Chapter 1
The thunderous blast shook the ground under Sherry Drake's feet as she stood on the busiest corner in the heart of Grano's downtown business section. It rumbled through the canyon of tall office buildings, echoing and re-echoing, rattling windows and causing a moment of panic among the mid-morning workers and shoppers milling along the sidewalks.
At first, Sherry feared that it might be an earthquake. Because Grano was prone to earthquakes, located as it was on the San Andreas Fault, which some pessimists claimed one day would cause the entire State of California to slide into the sea. Or it might be the bomb that a lot of pessimists predicted would touch-off World War Three and destroy all mankind. But after a long moment, when no holocaust followed the explosion, everybody resumed their normal expressions and the flow of traffic continued on its way.
For one, Sherry was awfully happy that it wasn't an earthquake, or an H-bomb, or any other major disaster. Because that would have ruined her honeymoon. Bad enough, it had already been delayed more than twelve hours through no fault of her own.
Sherry had married Ben Drake last night in a civil ceremony with a couple of people they didn't even know to act as witnesses. It wasn't until the nuptials were over, that Sherry learned what should have been the most wonderful night of her entire life, was to be spent alone in her furnished room without her brand-new husband. He told her he had to work all night, that they wouldn't be able to start off on their honeymoon until the next morning.
"Since I'll only be getting a week off, I want to make the most of it," was the diplomatic and very satisfactory explanation he gave her for not waiting until the next day to get married, why he wanted to have the knot tied that night.
So now, Sherry was standing at the corner of Main and Walnut in the heart of downtown Grano, with her bags packed, waiting for Ben to pick her up in his trailer. Then they'd drive some place--any place--and as he said: "Spend a week away from the world."
Sherry much preferred to think of it more romantically as "one week in Paradise." Fact is, she kept repeating the phrase over and over again to herself as if it were too good to be true--and in a sense it was. If Sherry had been able to peek into the future and glimpse what her honeymoon would be like, she might have preferred that an earthquake, an H-bomb, or some other disaster had prevented her from starting on her honeymoon that memorable morning. A honeymoon so packed with lust and perversions, that she never again would be the normal, young girl she was that morning she stood on that busy street waiting for Ben Drake.
It was 10:25 a.m. when Ben, behind the wheel of his '67 Barracuda pulled into the curb, the big trailer was hitched on behind. Ben slapped open the door of the Barracuda and greeted his new wife with a big smile. "H'ya, Mrs. Drake. Sorry to keep you waiting. I got tied up in traffic. Hop in."
Sherry returned the smile, warmly, then looked at the trailer with undisguised fondness. It was a 16-foot Oasis of '64 vintage. Together with the car Ben was driving, it was bedecked front, sides and back with brightly colored streamers plus several old shoes and tin cans tied on behind. On each of the windows was scrawled a different legend: "Just Married," "Another Good Guy Gone Wrong," "Happy Landing," and "Do Not Disturb the Newlyweds," "No Unnecessary Noise--Occupants in Shock," etc.
Sherry giggled as she leaned into the front seat. She was wearing the pale pink, summer-weight dress that Ben said he liked so much. The one with the fallaway decolletage that showed almost all of her luscious breasts when she bent forward.
"Who painted all those things on the windows, darling?" she asked.
"Guys at work."
"And you didn't stop to clean them off?" He shook his head. "Wanted you to see them first."
She smiled appreciatively, pleased with his thoughtfulness.
"C'mon, climb in. Let's get out of here," he said impatiently.
She couldn't blame him for being impatient. She was impatient, too.
"I've got to put my bags in back first, darling," she told him.
He got out of the car quickly and came around to the sidewalk where she was standing. The top of her dark head came only to about his shoulders even in the tall heels she was wearing.
She frowned a little as he stooped to pick up her two suitcases. "No kiss?"
He looked down at her, unblinkingly, as if fighting back a terrible urge.
