Chapter 7
Herman Hinkle arose at his usual hour that morning, showered, shaved, and dressed himself according to schedule. When he slipped on his wristwatch it was eight o'clock precisely, and he smiled in the knowledge that another day was following the old, well-worn routine.
He came down the stairs of his house and into the kitchen. His wife Sonya was standing over the stove, giving the last few finishing pokes to a dozen sausages sizzling in the pan.
"Sonya," he said; then turning to his daughter, who already was seated at the table, "Good morning, Solveig."
Solveig nodded her blonde head and smiled.
He seated himself and waited while Sonya laid out three servings of sausages and eggs. When the plates were filled, his wife joined them at the table, and the three of them fell to eating. They didn't talk to one another, because Hermann didn't care for conversation early in the morning.
As he ate, he glanced now and then at the two women across from him. How much alike they looked, he thought the same braided cornflower hair, the same rosy cheeks, the same pale blue eyes, the same round breasts and flaring fertile hips, the same heavy legs. They were enough alike to be taken for sisters, rather than mother and daughter.
Sonya was such a fine, solid woman, with a round, responsive body and the mind of a true hausfrau. She cooked and cleaned and tended to all the chores; she raised their daughter without help and without complaint; she even lent a hand occasionally in the dry-goods shop. Yet she still looked as sound and glowing as the day he married her. She was a prize.
And so was Solveig. In the beginning, both Hermann and Sonya had worried about their daughter. Her rapid and excessive development disturbed them, for they both had the same low opinion of the young men in town, and were well aware of the impact that a girl like their daughter would be certain to make. They worried terribly over it, debating with each other about the probable fate of Solveig once she reached the age of awakening interest in boys.
But that age had come and gone, and Solveig showed no signs of doing anything foolish. In fact, all through puberty she had maintained a hard-headed calm that even Hermann had to admire. She date occasionally, of course, but never went very far or stayed out very late. And the boys she chose were always young fellows like Charlie Perry, son of the town druggest-small, ineffectual and completely harmless.
Actually, Solveig didn't go out on dates nearly as often as the other girls her age, but Hermann and Sonya Hinkle saw nothing unusual in this. They simply assumed that their daughter had inherited their view of the world, and drawn the same conclusions about the town's young men.
When the time came for Solveig to chose a husband, the Hinkles were certain that she would make her choice with the same calm, Germanic wisdom she had displayed all through her adolescence.
Hermann finished his breakfast, drank one cup of steaming black tea, and remained at the table only long enough to tamp the first load of the day into his blackened pipe. Then he arose, nodded at his wife and daughter, and left the house.
Main Street was calm and clean-looking in the morning light. The chill of the evening before had vanished, and the early sun was already quite warm. As Hermann passed the Four Star he noticed the neon burning in the window, and chuckled at Gar Smith's wastefulness. As he passed the offices of Gully Fry's newspaper he noted that the blinds were drawn in the front window, and wondered if Gully were inside sleeping off another of his intemperate evenings. As he passed Giacomo Carella's shop, he saw through the front window that Jock had left one of his barber chairs in the reclining position all night; a foolish thing to do, since Jock once told him it was bad for the springs.
Little details, tiny evidences of town life and ways Hermann absorbed them all, then tallied them up and filed them away, satisfied that everything was in its place.
He never suspected that this day was going to be different from any other day until he came to his own shop and started to unlock the door.
It was open.
He touched it and it swung wide, creaking slightly on its hinges. But how in earth could that be? He was certain he'd locked it the night before. Could some thief have broken in during the night....?
He came into the shop with his fist ready, all the muscles in his arms bunched with anger. At first everything seemed to be in place. The cash drawer was still padlocked, and when he opened it he found the contents intact. And none of his stock seemed to have been disturbed.
Then his keen eyes swept the shelves, and saw an unfamiliar bit of whiteness where none should be. He went quickly to the shelf which was supposed to contain an assortment of blankets.
The blankets were gone, and in their place was a small white note.
Hermann, my friend, it said: Forgive my robbery, but don't worry about the blankets. You'll be paid, never fear And don't say a word to anyone about this, or come looking for me. I'll explain all when I see you. Something important has come up and there may be a chance for Yorkville yet.
The note was signed GF.
Gully?
