin, taking the sergeant by the elbow and steering him toward the door. "Put it on the tab, Woody!" he called over his shoulder to the bartender, and then to Sam, he added: "Besides, I haven't seen a good fight since I broke up with my old lady ten years ago!"
Olin helped Sam out of the tavern and down the street to the apartment house parking lot. He took Sam's keys and poured him into the front seat of the Ford, then went around and started the engine. Driving out of the lot, he started to whistle an aimless tune. He wasn't quite sure why he'd stuck his neck out this way, but Sam was his roommate, and a little sixth sense told Olin there was more to this than met the eye. He didn't have anything else to do this evening, and the situation did interest him ... and you could never tell! Maybe some action, girl-wise, would turn up...!
... Lounging beside Olin in the passenger's side, Sam tried to pull himself together and stop acting so drunken. That's all he'd need to do, walk in Lonnie's house slobbering booze and falling down over his feet. And Christ, Olin was right-now was the time to make up, and he should never have left her alone when he did. Damn, but he was an idiot! He'd always had the feeling that beneath her modesty she was sexier than a fan-dancer's tassel, but that was hardly justification for raping her this afternoon.
Of course, he could be wrong ... she might have been leading him on a merry chase, just as he'd accused her of doing in the heat of his excitement. But that still didn't excuse him, and he couldn't really find anger in his heart over her straight-laced exterior. Who could respect a woman otherwise? So what if she has a knock-out figure-so does a whore! He wanted a female who was affectionate and discerning in her choice of him, as well as being lovely to look at. And Lonnie was no whore. She was too beautiful a person not to have been more tender and understanding toward, and he hoped that someway, somehow, he could make it up to her. Perhaps in time, if she was willing to forgive and forget, he could build a warm and intimate relationship with her, and they could find a mutual, shared love and trust for one another....
With this attitude running through his inebriated mind, Sam eagerly watched as Olin drove the Ford up to the curb and parked in front of Lonnie's house. He got out, swaying from the cool evening air again as he deeply breathed its cleanness, his head a whirling carousel from all the liquor he'd had.
"You want me to stay, Sam?" Olin asked.
"Well ... maybe you better, at least for a few minutes." He turned and grinned back at his roommate. "In fact, you might follow me up to the porch-you never can tell, I might need you!"
Olin chuckled, coming around the other side of the Ford. "Lead the way, pal."
Sam trundled up the lawn to the porch, his head and torso high and arched in his attempt to stay upright and look sober. The closer to the house he got, the more reluctant he was to face the angry woman he'd dropped off here a little over an hour before. He'd just as soon go up against the Black Bart gang without guns as go inside Lonnie's house ... but it had to be done. The wide, shallow steps to the front door were narrow, wobbly ladders to him, his feet slipping, his hand clutching the railing, and then he was at the door, fumbling with the knob.
"Shouldn't you knock first, Sam?"
"Right you are, Olin. That's the polite thing to do." But Sam's hand refused to form into a fist or hit the wood door with more than a muted tap. He heard sounds from inside; Lonnie was there ... but she wouldn't answer the door ... and unable to control his longings a moment longer, Sam wrenched the knob and walked into the living room, trying to put an apologetic expression on his face. The room was empty.
"Nobody here," Olin said unnecessarily.
"But I hear her, Olin," Sam said. And he did, too-or at least some weirdly passionate sounds that made him think of Lonnie. He started across the living room carpet, Olin tagging hesitantly behind him, and then down the hallway.
"Say, wait a minute, Sam. You can't go bursting in her bedroom! For Christ's sake, she may be dressing!"
If Sam heard his roommate's protests, he was too drunk to respect them. The door to Lonnie's bedroom was wide open, and he walked almost in before he was cognizant of what was happening in there ... then ... What the hell!
The police sergeant took one wild, blinding glimpse, and his jaw dropped like shattered glass. His face grew a bright beet red as he viewed in stunned silence his lovely woman crouching on all fours in the middle of the bedroom rug. And mounted on top of her back and humping into her wide-splayed buttocks, was the feverishly fucking body of Brutus, her German shepherd dog!