Chapter 10

There were few cars on the street. Mike drove slowly toward Tom Watters' house where he would develop and print the film. He let the cool evening air blow through the car and it helped to calm him down. It was all over now except for the money. Surely, the toughest part had to be behind him. He tried to concentrate on what the money would buy, but it left a strange stale taste in his mouth like old cigarettes. It displeased him.

It's a natural let down, he chided himself. Don't let it bother you, but a sickness grew in his stomach and the pleasant night air chilled him. He rolled up the car window. Watters' house was dark when Mike arrived. Tom had told him it would be. He let himself into the dark house and made his way to the basement photography lab. He held the camera tightly until he was able to set it down next to the workbench where he would work. He adjusted the lights and, in the darkened room, broke open the camera and removed the film. He prepared it by stripping away the protective backing and ran it through the developing tank, timing the various solutions and the film exposure as best he could.

He could not keep his hands from shaking. He could not afford to botch up the job. There would certainly never be another chance to get the pictures and now here they were in his inexpert hands. Silently, he cursed himself for his nervousness. Removing the long thin strip of film from the developing tank he ran it through a wash of cold water and clipped it to a plastic clothespin suspended from a cord above his head. All of this was done in pitch blackness. Only after the film was attached to the clothespin did he snap on a dim red bulb. like the front door to a whorehouse, he thought.

It would take several minutes for the negative to dry. Mike waited impatiently. Finally, he could wait no longer. He removed the film strip and, with a shears, cut the negative free from each of the others. He inserted the first one into the enlarger as Tom had instructed him to do and made the necessary adjustments and tests for focus and exposure time. With a sheet of eight by ten inch print paper beneath the projected image he turned on the switch. With his heart in his mouth he followed the careful steps to process the print. The picture was slightly overexposed, but it Was fully discernible. He could correct the overexposure on the next print. In the light he studied the results of his handiwork. It was the first picture he had taken before they had seen him. Farris' face was buried in the girl's neck and her head was back against the pillow, her eyes closed and lips pulled taught in a grimace that almost looked like one of pain. Farris' arms supported his body above the girl and his hips were set firmly between her lushly spread legs. His face was concealed, the other shots would show that it was him. Mike put the print in the print dryer while he ran the rest through. He made three copies of each before he was finished and then slipped the negatives into a small yellow envelope that he found on the work bench.

Satisfied, he straightened the mess he had made, packed all his equipment up as best he could and left the lab. He closed up the house behind himself and returned the key to the hiding place where he had found it. He threw the camera and all the pictures into the car and started the motor.

Suddenly a bright light in his eyes brought him up short. He turned to see what it was but the intense light blinded him and he was helpless. He closed his eyes, but the image of the light seemed to burn right through his eyelids.

"Out of the car," he heard a gruff voice say.

Mike's palms were sweaty against the wheel. How did they find him so soon?

Slowly he got out of the car. The light was still on him, but not focused on his face and he was able to see the police car that was standing next to his car on the street. One man remained behind the wheel while another stood waiting for Mike to get out of his car.

"C'mon, move," the voice said impatiently.

"Get that damn light out of my eyes." The light went out.

Mike sighed his relief. He got out of his car and walked toward the police cruiser.

"What is it?" Mike asked trying for all he was worth to sound natural. If they only knew how scared he was they would arrest him on general principles, he was sure.

"Don't worry about it," the man on the street said. "I'm not. But I'm concerned."

"We just want to ask you a couple of questions, that's all," Mike was told. "Questions? About what."

"Just wait. You'll see.

Mike kept silent. Had he already asked to many questions himself? He did not want to over do it. He took note of the fact that there were no guns in sight, but as he noticed this the thought of his own gun in the suitcase made him sweat even more than before. If they go through the car and find that gun, he thought. Oh, Christ. Could they make him show them what he had in the car. He did not think so, but he was not sure and there sure was no time to call a lawyer to find out what his rights were. Mike was pretty sure that the policemen could do with him pretty much as they pleased.

"Can I see your driver's license?"

Mike reached into his pocket, removed his wallet and handed it to the policeman;

"Just remove the license, please. I don't want your wallet."

Mike took the small tag from its place behind the plastic shield and handed it over. The man studied it in. a tiny beam from his pocket flashlight for a moment.

"Reston? That your name."

"Yes." Were they playing a game with him? "You don't live in this neighborhood, Mr. Reston."

"No, I..."

"Would you mind telling me what you are doing here, then?"

Mike allowed himself a glimmer of hope. Perhaps this was not what he thought it was. Maybe they were just checking around. Maybe there had been a burglary or may be someone reported a prowler. Maybe.

"I was over there," Mike said, pointing at Tom Watters' house. "Tom Watters is a friend of mine. I wanted to see him." He hoped that with Tom gone the lie would pass.

