Chapter 3
THEY STRIPPED HER NAKED....
Calla had been in her father's office less than an hour when she ran into the first problem that had not been included in the course. Bruce West, the assistant manager made it very clear that he resented her presence in the hotel.
Because she was, after all, the daughter of the man who owned the hotel, he was obliged to treat her with an outward display of courtesy, but the veneer was thin and she saw through it without difficulty.
Why he felt that way was another matter. There was, she realized, the obvious answer that he looked forward to being appointed manager and feared that she would be the one to get the job instead.
Instinct told her that answer was too pat, that there was something more involved. She determined to find out what it was eventually. In the meantime, she would just go about her business and treat him with the same frosty courtesy he showed her.
Through the first week, sharing her father's office, Calla busied herself with a review of the books. It was meant as a routine task to give her a total picture of the operation, but it provided something of a jolt.
While hotel revenue in the area was generally on the upswing, they had dropped in income for three years in a row. It didn't make sense.
What had begun as a routine review became a project. Calla was determined to find the reason for the mysterious drop.
The Grange Hotel was among the best in the city as it had always been. The rates were in line, there was just no explanation for the drop. Not yet at any rate, but there had to be one and she determined to find it.
There seemed to be little point in analyzing overhead costs. They were up, but that could be justified. The big drop was in gross income.
Convention business seemed like a logical place to start, so Calla did a breakdown. To her surprise, convention business was up every year. That only served to make the mystery of the income drop even more astounding.
For days then, Calla pored over the problem of sorting the day-to-day business, the one night guests, the weekend business, the bar, the dining room. There were times when at night, instead of finding sleep, she found only figures spinning in her brain until she was ready to scream.
The harder she worked, the more confusing the picture became. For the year 1965, she found, room rentals were almost exactly the same as the previous year and yet the linen laundering costs went up almost twelve percent.
Why, she had to ask, all the extra linens for the same number of rented rooms? After she had double checked her figures, she went on to the next year.
The story was even more startling this time. Room usage dropped a little less than two percent while linen usage was up almost thirteen percent. She would have been surprised if the figures for 1967 had been different, they weren't.
At that moment, Calla found herself wishing she had studied accounting or crime detection instead of hotel administration. It wasn't just slipping business or high overhead, she sensed, someone was falsifying the records.
She knew that sheets weren't being changed twice a day just to shoot the laundry bills up, chambermaids, Calla knew, didn't operate that way. Changing a bed meant work and they didn't do any more than was necessary.
To this point, she had kept her findings away from her father. He was pleased to see that she was taking such an interest in the books and let it go at that. Now, she knew, it was time to call him into conference and talk over the whole situation.
She chose a quiet Tuesday morning for the meeting. Calla produced a sheaf of papers which told the story. As he read them carefully, she saw his expression change from one of pleasure to one of anger and confusion.
"But, Calla, darling, this just can't be. Are you sure you checked everything?"
"Everything, dad. I didn't want to upset you until I was very sure of my figures."
"Then somebody is stealing."
"That's right, dad. Now we have to find out who and how. It may not be easy."
"I can't believe it, darling. I know all these men. They're good and they're honest. I can't believe any of them would do this to me."
"I'm sorry, dad, but you're going to have to believe it. It is happening."
"You know, dear," there was an almost dreamy quality to his voice, "I thought that college course in hotel administration was just a bunch of junk, but I was glad you were interested enough to take it. Now I see, there was something to it after all. I was right here all the time and I didn't see it."
"Don't worry about the past, dad, let's decide what we can do to put a stop to it. Do you have any ideas?"
"I'm afraid to have, Calla. This may sound silly, but I dread finding out who it is."
"That isn't silly, dad. These are all people you know and like and trust. It will hurt to find out that one of them has been doing it. Who started about three years ago?"
"Oh no, Calla. The only one in that category is Sam and I just can't believe it. It couldn't be him."
"That would be Sam Carter, the night man, wouldn't it? Tell me about him, dad."
Her father told of how he had been a good hotel man until booze interfered. He had lost three jobs and a wife in four years and was heading for the bottom. When he swore he had quit drinking and wanted a chance to start over again, her father gave him that chance.
"He's been good, dear, and I know he appreciates the fact that I gave him a chance when no other hotel would touch him. He wouldn't be capable of doing this to me. I just know it."
"Okay, dad, I can see how you feel. Still, he did come on the scene just at the time things started to happen. You can't blame me for wanting to take a close look at him."
"No, dear, I can't blame you at all. I guess we have to check everyone. Should we bring Bruce in on this? He works more closely with most of them than we do."
"Please don't dad. Let's just the two of us handle it. I'm sure we'll get to the bottom of it."
"You surely don't mistrust Bruce, Calla. He's been here almost six years now and I trust him implicitly all the way."
