Chapter 10
The barkeep nailed Rush as he came out of Lei's dressing room and walked along the short, dark hallway leading back to the bar. Rush caught a flash of the guy's face just after the club hit him, and he went to his knees wondering why the hell. The lights flashed on and off quickly, like a neon sign, and his head buzzed, but Rush shook it off and started to climb back up. He'd been decked before, and knew about getting back up in a hurry.
But he only got part way, and realized this wasn't a ring, that the man who'd hammered him one was waiting with the club raised for another shot. So Rush went in low, head down, legs driving him forward to catch the barkeep in the gut and slam him backward into the wall.
Somewhere off behind him, Lei yelled something. Not a scream, but a shout of anger, and he was glad for the difference. The club slapped his shoulder as he came up inside the man's arms and butted the guy under the chin.
Head clearing, Rush dug a combination to the body, then slid back to shift it to the head. The bartender went down. The club rolled over the floor and bumped hard into the far wall.
Lei was there then, eyes blazing, fingers clawed, the tigress ready to attack. Rush pushed her back and watched the guy on the floor. After awhile, the guy moved, rolled over, but slow and disjointedly. He wasn't faking, he'd been stiffened.
"You son of a bitch," Lei said down at the man. "Frankie, you bastard-"
Rush touched her arm. "Frankie who?"
"Lamana, Frankie Lamana," she said. "Let go. I'll stick that damned club in his ear."
Rush grinned. "You might at that. Does he have a thing for you, or what?"
She was still glaring. "He made a couple of passes, but I let him know a long time ago I wouldn't play."
"So it probably isn't that," Rush said. "Which makes the reason something else. Go watch the front of the place, Lei; shut the door, maybe. I'll find out what the story is from Frankie here."
She went by him quickly, stepping over the legs, and Rush waited until the man sat up. Then he said, "Those were clean shots, man. Nothing to break you up, but I can do that, Frankie. I can screw your head and collarbones and your ribs so you won't ever be the same again. Then I can kick your crtoch until you don't have anything left but jelly."
"H-hey, man," Frankie Lamana said, mumbling, trying to get his head clear. "Look, I wasn't-"
Rush slapped him, slapped his head back and; forth, back and forth, leaning down to reach the man, winging the slaps full armed, making them hurt like hell.
When he stopped, he said, "Why, Frankie?"
"Oh damn," Frankie mumbled, holding his head in both hands, sitting up against the wall. "Damn-I never figured on anything like this. You were such a smartass with the Chink doll, and he said-he said you were bothering the family, and for a hundred-"
"Who, Frankie?"
The man shook his head. "I never been hit so damned hard in my life. My head feels all funny, like. Who? That Ramsey guy, and he's married into the Allison family, and I thought-"
"A queer with him, a real swish?"
Frankie Lamana nodded. "Look, man-I think I'm gonna' be sick."
Rush picked up the club and walked into the bar. Lei was just turning from the door. He said, "Cleo's husband put him on me. A hundred bucks, he said."
"Go back and beat his head off," Lei suggested.
"Pull the shades on the door and hang up the closed sign. Frankie won't bother us for awhile, he's busy being sick."
She stared at him. "What do you want behind the bar? Not money, Rush-not like that."
"No," he said, and found a short slicing knife under the bar. "Pull the shades, girl." He drove the knife point into a cutting board and snapped it off to make a screwdriver.
He shoved bottles to each side of the decorative mast of the Bianca, because there was no time like the present to get the stuff. Damn the barman, he wouldn't know what happened until it was too late to do anything about it.
There was heavy paint over the screws that held on the patch, and Rush chipped at it, scraped at it until he could get his makeshift screwdriver to work. Grunting with the effort, he forced the screws to run, got two of them out, then a third, and with his fingers under the irregular shape of metal, pushed it around until there was room for his hand.
He reached into the mast, half his arm's length, and-it was there.
It was there in its oiled paper wrappings, snug and safe after more than two years hidden. Rush found a bag full of lemons under the bar, emptied it, and began taking packets of the stuff out of the mast. There was a good weight to the sack.
Lei said, "That's what you meant?"
"I'll tell you all about it," he said. "But we'd better get the hell out of here first."
They were out the door and a few steps along the wharf when Frankie Lamana said from behind them: "I know you now. I know who you are, you punchy bastard. You're the guy tried to kill Geegee Fallo here on the wharf a couple years ago. He's gonna' be glad to know you're back in town-and what you got outa the mast of his old salmon boat."
The door slammed and Rush heard bolts snap into place. So much for that. Frankie would be on the phone now, and soon every hood on the peninsula would know Rush Scanlon was back.
"We ought to hurry," Lei said, and they walked swiftly along Alvarado Street toward her place, where he'd left the MG. They made two blocks, when the Lincoln swung over to the curb beside them.
"Lift, mister?" Cleo Allison was behind the wheel, and Jan Allison was beside her. "Hi, Lei, Rush."
He opened the back door, helped Lei inside, slid in after her. "Better this way," he said. "Easier. There'll be guys looking for me now, and for you, too. Maybe it's better we don't go to your place."
Cleo said, "Mystery?" and slid the Continental easily into the light traffic.
