Chapter 1

IT WAS A DINGY ROOM IN A BAD SECTION OF THE CITY and he was in bed with a bad girl. The room was in a cheap hotel and the window faced the street. The noise of traffic on broken asphalt came in. There was another hotel across the street and that hotel was sad also, but not as dilapidated as the hotel they were in because it at least boasted a neon sign. The sign flashed in the window in a regulated pattern. It lighted the bed and the far wall and the door. It lighted the girl. It was exciting, in a way, to see her skin light red, and then go dark, then red again. She was an exciting girl anyway. She wasn't beautiful but she was awfully sexy and willing and she had a plush body that kept flashing red. Her lips were parted and damp and her eyes were closed. The sheet had pulled away. The sheet was gray but looked nicer red except that then the stains showed more. But the room had not cost very much. It wasn't much of a place.

His name was Pete Trask. He was big and looked mean. When the red light flashed over him his muscles seemed to jump and ripple. He lay on his back with one arm under his head and even in this relaxed position he gave the impression that he was coiled and taut. He looked observant. He knew that being aware of details quite often gave a man a chance to make some money, and, sometimes, to save his life.

He wasn't soft.

He had just won two hundred dollars in an alley crap game and that was why he was in bed with the girl. He was celebrating. He hadn't had to pay the girl, she was not a professional, but she liked men who spent a little money on her and Pete had bought her two whiskies and three beers at the bar on the corner. The crap game had taken place in the alley behind the bar, and perhaps he hadn't been wise to stick around there. The men he had played with were not good losers, not the type who could afford to lose much. But Trask was not the type to hurry away, either. And so he had gone into the bar and started talking to this girl and bought her a few drinks and now they were in the hotel and Peter was looking around the room.

He had slept in worse, but not much worse. There was a big brown stain on the ceiling from where the sink on the floor above had leaked. Perhaps it leaked constantly because the stain seemed to grow and change shape with each flash of the sign, although that may have been an illusion. That the sink in the corner had come away from the wall was no illusion. It hung drunkenly, it's drain pipe bent and cracking under the weight of the porcelain. Trask reflected that it wouldn't hold more than a couple of cups of water because of the angle of the tilt, and anyway he didn't hold with too much washing if it wasn't necessary and in this case it would hardly be worth it. He could tell the girl was no dedicated washer.

Beside the bed was a heavy, ugly stand with a drawer on top, a little door below. It was chipped and scarred and had burn marks all over the top. Opposite the foot of the bed was a dresser that also looked as though it had led a hard but not too useful life. The four drawers had a total of three knobs left out of the original eight. They were glass knobs, highly impractical, and the mirror which had been fastened to the back of the dresser had come off, been smashed a bit, and then propped up against the wall.

There wasn't any shade on the window and the curtains were of a nearly transparent plastic material that was no longer supple. There wasn't any rug on the floor and the linoleum was worn through in front of the door and beside the bed. It felt sticky and gritty on bare feet.

It was a room in which Peter did not feel out of place. He was as relaxed as he ever was, which is to say, almost not at all.

He turned to look at the girl now. He couldn't tell whether she was asleep. Her eyes were still closed, her lips still parted. Her breathing was regular. Peter frowned, trying to remember what her name was. He thought that it was either Sally or Sarah, but it might have been Sandra. It didn't really matter much. Pretty soon he would give her ten dollars with which to buy a dress and kick her out. He would kick her out, not because he didn't like her, but because that was always what one did with a woman afterward. Trask was a creature of habit in that way. And he certainly had no place in his life for a woman. But he did like this girl, whatever her name was, as well as he usually liked them. At least he felt comfortable with her. Like the dingy room, she was a girl with which he felt relaxed, for a little while. There had been no problems and no questions. As soon as Trask saw her sitting at the bar with her legs crossed and her low cut green dress showing plenty of cleavage, he had known that she was going to sleep with him. He had known it as a fact, and when he took the place beside her and she smiled rather questioningly and swung her leg just a bit he knew that lie hadn't been wrong.

The girl's hair was red-brown and long and thick and lay like snakes on the pillow and over her smooth white shoulders. The fringe of bangs on her forehead came down to her eyebrows and separated in the center. Her lashes were very long against her angular cheeks. Perhaps they were false.

Her breasts weren't false, though. They were slightly flattened because she was lying on her back, and they rolled away from the center of her chest. The relaxed nipples formed dark circles in the centers of the spheres. Below her breasts, the girl's ribs showed slightly, and her stomach rose and fell gently with her breathing; the flesh, soft and defenseless looking indented below her rib cage.