Hermann read the note through several times, then gave up trying to make sense of it. Yorkville? What did Yorkville have to do with stealing blankets?
In the end, Hermann tore the note up and decided to let Gully proceed as he wished. The man's word was good, so Hermann was not concerned about the blankets.
And yet, something was bothering him.
Yorkville?
The old days?
Excitement?
Simon Tate unlocked his grocery store, whistling happily around his smoldering cigarette. The morning smelled fresh and new, and Simon was warmed by the touch of the sun on his back. He was also warmed by the pancakes and bacon lying in his belly, and by the glow of satisfaction beneath it.
Nora had been marvelous the night before-trembling and whining, never remembering to wait for the key words of their little game. He had laid the hose across her bottom more times than he could count, and built up his passion to the point where he had almost burst from the pleasure.
When he finally flung her on the bed he took her violently twice in a row, raping her with vast relish and enjoyment. He could remember clearly the sight of her ravished body on the bed as he had turned out the light-the marks of his teeth all over her hard-half-apple breasts, the angry bruises his driving lust had left showing blue along the insides of her twitching thighs and-best of all-the dull red strips which criss-crossed her little buttocks.
Yes, sir-she'd been just great. Simon intended to think about last night and nurse the rich satisfaction of it all through the day to come.
His resolve vanished when he stepped through the door.
His first thought was that his grocery had been raped as brutally and thoroughly as he had raped Nora. Things were pulled down from the shelves, spilled onto the floor, scattered over the counters. Cartons had been torn open and looted. Even the cookie and pickle barrels had been raided.
The sight terrified him. He was about to bolt through the door back into the street when he saw the slip of paper lying on the keyboard of the cash register. He was afraid to go near it, or even to come any further into the shop. He had the awful feeling that the robbers might still be in here, waiting for him. But his natural curiosity compelled him to find out what was written on that paper.
He crossed the devasted store on tip-toe, glancing nervously around, every muscle tensed for flight at the smallest sign of danger. He made it to the cash register alive, and picked up the note in his trembling fingers.
The words were formed of letters from a newspaper and pasted up crudely: Don't tell nobody about this-cover up or you'll be sorry-we know your secret, so you better cooperate.
It was signed: The Phantom Five.
For a few seconds Simon could hardly breathe. The Phantom Five-how terrible that sounded. With such a name, they could only be desperate criminals, and there were five of them!
He shook free of his fright, and hurried to straighten out his stock and clean up the place before the first customer of the day wandered in. The note had instructed him to cover up, and he wasn't about to disobey the orders of such desperate men as The Phantom Five. If he didn't follow instructions, they might come back. For that matter, they might come back anyway.
As he worked, he wondered about that last sentence. Secret? What secret? Simon didn't have any secrets. He was an honest, hard-working man with a wife and daughter, and there wasn't a thing he would be afraid to let the world know. His life was an open book.
Wasn't it?
Before a minute passed, he had thought of almost twenty things that The Phantom Five could have on him.
The breakfast in his stomach turned to lead, and the satisfaction in his groin went sour as vinegar. Whoever and whatever these robbers were, Simon had no choice but to obey them.
The very thought of violence filled him with dread.
The morning began calmly for Ralph Perry. He arose at the usual time, ate the usual breakfast, kissed his wife her usual good-bye on the usual cheek, patted his boy Charlie on the usual shoulder, and took the usual route to his drugstore. Hinkle's Dry Goods was already open for the day, and he waved at the German as he passed. Hinkle nodded and didn't wave back.
Simon Tate's grocery was also apparently open-Perry could hear Simon clumping and banging around inside. But the front door was closed and the shades were drawn, so he went by without saying good morning to Simon.
The shades were also drawn in the windows of the Herald, and Perry smiled to himself. Good old Gully was probably plastered again. Ralph Perry liked Gully Fry quite a lot; of all the people in the town, Gully was the most genuine and imaginative, and those were two rare qualities along Main Street. He made a mental note to get together with Gully sometime, and maybe Hermann Hinkle as well, for an evening of beer and talk.
His drugstore was golden with dust-sprinkled sunlight as he stepped inside. He left the door ajar and unlocked the cash register, breaking fresh rolls of change into the compartments. When everything was ready for the day's business, he glanced around and was looking for something to occupy his attention until a customer showed up.