"If I do, it won't stop there," he warned her. "In the trailer you go--and you know what'll happen then?"
She knew. She'd already visited with him in the trailer, in the camp where he kept it parked. She'd sampled his prowess as a lover, which was one of the reasons she married him. She smiled and in answer to his remark, glanced fleetingly at the growing bulge in his trousers and said, "I wouldn't mind."
"Right here in traffic?" he asked, then pointed to the red-painted curbing. "In a bus zone?"
Her eyes grew very warm and she teased, "It might be fun."
"I wouldn't call spending our honeymoon in jail fun."
She smiled as she watched him pick up her bags. He had a faculty for always saying exactly the right thing.
As he carried the two suitcases to the back of the trailer, Sherry hurried along with him. He opened the rear door and she craned past his shoulder and looked inside. The interior of the trailer was piled high with his belongings together with a lot of boxes and cartons of foodstuffs and beverages, enough to feed a small army. She couldn't help but wonder if he planned to spend their entire honeymoon eating and drinking. She certainly hoped not. She had a number of other things in mind with which she planned to spend their time a lot more pleasantly.
With the bags safely in the trailer and the door closed, they got into the Barracuda. As he prepared to pull away from the curb, Sherry slid across the front seat and grabbed his right arm. She squashed her lovely breasts against his bicep and held up her lips to him. She still wanted that kiss and he obliged her. It was a brief kiss. Not at all like the kisses she had come to expect of him. The kind where he urged apart her lips and filled her mouth with his breath and tongue, searching out her soul while reducing her to a squirming bundle of passion. Of course, he had explained to her why it would be inadvisable to kiss her like that now, with people crowding the sidewalk to their right and cars whizzing past on their left.
Resignedly, she pulled away from him and let him maneuver the car and trailer away from the curb and into the flow of traffic. But she couldn't resist another look at that lump in his trousers that now had grown to full size. Evidence that he wanted her, loved her as much as she did him. She had all she could do to fight back the terrific urge to reach down and touch it, caress it now that it belonged to her. But she knew that would be very unwise--especially with the car and trailer's decorations attracting so much interest.
Cars honked at them as they went by in an endless stream, their occupants grinning back and offering silent congratulations, or condolences, depending on their personal views of marriage. Each time they stopped for a red light, pedestrians would pause to gawk at them, as if trying to evaluate which of the two newlyweds got the better of the deal. Again it depended entirely on viewpoint and sex.
Undoubtedly, the female observers thought that Sherry had fared best. Tall, with ruggedly handsome features, Ben Drake could have fitted very comfortably into most any girl's romantic dreams. In spite of wearing his blonde hair long in back with sideburns that followed the sweep of his prominent jawline, he looked clean and wore clothes that suited his wide-shouldered, slim-waisted, athletic physique.
As for the males, they couldn't help but think that Ben got far the better of the bargain, especially if they were partial to brunettes with hard-to-handle, long, dark-brown hair, gray-green eyes and a full, petulant-lipped mouth that contributed its part to a very pretty face. She had nice legs, too, and breasts that were firm, high and outthrust, befitting a girl who'd just turned twenty-one.
After they'd gone a few blocks, Sherry, red-faced, turned to her husband of less than twenty-four hours and said, "Maybe we ought to stop and take down a few of our advertisements?"
He glanced at her sidewise. "Ashamed?"
She hugged against his arm again. "Of course not, silly."
"Then leave 'em up," he said with a shrug. "I'm kind of proud of letting the world know you're my wife."
Her tummy tickled. Again he'd said just the right thing.
She watched him reach for the dashboard radio, snap it on and dial in a local news program. It suddenly reminded her. "Did you hear that explosion this morning?"
"Explosion? Oh yeah. A little while before I met you."
She shivered. "I was terrified. I thought it was somebody bombing the city and you wouldn't get to meet me."
He smiled but he didn't say anything as he went on listening to the news.