The officer looked at the house and took in the darkened windows.

"Looks like nobody home to me," he said. His voice held a clear challenge that Mike had to answer.

"No, that's right. I rang the bell. No answer."

"You're sure that he's a friend of yours?"

Mike nodded.

"Kind of late to be paying a visit, isn't it?" Mike forced a laugh.

"Not for Tom. If he had been home that is. We've both always been night owls."

"Is that right?" The man eyed Mike speculatively.

Again Mike nodded. He felt that he was being carefully appraised and was at a complete loss to do anything to influence the appraisal one way or the other.

"Well, I'll tell you something, Mr. Reston. We've been having a little trouble in this neighborhood recently. You know what I mean?"

"Robbery?"

"More like folks poking their noses in other people's windows. Bedroom windows mainly."

"Oh."

"Now you get it, huh?"

"Yes." Jesus Christ. Window peepers. The irony of it was overwhelming for Mike. After what he just done peeping on Allan Farris he was stopped by the cops because they thought he might be the local peeping torn.

"Anyway, I got your name and address. I'll check with this Tom Watters tomorrow or the next day. If he knows you fine. If not then I guess that I'll have to come looking for you. If you've lied to me it will hurt like hell when I find you. Got it?"

Mike almost choked on his relief.

"Got it," he said. "That sounds like a good idea."

The officer returned his license to him and turned back to the patrol car. He looked back over his shoulder at Mike.

"I think that you had better be on your way now."

Mike returned to his car and while the police car waited he started the motor and drove on down the street.

Of all the goddamn bad luck, he fumed now that his fear was gone. like the hotel maid, it seemed harmless enough, but each slip could become a weak spot. Each unplanned incident held potential danger. Especially in the big game where he now played. There was vicious fighting yet to be done and Allan Farris would not be easily beaten. It was nearly midnight by the time Mike got back to his own apartment. He let himself in and went straight to the kitchen to get a bottle of whiskey from the cupboard. He splashed a couple of ounces into a tall glass over an ice cube and tossed it down as fast as he could. The liquor hit his nearly empty stomach like a bomb, but he felt better after a minute and the strain that lined his face seemed to lessen.

He unpacked the suitcase. The gun went into the top drawer of his dresser beneath his stockings and handkerchiefs. He put the folder of photographs into the drawer along with the pistol. The tape recorder and camera were placed on the top shelf in his closet along with several old pairs of shoes and an extra blanket. Mike cast his gaze about anxiously, but he knew that the nervousness was not due to anything that he had left undone. It was just the residue of the tensions that had filled the day.

The phone rang just as he was putting the suitcase back into the storage closet. He ran to it and grabbed it off the hook.

"Mike?" he heard Elly's panicked voice. "Where have you been? I've been trying to reach you for over an hour."

"Where the hell do you think I've been?" His fingers were white as they gripped the phone.

"Mike." Elly's voice was a wail.

Mike tried to steel himself.

"Easy, baby," he said. It's almost over now."

"Haven't you heard?" Her voice was stretched thin.

The tone of her voice made Mike stop what he had been about to say. He was almost afraid to ask.

"Heard what?"

"The radio or anything."

"Elly, for God's sakes, stop fucking around."

There was a sob.

"He's dead, Mike. You killed him." For a moment Mike could not speak. His breath caught in his throat and felt as if he was going to vomit. The bile rose within him.

"Dead?" he croaked at last. "But, but, that's impossible. I mean, I couldn't have killed him. I mean ... I never intended..." .

Elly was crying so hard now that he could hardly hear what she was saying.

" ... doesn't matter what you thought. He's dead. And you did it. Mike?"

Mike did not answer.

"Mike?" she said again. "We have to run. We have to get the hell out of here."

Run? Run where? Why? The questions danced in Mike's mind. Had anyone seen him? He could stay and bluff it out. Nobody even knew he had been in the hotel. Anderson knew, but he could be bought off of, scared off. Mike's brain raced furiously. His thoughts fell together in a jumbled mess. He gritted his teeth. He had to think clearly. The phone burned in his hand and he could hear Elly crying and asking him what they were going to do. He needed time to think, but there was no time. Maybe if they did go away for a while they could buy some added time so they could plan, come up with a good story. Then they could come back and bluff it out. He had to get the time to think. He had to get away for just a short while.

"Listen, Elly," he said.

She would not stop crying and Mike's patience wore thin.

"Elly," he screamed into the phone. "Listen to me."

Her crying ceased, but he could hear the stifled sobs persist. "Get a couple of things together. I'll come by and pick you up and we can get away for a while so we can think this through. Got that?"

He heard her muffled agreement.