There were a number of items that had to be recorded before his supply ran too low. He'd left a note to himself somewhere about that....
Then his eyes fell on the open drawer.
It puzzled him for a moment. He was a neat man by nature, and he couldn't recall leaving any of the drawers behind the counter open. He kept the small items in there-the things for which there wasn't much call, such as prescription drugs, poinsons, reducing pills, and-
That was the drawer where the little tin boxes were kept!
He pulled it all the way open and looked inside. There were no little tin boxes. There was only a note.
Thank you very much for the necessary supplies. Payment in full will follow. I will think of you often as I use them.
It was signed Giovanni Jacopo Casanova. Perry frowned at the note for a moment, then smiled. It was Gully. It had to be. He was the only one in town who would pull a stunt like this. He'd probably been drunk and in a silly mood last night, and decided to have a little fun at the druggist's expense. And Gully's idea of fun almost always took rather strange forms.
Oh well-no harm done. Gully would probably stop by later with an embarrassed grin on his face and all the little tin boxes in his hands, and that would straighten everything out.
And it would certainly make a funny story the next time they got together over a drink.
Behind the drawn shades of the Herald's front window lay twenty sleeping girls. They had wrapped themselves in Hermann Hinkle's blankets and laid their bodies out on the floor as precisely and economically as flagstones, so that all were comfortable without crowding, but there was still room enough to walk from the front door to the rooms in the back.
Here and there on the floor a pair of girls slept with their arms around each other. Here and there a cover had fallen away to reveal a breast, or a pair of breasts, some soft and lax with sleep, some tense-tipped and excited by a weird, whore's dream. Here and there a cover had slid off entirely, baring a round belly, a set of spread thighs, a mounded pair of buttocks.
One girl, sound asleep, caressed herself mindlessly.
Beyond this room lay a short hall. To the left, a door opened into a small lavatory. To the right, another door opened on a tiny room filled with paper, cans of ink, crusted rubber press-rollers, and similar objects. A few reams of packaged newsprint had been arranged on the floor to form an uncomfortable but serviceable resting place for Mr. Salmon. He had set the bolt on the door before going to sleep, but even so, he had tossed all night in terror while he dreamt of Tina and her exploring little hands, and of his awful secret.
At the end of the hall, the last of the doors led into the personal quarters of Gulliver Fry.
"The Phantom Five!" Meg said. She leaned her head back into the pillow and laughed. Her naked breasts laughed with her. "Gulliver, that's rich. Where the hell did you ever get a name like that?"
Gully smiled beside her. "Who knows?" he said. "I just wanted it to sound sinister. If I know Simon Tate, he's going to be dirtying his pants when he finds that note."
"Gulliver," said Meg. "You haven't changed a bit."
His smile fell. "No, I don't suppose I have."
She glanced at him, and her own face turned serious. They lay together in silence for a while, then Meg's hand reached out to touch Gully's naked hip.
"Poor Gulliver," she said. "Twenty years you went without, just sitting around and rotting in this silly little town, and it never cured you. The minute I showed up, you were right back where you started."
He inhaled deeply. "That's right, Meg. Right back where I started. The twenty years didn't help at all."
"They could have taught you one thing, at least."
"What's that?"
"That you should stop fighting it." He didn't reply.
"Gulliver, don't you think it's time to stop pretending that you're something you really aren't? You know what you want-you knew it back in Clayville, and you knew it all the years you've been here. So why don't you take it and have done with it, once and for all? "
"I can't Meg," he said. "It would swallow me."
She made an angry noise in her throat. "So what? So let it swallow you. Gulliver-you talk like it was death, or something. It's life, Gulliver, and it's the only kind of life you're suited for."
"Stop it, Meg."
"I will not stop it. You think you're the only person in the world who ever had to choose between his head and his guts? We all have to do that, no matter who we are. You can't run away from it-you carry it right inside you."
"I made my decision, Meg. I can't go back on it now."
"You already have, Gulliver," she said. "Twice last night, before we fell asleep."
He closed his eyes. "That wasn't me, Meg-that was my body. You build up a lot of pressure in twenty years, and when a chance comes to let it off, you take it." He paused. "Something like that happened to me a while back-about six years ago."
"A girl?" asked Meg.