"I wonder what it was?" Sherry asked after a couple of moments.
He shrugged. "Maybe well hear something about it on the news?"
They kept listening until the newscaster cut short a routine item to announce, breathlessly: "We're interrupting our regular news broadcast to bring you a late bulletin just handed to me: Less than twenty minutes ago, four heavily-armed bandits stuck up the Grano City State Bank, located at Main and First Streets, in the heart of the city's downtown business district. They escaped with what bank officials fix at roughly one million dollars..."
Sherry emitted a gasp of profound amazement. "Why--why that's the bank where I work."
"Did work," he corrected.
"Did work," she echoed in a mild daze. "It isn't more than a few blocks from where I was standing, waiting for you."
Ben shushed her into silence as the newscaster continued with the details of the robbery; "The four bandits, all wearing nylon stockings over their heads, entered the bank this morning a few minutes after it had opened for business. Two of them held the customers in the bank at the time, as well as bank employees, at bay with sub-machine guns while the other two men dynamited the inner-vault where more than a million dollars was stored. Most of this money represented the several days receipts from Grano Race Track that ended its meeting yesterday with the closing of the district fair. During the robbery a bank guard was knocked unconscious when he tried to reach for his gun. There were no other casualties."
Sherry's hand went to her mouth and she tensed with emotion. "I wonder which of the guards it was? I hope it wasn't old Mr. Grady . . . "
The newscaster concluded: The nine bags of money that was awaiting shipment to Sacramento later this morning, was carried out of the bank and 'placed in the getaway car, described by an eyewitness as a tan or beige 1960 model Galaxie. There was no positive identification of the driver of the getaway car, except that he is believed to be a young man in his early twenties. The bank robbers are believed to still be somewhere within the city. Roadblocks have been set up covering all exits leading out of Grano. All citizens and law enforcement agents are urged to be on the lookout for these five men and if found, to proceed with extreme caution. These men are armed and considered dangerous. Report any information regarding the whereabouts of these bank robbers to local, state or highway police. We repeat--"
Ben reached over and snapped off the radio. He took a tighter grip on the steering wheel, his eyes focused unblinkingly on the roadway ahead.
Sherry's face was ashen as she looked up at Ben, worriedly. "Maybe we ought to go back?"
He frowned. "Back where?"
"To the bank."
Ben looked at her sidewise, as if she had suddenly gone out of her mind. "You trying for a headache you don't have? You don't work there any more, remember? You quit a few days ago to get married. You want to go back and spend the next week at an investigation--or on our lovely honeymoon?"
She saw the logic in his argument, smiled and squeezed his thigh at a safe distance. She left no question as to which of the two alternatives she wanted. They drove another block or so, then she asked, "Do you think they'll stop us at any of the roadblocks?"
'That's for sure."
"I've never been stopped by the police. What will they do?"
"They'll search the car, the trailer. Ask stupid questions."
"One look at the trailer and they can tell we're on our honeymoon."
He glanced over his shoulder at the trailer with its streamers and bright sayings. "Yeh, maybe you're right. Even they should be able to tell that. Maybe it's lucky we left the advertisement up."
He continued driving, following the main road that led southwest out of the city. It was only a few minutes later when they came to the first roadblock. Wooden horses straddled the roadway and several prowl cars, together with a dozen or more uniformed, well-armed state and local police stood by, stopping, questioning and searching each car as it approached the block.
When it came Sherry and Ben's turn in the line of cars, a couple of grim-faced officers, hands at-the-ready on their holsters, approached the Barracuda, one from each side. Sherry and Ben both rolled down their windows to greet them.
The officers looked at the trimmings on the trailer; the words scrawled on the windows. The officer alongside Ben said, "Sorry to have to stop you folks but there's been a robbery ..."
Ben nodded, "We heard about it on the radio."