"What about the stuff?" she asked. For a moment he did not understand. "Stuff?"

"The pictures and the tape."

"Oh. I have them here. I'll have to get rid of them."

"Please, don't take the time now. And don't bring them with you. If we get caught we can't have that evidence with us. Hide them good in your apartment. Make sure that no one will find them by accident."

Mike nodded in spite of the fact that Elly could not see him. Things were moving too fast. He could not keep up. She was right. They could not afford to be caught with the pictures and tape in their possession.

He hung up the phone and Went into the bedroom for his wallet and jacket. How could the man have died? How? He had felt his heart beating. He was not so old that a blow, even a hard one, on the head would kill. Maybe the strain of the fight and excitement and the blow on the head had been too much for his heart. Maybe he had a heart attack after Mike left him. Was that possible? Was that murder? Mike tried to think about who could connect him with the hotel. The girl? Perhaps. He had the camera to his face. She was on the other side of the bright flash. Mike remembered the police car from only a short time before. The light had blinded him and he was unable to see the men behind it. Could the girl remember him. He doubted it, but he could not be sure. But she had run into the bathroom before the fight even started. She had never even seen him hit Farris.

Damn! Damn! It was too confusing.

What about the maid at the door with the towels? Would she be able to identify him? Another possibility. He could not be sure and the doubt was enough to terrify him. The desk clerk. The elevator operator. They were all unknown quantities.

He hurried from the apartment with a feeling of satisfaction that the camera, photos, and recorder were safe for the time being. He could always get rid of them when he got back. It was better than taking the time for it now. He felt better now that he was in action. It caused his tension to fade somewhat. There was a specific problem and he was searching for a solution.

Elly was waiting outside as he drove up. Her face was strained and she got into the car without saying a word. She carried a small suitcase and her ruffled hair was covered with a wrinkled silk scarf. Mike took note of the fact that she was no longer appealing to him under these circumstances.

"Where are we going?" she asked as soon as he started the car moving.

Mike shrugged his shoulders. He was beat and had difficulty thinking straight.

"Down U.S. 20, I think. There are a lot of little tourist cabins near Rockton. We can get a little out of the way place off the highway."

"Is that wise to stay so close to home?"

"Damn it, Elly," Mike said angrily, his patience at an end, "how the hell should I know if it's wise or not? I never killed a man before."

"I'm sorry, honey," Elly said and reached out to touch his arm.

He pulled away from her. Her touch made him shiver.

"I won't say another word," she promised. Mike drove rapidly, but kept within the speed limits. He had no desire to get stopped for speeding now. He reached for the radio, but Elly stopped him.

"Please. Not now. My head is killing me."

"Maybe the news will have something."

"Please."

Mike was silent. He could wait to hear about Allan Farris' murder. They drove on quietly through the night. There were very few cars on the highway and Mike let the speed creep up slightly. The stars sparkled brightly in the sky and the quiet hum of the motor was all that broke the night silence.

Finally Mike said, "You really didn't have to come. I shouldn't have brought you. If we get caught it will look worse this way."

Elly touched his arm again and this time he did not pull away.

"I want to be with you darling. I get my strength from you."

Mike's uneasiness began to grow again. Something nagged at him, but he was unable to pin it down. Something. Something he wanted to ask Elly. Then he remembered.

"How did you hear about it, Elly?" he asked.

"What?" Elly asked sleepily. "I'm sorry, darling, I didn't hear you. I must have dozed off."

"About Allan. How did you hear? Did the police call?"

She seemed to hesitate for a moment. "Didn't I tell you."

"No. You didn't."

"Wes Underwood called me. Allan must have had his number in his wallet or something. He was the one the police called first. Then he called me."

"What did you say?"

"Nothing much. I was shocked. I didn't have to pretend that."

"Can't you remember what you said to him?"

"Of course not. But I was careful. He knew that Allan and I were not getting along. I did not have to pretend any great concern for Allan."

"What did you tell him you were going to do?"

"He offered to send someone over to take care of me, but I said I could get along all right by myself. I went nearly crazy waiting for you to get home."

Mike continued to try to fit the pieces together. He did not like the figure of West Underwood constantly cropping up in the picture. That Mike had seen him outside the hotel added to the mystery and gave Mike an uneasy feeling about it. They passed through several sleeping towns without even slowing down. At last, on the outskirts of a slightly larger town, Mike slowed and began to scan the side of the highway for an appropriate place to stop. He pulled off the road next to a sign that advertised tourist cabins at family rates. He wanted a place as inconspicuous as possible.

The night clerk who turned out to be an old man in a night shirt gave him a key to a cabin well off the highway. The old man made no pains to conceal the fact that he was not pleased at being awakened from his night's sleep. Mike registered for a cabin as Mr. and Mrs. Black from Des Moines, Iowa.