"No matter who it turns out to be, dad, it will be someone you felt you had reason to trust. Let me have my way, dad, let's keep it between the two of us for the time being."
Paul Larson went along with it as his daughter knew he would.
Calla would have preferred to suspect someone like Bruce whom she disliked, but logic forced her to establish Sam Carter as number one suspect.
Each time she met the nice old night man around the hotel, Calla felt ashamed of herself for suspecting that he could be the one with his finger in the till. Still, she reminded herself, she had forced her father to agree that everyone on the staff should be suspect, so it was out of the question that she should make exceptions on the basis of sentiment.
For almost a week, Calla played detective. During the evening, she would spend a lot of time in the dining room sitting at a table and pretending to read while she kept an eye on the lobby.
Each night, she would count the number of people who checked in and, having studied the layout of the keyboard, was able to spot, even from that distance, the rooms that had been assigned.
Each morning, she would hurry to check the register. Without exception, Sam's count tallied. A later check on billing also produced a clean bill of health for the man.
It took a long time, longer than it should have, but Calla finally realized that working alone, there wasn't a way for Sam to be taking a rakeoff.
True, he booked in a lot of people on the night shift, but in almost every case, they checked out during the day. There would have to be a bill and they would have to pay it to the day cashier. She just couldn't see Sam having the organizational ability to set up a complicated deal with a fellow conspirator on the day shift. It wasn't that she considered him stupid, he just didn't seem to be the type who could be so devious.
Calla resisted the urge to write him off as a suspect and went on checking. On his night off, she decided to play the private eye role right to the hilt.
It was an overcast and slightly drizzly afternoon which permitted her to wear a trench coat and a hat as she set up a stakeout from which she could watch the entrance to the building in which he lived.
He came out of the old brownstone house just after two. Trying to blend into the store fronts while feeling terribly obvious, Calla followed him until he went into a greasy spoon for something to eat.
Twenty minutes later, he came out and she picked up the trail again. This time, he walked less than a block before turning into a tavern.
After a five minute wait, Calla went back for her car and pulled it up to the curb on a dimly lit side street from which she could watch the doorway of the tavern.
For a man who had given up drinking, Sam stayed in the tavern a long time. Checking her watch again, Calla was amazed to see she had been there for more than two hours.
Cramped from having sat in the car for so long, she pushed the door open and decided to walk for a while. A few minutes later, she noticed that the drizzle was getting closer to serious rain and made up her mind that even though it may be uncomfortable, at least the car would be a drier place than the sidewalk she had been pounding.
She was influenced too by the fact that it was on of the seediest parts of town, a place where a woman didn't spend too much time alone on the street unless she was looking for trouble.
Calla walked back to the car in a haste that bordered on panic. Just before she reached it, she saw that the street was deserted. With a sigh of relief, she yanked the door open and slipped behind the wheel.
At the same instant, the door clicked shut and a strong hand closed over her mouth. Another arm wrapped around her and she felt something pressing against her ribs. Whether it was a knife or a gun didn't really matter much, either way, it meant trouble.
A gruff voice told her to move into the passenger seat. The thing sticking in her ribs ensured that she wouldn't move all the way over the other door.
Calla sensed that she should make her break for freedom now, while the car was still in the city, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. If it was a knife pressed against her, it would be a simple thing to push it all the way in while the hand over her mouth prevented her from making an outcry.
There was sound of car doors opening and closing and then the car was in motion. Calla had visions of being driven far out into the country and was afraid to think of what would happen there.
Instead, the car turned away from the main street and threaded into a narrow alley. While the same hand stayed over her mouth, other hands fastened a rag over her eyes. A couple of minutes later, the car came to a stop. After someone got out of the car, it went into motion again and drove slowly for a few feet before coming to a stop.
This, she guessed, was it. Unless she was very lucky, it could be the end of her life. In that moment, she stopped thinking that Sam was the innocent man she had believed and felt the cold chill of thinking that he had been aware of her following him and had set this up. It didn't seem at all in character for him, but it was happening and that was a fact she couldn't ignore.
They were rough as they stripped her clothes off. Around her, she was aware of a musty smell as if they were in a very old and poorly kept building. There were a lot of warehouses in this part of town, she knew, and a lot of them had been abandoned for years. Over those years, some terrible things had happened in some of them, things that had caused garish headlines and funerals.
Calla wondred how so few men could have so many hands. While she still had her clothes on, some of those hands had wrapped a rag around her eyes. Now, those and other hands were rubbing and squeezing through her bra, panties and nylons. Others rubbed bare skin.
Her bra went next and she heard the rasped comments of admiration. They seemed to be fighting to get at the smooth, firm beauties they had bared for their enjoyment. Calla felt her body betray her as the tips grew big and firm under their continued rubbing.
One man got one of the mounds all to himself and she felt a mouth close wetly around it. She held her breath as she waited for the teeth to hurt her, but they didn't. She began to hope that she would live through this nightmare after all.