The officer on Sherry's side paid due homage to her thighs that her mini-skirt didn't come even close to covering. Then he walked back to the trailer. He tried to see in through the windows but the writing on them and the curtain inside made it impossible. He walked to the rear of the trailer, opened the door and looked inside. He moved a couple of boxes and cartons. But it was just a token search. Sherry and Ben weren't even asked to get out of the car, the way most of the other drivers and passengers were made to do. Which proved that chivalry and romance wasn't dead even among police officers bent on finding five bank robbers.
Meanwhile the other lawman went on with questioning Ben. "On your honeymoon, eh?"
Ben nodded. "Just starting out."
"May I please see your license?"
Ben looked at Sherry. "You have the license handy, darling?"
Sherry fished through her large shoulder-bag, brought out their marriage license and handed it across to the officer.
He laughed amusedly. "I meant your husband's operator's license." But he took the marriage certificate, anyway, and read the information it contained. "Married yesterday, I see?"
"Last night," Ben said.
"And you're just now starting out on your honeymoon this morning?"
"Had to work last night," Ben explained as he gave the officer his operator's license.
The officer studied it, then handed it back to Ben along with the marriage license. He called over the top of the car to his partner who'd returned to Sherry's side. "Everything okay in back?"
"Everything's jake," his partner replied and took full advantage of the bird's-eye view he had of Sherry's cleavage.
The officer standing alongside Ben smiled appreciatively. "Don't see any point in holding up a man and his missus who want to get on with their honeymoon. Sorry we had to bother you--and have fun."
He stepped aside as Ben gave the car the gun and it rolled on its way, pulling the heavy trailer behind it. About a mile further ahead they came to another road block that followed pretty much the same routine. Everybody seemed very sympathetic to the cause of a couple of newlyweds. Given another clean bill of health, they finally were on their way, heading southwest toward the seashore where they had decided to spend at least a couple of days of their honeymoon.
For about half-an-hour, they drove along the highway until Grano was safely behind them and all thoughts of bank robberies were forgotten--at least as far as Sherry was concerned.
It wasn't until they came to a deserted and heavily wooded stretch of country, that Ben turned suddenly into a side road, closed in on all sides by thick shrubbery and trees and an overgrowth of weeds.
Sherry felt her insides grow warm and her blood pump faster. With each passing mile, ever since they left the last roadblock, she had felt a terrible urgency building up inside her. A wanting for him to take her into his arms, hold her to his rock-hard manliness and kiss her the way she wanted to be kissed. She had begun to wonder if she'd be able to hold out until they got to their honeymoon cottage--never dreaming that he might feel the same way. But of course, he must, or else why would he now be stopping here in this God-forsaken spot. They still were miles from the seashore.
She sat there, waiting anxiously, hopefully, for him to put his arms around her and kiss her. At the very first move he made, she told herself, she was going to do what she'd wanted to do ever since she first got into the car with him. She was going to take hold of wonderful, big joy and squeeze it, tightly. She might even go so far as to take it out of his trousers and kiss it--because it was hers now, to do with as she pleased.
Sherry couldn't help but feel a terrible disappointment when instead of making a move toward her, he opened the door at his side and got out of the car.
He looked at her across the length of the front seat and said, "C'mon, get out and help me get some of the stuff out of the trailer."
She stared at him, quizzically. "Whatever for?"
"Please--don't ask questions," he retorted firmly. "Just do as I tell you."
By the time she got out of the car and joined him, he had the rear door of the trailer open and was pulling out bags and boxes and crates and placing them on the ground. She stood watching him, dumbfounded.
"C'mon, c'mon," he insisted. "Don't just stand there--lend a hand."
She didn't understand but she didn't argue, either. She just reached into the trailer and began helping him clear the floor. When it was done, she stood aside and eyes wide with puzzlement, she watched him tap several times on the floorboards of the trailer. Almost at once, the flooring lifted and to her utter astonishment, four men climbed out of the secret compartment in which they'd been hiding.