The sheet came up between her legs and one foot trailed off the edge of the bed. Her toenails were polished bright red and the small toe curled under the one next to it as a result of ill fitting, pointed toed high heeled shoes. It made her foot look tapered. Her ankles were slim, so were her calves. Her legs were a bit too thin, but they swelled into rounded hips, a little wider than they should have been for a girl of her build, but good, substantial hips.

Her mouth was partly open and every so often she made little sighing sounds and fluttered her eyelashes as if she might wake up, but she didn't. Her face looked a little gypsy-like with its high cheekbone that slanted sharply up toward the corners of her eyes. Her nose was long and straight with thin slits for nostrils. It was an aristocratic nose such as the old Spanish gentry had. Her lips were thin, curved and very sensuous. She wore no make-up on her lips or on the rest of her face, only some smudgy mascara around her eyes.

Trask looked at her, sleeping beside him, and reached out a lazy hand to put it on her breast. Her skin felt cool at first touch, but it warmed quickly under his hand. She seemed to be pushing her body against his hand as his fingers gently squeezed. He rubbed his palm in a circle and felt the nipple begin to tighten and become round under the rolling motion. She sighed brokenly and opened her eyes for a brief moment, shut them again quickly and lay still as Trask's hands aimlessly wandered over her body. She liked it to go slow like that. She wanted him to think she was still asleep so that he wouldn't rush it. She wanted to feel herself melt and unfold under his hands before he drove himself to her with all the strength in his body and crushed her against the lumpy mattress.

His hands moved down her sides, stroking her body, tenderly caressing the smoothness of her skin, the roundness beneath it. He put one hand on her legs, under the sheet where it lay twisted, concealing part of her body. It didn't matter to him whether he saw all of her as he touched. It didn't add to the thrill of touch to be able to look. He'd seen that before.

As his hands moved slowly and expertly, he glanced at her face from time to time to see if she were really sleeping. He was almost sure she was awake because of the responses that her body made. Her eyes were still closed, but her mouth was turned up at the corners in a blissful smile.

He bent his head to her breasts and kissed each one, then took the nipples to kiss one at a time, and nibbled at them until she began to squirm ever so slightly against his hand. His fingers continued to explore and he could feel her growing warmer and more excited.

"You like that, don't you," he said into her ear. She didn't answer or make any response.

"Don't you?" he said again. This time she made a little whiny sound in her throat to show her annoyance.

"Answer me, or I'll stop," he said.

She opened her eyes and smiled at him, her teeth very white in the gloom. "Don't stop," she said. "I love the way you do that for me."

He said, "That's better," and kissed her neck. She put her arms around him and nipped at his ear with her small white teeth.

"Do you think I'm pretty?" she said, turning over on her side to face him.

"You're all right," he said.

"What a marvelous compliment," she said. "You're not so bad yourself," and she put a cool hand on him. He moved at her touch and she squeezed him. She liked to feel him jump. It gave her a feeling of power over him.

He pulled her close to him and they lay side by side, their caresses more demanding now, less casual and more expert. He bent his head over her breasts again and took them to kiss, harder this time. She shifted herself against him. He could feel the warmth of her body against his leg and thought that she would be ready soon.

"Listen," she said, "did you know that if you stare at something red for a long time, then close your eyes, you can see it but it's green?"

"That so?"

"Sure. Try it. Here, look at this in the red light," she said holding up her breast. Her long red fingernails curved up under the soft white flesh and indented the skin slightly.

Trask looked at it while the light flashed. Then he shut his eyes tight so that the skin around them wrinkled in crow's feet.

"I can't see anything," he said.

"You didn't do it long enough," she said. "I can see you if I shut my eyes now. The Jolly Green Giant." She laughed in a giggly way and snuggled nearer to him, stroking her hand over him once more.

"Try it again," he said. "Take a good look at this."

She bent her head and kissed him.

"What do I want to look for?" she asked.

"So you can see that green."

"But the red light's not shining there."

"Too bad."

"Yeah. I can think of better things to do, though, if you're interested."

"Always interested." He smoothed his hand down her side and around to her buttocks.

She moved her head and her lips kissed gently. He shivered slightly as her tongue flicked. The tremor started and ran along his back. He put his hand on the back of her head and smoothed her hair as she began to move, very slowly. She reached her hand around behind him, pressing his buttocks toward her.

He didn't move, just lay there and felt the thrill building and building for him as she slowly moved. He knew that if he once started, it would be over too quickly and that the .girl would be disappointed, so he didn't move and let her work on him. She knew when to stop, though, and she slid her body up, breasts pressing to him. She held his head against her breasts as she slid farther up, and forced the already taut nipples to his lips. He took them roughly, nipping until she squirmed against him, her breath coming fast and warm.

He put his hand on her legs. She took his hand in her own and placed it. She began to move, holding him as she did so. His breath was quicker now and she knew his urgency.