Mike returned to the car and drove it through deep ruts to the cabin. It was difficult to see the cabin numbers in the dark, but he found it at last. After helping Elly into the cabin with the suitcase, he parked the car behind the cabin where it would not be visible from the highway.

As he closed the cabin door behind him Mike was suddenly aware of how close to exhaustion he really was. Elly took her case into the bathroom with her and closed the door. He heard the water running. While she was gone he undressed and got under the sheet. He was sitting on the bed waiting for her when she rturned. She wore a short nightgown and her long legs and full breasts looked appealing to him once again.

"Your turn."

"Too tired."

"Let me."

Elly returned to the bathroom and emerged in a moment with a wash cloth and towel. She gently washed the sweat and grime from his face and hands and towled him dry.

"Feel better?"

"Much."

He knew that Elly was ready, but he was too tired. She smiled at him. "Too tired?"

Mike smiled, but he nodded. "Let me do you then."

"You don't have to," he told her. "I'm not even sure that I can get it up."

"Let that be my problem."

With a deft movement Elly pulled the nightgown over her head. She knelt on the bed next to him and let him look at her naked body for a moment. Her breasts were full with the nipples little hard peaks. Her bushy cunt hair formed a little beard at the base of her belly and disappeared between her legs.

Mike had a vague feeling of discomfort. He had killed this woman's husband and here she was offering her body to him. Was it in payment?

"I've got something for you," she said.

"I know."

"I mean something else."

She swung her legs off the bed giving Mike a fleeting glimpse of her pink slit. She crossed to her little suitcase and removed a flat flask from it.

"What is it?"

"I had a chance to pack it. I thought we might need it. Take a sip. It will relax you."

Mike grinned weakly.

"I don't need it. I'm half dead already."

"Just a sip," Elly urged. "Let it help you enjoy what I'm going to do to you."

Mike put the flask to his lips and took a large swallow. He made a wry face.

"It's bitter," he said. "What is it?"

Elly took the flask from him.

"You'll have to learn to cultivate more expensive tastes, darling."

"That one I can do without."

"You just lay back now and relax. Don't worry about me. Take your pleasure and drift off to sleep."

"Elly." It was a weak protest.

"Mike," she said softly. "We can forget for a while. Look at me."

Her hands crept up her sides and cupped the firm mounds of her breasts. Lightly she plucked at the swelling nipples.

"Do you still think I'm lovely, Mike?"

"You're as lovely as ever, Elly."

Her fingers continued to dance over her pink nipples.

"Just lay back and relax," she said, her voice soothing.

With a quick motion she pulled the sheet from Mike and left him naked and exposed. He felt himself responding.

Her fingers were feathers as she ran them lightly over his body. She paused to watch as his penis began to fill with blood and to grow in size. Mike closed his eyes. Elly bent over and kissed his chest while her hands caressed his body.

"There now," she murmured as her touch brought more life to his hardening cock. In a moment it stood rigid and thick.

Gently her lips moved over the thick column of flesh. She nipped it with her teeth and rubbed it with the rough surface of her tongue. Her hands were not idle. She caressed his balls and wormed one finger down between Mike's legs to tickle at his ass-hole.

"I love to suck you darling," she managed to whisper as her lips opened to receive the head of his tool. Slowly she fitted her open mouth over the dark head of the turgid organ. Her hand gripped the staff and chaffed it up and down. She allowed it to enter as far into her mouth as it would go.

For only a moment she relinquished her hold with her mouth.

"Come, baby. Come in my mouth."

Then she recaptured the giant cock and began to suck, her cheeks moving in and out with the effort.

Mike could feel himself approach his orgasm. Elly's hot wet tongue lashed his erect penis. Her lips pulled at it. Her teeth scraped it lightly. Her mouth bobbed up and down.

He opened his eyes briefly to see what she was doing. Her ass was toward him, her thighs parted. Between the cheeks of her rear end he could see her blonde-haired pussy with the pink lips parted slightly.

Then he closed his eyes again and gave himself up to the sensation. He knew that he was about to come. Elly had one hand rubbing his balls and the other tickling his ass. Her mouth sucked the life from his prick. He could hold out no longer. With a deep moan he came shooting heavy jets of sperm into the lovely blonde's mouth. It seemed as if he could not stop coming.

Elly swallowed it all. Her tongue licked his cock clean. With strong suction she drained every last drop of come from him. Even after his prick softened and went limp in her mouth she did not give it up.

Finally she released him and turned around. She fixed the sheet gently around him and touched his face softly.

"Sleep now," she said. "Sleep."

That was the last Mike heard as he felt the darkness overwhelm him and in seconds he was sound asleep.