"Are you going to kill me?" she heard herself ask in a fear-filled voice.
"Only with kindness, baby," one of the men answered with a laugh.
"You just don't touch that blindfold and we'll turn you loose in a little while. If you take it off, you're a dead chick. That would be a shame."
Calla sensed that it was his hand stroking the bottom slope of her panties and the smooth skin below.
And then there were hands inside her panties pulling them down. More hands came to her than and she felt nylon around her feet as the panties fell.
They played with her for a long time and then she was being pulled down onto a bed of some kind. All that had happened so far was play, she knew, now the real thing was going to begin.
With a man she knew and liked, it could be a delicious pleasure, but to have it forced on her by strange men was a thing of ugliness and more than a little frightening.
"Be a good baby now," she heard one of them speak close to her ear. "Lover boy is going to give you his special treatment."
She felt her thighs being raised and parted and knew it would be useless, or worse, to resist. She felt his unshaved face scrape her sensitive inner thighs and then his mouth was on her.
Calla wished the circumstances could be different. His tongue darted and probed, he knew exactly what to do to drive a woman wild. He did it.
She felt a movement above her and a moment later, something warm and stiff brushed lightly across her face until it reached her lips.
"Take it, baby," a rough voice commanded.
She turned her face away in silent protest.
"One way or another you're gonna do it baby," the voice persisted. "I can rough you up first if you like. I'd love to rough you up."
Calla was terrified now, as she realized he meant what he said.
"Last chance, baby, do it now or when the boys are finished with you, I'll make you beg for it."
Calla got the message. When the thing pressed again, she parted her lips wide. He was big and urgent and demanding. She did what he wanted her to do and dreaded what the end of it would mean. Below, seemingly miles away, the other man continued to do the same thing to her.
Her mouth completed its work and Calla began to gag. She tried to turn away from the spurting, but that had been anticipated. Strong hands held her face while it forced more and more deeply into her. There was no escape until he was completely finished and moved away.
"Real good, baby," the voice told her weakly. "You do it like a real pro."
Calla was still gagging when she felt the mouth leave her. Someone was kneeling between her thighs and felt urgent maleness probe until it found the well prepared entrance.
He filled her and she felt his weight heavy on her as he began to stroke. Around her, others called words of encouragement and told him to hurry.
He hurried and it was soon over. As soon as he moved off her, another man took his place and it began to happen all over again.
When he finished, there was another ready and anxious to take over. With none of the others urging him to hurry, he took his time and dragged the act out as long as he could before he finally gasped and pressed his body against her in the act of completion.
They left her alone then and Calla hoped it was over at last.
There was a whispered argument and Calla knew it was vital to her, but she couldn't hear the words. Something told her they were trying to decide whether or not to let her go. She found herself wishing she knew how to pray.
"Okay, baby, slip into this and let's get going," a man growled as she felt her dress being dropped onto her.
Hurrying to a sitting position, she fumbled with it, cursing herself for being so clumsy with her eyes covered. To her amazement, she felt embarrassed about putting her dress on before the eyes of the strange men. Considering what they had seen and done to her, it was foolish, she knew, but she couldn't control it.
One man, understanding her difficulty, caught her elbow with a strong hand and helped her to her feet. It was easy then to pull the dress down.
Without waiting for her to fasten it, they led her back to the car and guided her into the passenger side of the front seat. A heavy door was opened and almost at once the car was in motion.
Calla couldn't believe they were actually going to let her go. The ugly ordeal was over. The car had been in motion for three or four minutes, she guessed, when it slowed to a stop.
"Leave that blindfold on for two minutes, baby, then take off."
With that, there was a scurrying and she sensed that she was alone in the car. Without waiting the two minutes, she tore the blindfold off, threw herself behind the wheel and put the car in motion.
Calla drove fast, not knowing or caring just where she was. In time, she found a street she recoganized, turned into it and drove back toward the hotel.
The wheel was wet in her hands, her body felt dirty all over. She had to get back to the hotel fast and soak for hours in a hot tub.
Her mind was flooded with ugly imagery of what had happened to her so that it was difficult to concentrate on driving. The evening traffic was fairly heavy and it would have been easy to roll through a red light so that some car driving fast and unable to stop on the wet pavement could crash into her and end all the ugliness and disgust. She resisted the urge but it brightened her.
It was so strong, so terribly compelling. Just to make sure she had it under control, Calla slowed the speed of the car a little.
And then the lights of the hotel loomed ahead on her right. She reduced speed and guided the car into the entrance. Leaving it double parked with the keys in the ignition, she threw herself out of it and ran into the lobby. She was thankful that there were not many people around. Calla was sure they would be able to see the filth of her.
Alone on the elevator, thankfully, she reached the second floor and hurried to her room.