Their mouths met in a kiss, lips bearing down on each other, teeth hitting together, making sounds like two stones beneath the water. Their tongues stabbed and lashed together. When they pulled apart, their breaths were moist on each other's faces. Their mouths were wet and burning from the contact and they crushed together again.

Their arms tightened around each other in passion and need, and their bodies conformed. He began to move. "Not that way," she said. "How?" he rasped into her ear. "This way."

She kicked the sheet off the bed. The springs protested as Trask moved. She sighed happily as he moved to her and took her in his arms again.

His mouth sought hers as he forced himself to her. She put her hands on his buttocks and held him. She arched her back and her legs trembled.

She felt his weight pressing her against the lumpy mattress. She pulled at him with her hands, urgent, demanding him. Then he pushed himself to her. His big hands came down and cupped beneath her buttocks to help her. He paused. He grunted, moving in a circular motion. They fought a silent battle for what seemed a long time, neither yielding, both willing. She moaned softly. Her fingernails dug into him.

The bed rocked and groaned. She closed her eyes. He was fast and rough, and she liked him that way. This was better this time than it had been the first time. It was always better the second time, lasted longer and they moved better. Their bodies had grown to know each other and moved accordingly. He seemed stronger. She seemed to vibrate. A deep trembling began, spread slowly. She welcomed that. It felt warm and violent and good. It would build rapidly now and then burst, like an explosion, and she moaned softly and long, and fought to hold herself against him and wait for him.

He was only a moment behind.

She held on until he relaxed and then she sank down and pulled him to her and they rested there together, both very satisfied.

In the corridor the desk clerk blinked. He grinned. His tongue moved his teeth. Beads of sweat stood out on his face. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and then returned to the keyhole. He had been kneeling there for some time, waiting. But it had been worth the wait.

It always was.

And now it was over. He sighed. It never seemed to last long enough to suit him. No matter how many times he crouched in the dark corridor with his bulging eye pressed to the keyhole it never seemed long enough. But, while it had lasted, it had been very good, one of the best. Sometimes the people kept the sheets over them. Sometimes they turned so that all he was able to see was a back, a leg. But this time he had had a very nice view.

She had been a lovely girl, too. She had been in the hotel before but he had managed to see what happened much better this time. He had seen every bit of her body. It would be something to think about during the long boring night ahead. A man had to keep his mind occupied.

The clerk got up arid stretched. It was hard work crouching at a keyhole. He placed his hand against his stomach and smiled with satisfaction at his body's response. And, with his hand still pressed there, he walked down the corridor and went down the stairs and behind his high desk. There was a stool there but he did not sit down. He stood, right up against the desk. It came almost to his chest. He stood there and looked out at the street and a silly smile fixed itself on his face. He opened his clothing. He didn't do anything, he just liked his hand there. He liked to think about what he had just seen as he stood behind his desk and waited for some more customers and hoped that some men and women would come in together and take a room. He never tired of it. Once he had been caught, too. He had been trying to see into the room but all the lights were off and suddenly the door opened and a man was standing there, quite naked, looking at him. He remembered that day with a little tingle of fear and dread. He had tried to explain that he had only dropped his key and was looking for it on the floor but the man, for some reason, had not believed him. He had kicked him right in the mouth and then kicked him twice in the ribs and it certainly had been painful. But it could have been worse. At least the man had been barefoot. That had only happened once, however, and it had taught him caution. People didn't realize how much caution was necessary. How much skill and slyness. They all laughed at Peeping Toms and made jokes about them, but they never knew how thrilling and dangerous it was. It was almost the same as being a spy. It took courage and resolution and patience. Why, many's the time he had crouched for over an hour at a keyhole while nothing at all happened. There was nothing that he despised more than one of those men who take girls to hotel rooms and then don't do anything right away. There were plenty of men like that, too. He knew that if he ever got around to taking a girl to a hot he would start making love immediately. He had never had a girl yet, but he knew that someday he would. Probably a showgirl, too. Patience would pay off in the end. And then he would be well prepared because he had watched a good many other men and studied their techniques carefully. Lots of them had been no stronger and no handsomer than he was, either. Of course, the wart on his nose didn't help any, but women were strange. Maybe there were some women who liked warts, who knew? The first man that he had ever watched through a keyhole had had a wart, too, although it had been on his forehead and not his nose. That probably made no difference. That had been his sister's boy friend. His sister had been seventeen and the wart-headed man had been older and the clerk had not been a clerk then because he was only fifteen. But even then he had been sly and when the sister brought her boy friend home and he stayed after the others were asleep it had been quite easy to sneak down and apply an eye to the keyhole of the front room and see the couch and see what was happening on the couch. That had been quite a revelation. He had started young. And now he smiled and stood up to the desk and waited for the next couple to come in. He waited patiently. His name was was a patient and clever man.