"No. The bottle. I went off the deep end for about two weeks. They tell me I made a hell of a lot of trouble before they finally collared me."
"Poor Gulliver," Meg said again.
"It's the same thing this time. If you hadn't come along, I would probably have gone wild again. It's better this way. Once you and the girls have moved on, I'll be all calmed down again, and no harm will have been done."
"That's where you're wrong, Gulliver. Things are going to be worse than ever for you when you 're alone again."
He threw an arm over his eyes. "Please don't torture me, Meg."
Her face softened, and she shifted her body on the bed until her huge, soft breasts were pressed against his side. "I don't want to torture you, Gulliver. Don't ever think anything like that. I just want you to come to your senses to break out of those crazy ideas of yours, to be the man you should have been all along."
He shook his head. "No, Meg."
"I want you to come with me to the coast, Gulliver."
"Meg, stop it."
She put her hand on his abdomen and caressed him gently.
"I want it to be like it was back in Clayville. The twenty years haven't changed us, Gulliver. Last night proved that. We're still right for each other. We can make a whole new start together in California somewhere, and it'll be even better than it would have been back in Clayville."
He didn't answer her. His mouth was compressed into a thin, bitter line.
She moved her head until she had her cheek against his chest. Her hand drifted down his abdomen and touched him. "Remember how nice it was in Clayville, Gulliver? We used to spend the night together like this, then wake up late and lie around till noon, playing and kissing and enjoying ourselves. And sometimes you'd get all worked up again, even though you'd been going all night. You'd see me, and you'd put your hands on me, and that would get you all excited again. Remember that, Gulliver?"
"Yes," he said.
She chuckled. "Only a lot of the time you were too worn out to perform. You wanted to-'nobody with eyes could think different-but you just couldn't. Remember that?"
"Yes," he said.
"Remember what I used to do when you were like that, Gulliver? Or has it been too long for you to remember?"
"I remember," he said.
Her hand was moving, the fingers flexing, and curling, and stroking in the basic patterns they both recalled so well. And Gully felt himself beginning to answer her hand, filling with newly-awakened excitement.
"That's the way, Gulliver-that's the way it was. Wouldn't you like it to be that way again? Wouldn't you like it that way all the time?"
She kissed his chest. And then her head started to move down his body. He felt her soft cheek glide over his ribs, felt her mouth making little wet circles on the skin of his waist.
He took his hand from his eyes and slid it around her until he had hold of one ripe buttock.
Her fingers prepared him for the arrival of her kiss as she worked down to his abdomen, down to his navel. Her tongue darted and danced like the tongue of a snake, and he felt his heart beginning to pound furiously.
Her body was shifting now, and he felt the twin pillows of her breasts shove up against his thigh as her cheek lifted itself from his abdomen. Her fingers tightehed.
In the instant of coherent thought left to him, he thought: Please, Meg-believe me when I tell you how I feel. Listen to what I say, and believe it. Stop trying to make me change my mind, stop asking me to come along with you, stop offering me all the things you can give me.
I'll help you as long as you're stuck here. I'll get you customers, and I'll find you a place to take them. I'll make sure you earn enough money to move on. I'll do that for you, Meg. All I ask in exchange is that you believe me.
You've got to believe me. You've got to give up on me before it comes time for you to leave. You've got to decide that I'm a dead loss, that it's too late to change me into the man you want. You've got to just shake my hand and smile, and maybe kiss me once on the cheek-then herd all your girls onto that bus and get out of here and never come back.
You've got to believe me.
Because if you don't-if you keep asking me to come with you, if you ask me to make that old decision right at the moment you 're about to leave....
I'll come with you, Meg.
God help me, because I won't be able to help myself. Meg's mouth kissed him.
Gully's body stiffened, and air poured into his lungs in a gasp that nearly tore him apart. His mind crumpled under the force of the assaulting pleasure.
Meg loved with her mouth, and her fingers, and her whole body for more than half an hour, wriggling her soft buttocks against his cupped hand, manipulating her giant breasts on his thigh. And all the while, she thought:
He's coming with me, I don't care if I have to hit him over the head and put him in a sack-this time he's not getting away.
Then her butocks slipped in his palm, and she felt herself being touched by his seeking fingers. There was no longer room in her mind for anything but that....