Rush said, "You might say I'm hot. Your husband put a bartender on me, paid him a hundred to work me over. One thing led to another, and there are some people who now know I'm around-people a lot rougher than your husband."
"The cabin," Jan said. "Not on the beach, the one up the canyon. It'll be groovy, hiding there."
Cleo pointed the big car toward Carmel Hill, cruised up and over it, and right on by the traffic light at the town entrance, keeping south on the coast highway. She said things about her husband, about Kemp Ramsey and his tame fag, and Jan embellished the names, gleefully.
"Your mother?" Rush asked, the brown paper bag on the floor between his feet.
"Still in San Francisco. She called today and said she'd try to make it in late tonight, asked about you." Jan was playing a game, acting the gun moll, tough and daring.
Feeling loose and light, exhilarated now that he actually had the contraband in his possession, Rush played along with her, but told them no more than he had to. Even Lei didn't know what was in the bag, although she might suspect.
Cleo tooled the big car along the coast, over the hills and along the high rocks until Rush said, "Stop here, please. Just for a minute or two, Cleo."
Obediently, she pulled over off the road and let him out. The bridge approach was just ahead, and the sign reading Wildcat Canyon. Rush trotted to it and turned down off the highway, half-slid down the suddenly steep incline that dropped angling toward dizzy depths below.
Carefully, he climbed along the concrete abutment and found a convenient girder. Not looking down, he inched along the steel span to a joining, and there he wedged the sack of heroin packets, out of sight to anyone standing on the ground and staring up, out of sight of anyone foolhardy enough to lean out over the bridge rail.
He climbed back down the girder and back up the steep bank, slipping on the concrete blocks, using rooted ice plant for a handhold. He was panting when he rejoined them in the car. Cleo drove for another five minutes before turning off into a canyon lined with redwood trees and walled by green banks. The narrow road twisted and turned, and she followed it to a branch off, took the left and climbed to a small plateau hidden in the trees.
The cabin was solidly built of stone and logs, and there were two bedrooms off the main room, a fireplace, kitchen and two baths. Cleo unlocked the door and opened a full larder, a freezer, pantry filled with canned goods and a liquor closet.
"There's a caretaker," Cleo explained. "He patrols the area by day and night, with dogs. Nobody breaks in around here."
Rush nodded. "Does your husband know about this place?"
"Yes, but he won't think of it for awhile. We don't use it much. In fact, he's only been here once before. Let's all make ourselves at home. Martinis?"
"Fine," he said, and felt a weight slide off his shoulders. The stuff was well hidden, and even if the girls told someone the general area, it would stay hidden until sombody got nerve enough to climb that girder. This cabin was tucked away, with a watchman of sorts, yet. It was the best he could do for now. He'd talk it over with Lei, and they'd try making some contacts, maybe in Salinas or San Francisco.
"Hang loose," Jan suggested, and skipped off while her sister made a pitcher of drinks.
Lei took hers and downed it immediately. Without looking at Rush, she said something about needing to clean up, to rest awhile. He watched her stride off, and thought she'd be okay when he gave her the full story. He had another drink and stretched his legs.
"Is she jealous?" Cleo asked.
Rush shrugged. "Says she isn't, but I don't know."
"She shouldn't be," Cleo said. "I've seen Lei uround our place a few times, and I think she and Lorna have a thing going."
Tall, slim almost to the point of being lean, Cleo stood near him, and her closeness made him clearly remember the supple mobility of her long, graceful legs. Out of sight, he heard a shower going. The gin lay warm in his belly and put quick little bubbles in his blood.
Cleo's smile was slow and knowing. "Why not?" she asked, and whipped the dress off over her head. He watched her shed bra and panties, but she kept on the spike heel shoes, and her tanned, sleek legs had never looked better, never longer.
Soft brown hair, feathered over her mound, deep and rich, sending out tendrils that curled cunningly along the joining of her thighs, a line of individual hairs that marched up to her navel. Cleo's skin was smooth, gleaming with health and warmth, and she ran her hands over her body, her hips and belly.
She lifted her hands to her breasts, cupped them and thumbed the nipples while smiling down at him, while rolling her hips and swaying back and forth. She was beckoning him, tempting him, and it didn't take much pleading. He felt the old tool rise, gorging itself on his racing blood, ready to burrow into that shining, piled hair again, eager to try that hidden slot.
There was a special bitchery about all the Allison women, a lascivious thing that pulled a man, drew him to them, for they always backed up their appeal.
His head told him that Lei was in the next room, that Jan was somewhere about, but his body said: now, man, now! Jan would probably join them soon, anyway, and Lei-well, she knew what was going on with the Allisons; she had been part of it for a considerable length of time.
He piled his own clothing on a chair and stood before her naked and tumescent, hands going out for her, for the touch and feel of her on his palms, under his fingers. Cleo came into his arms, up against his body, catching his rod in both softly caressing hands as she did so, lifting her red, parted lips for his kiss.
Her tongue found his, fondled him damply, and her tits made warm, half-mounds against his chest. She kept rolling her hips, and sliding her belly across his, kept playing with his tool, and whispering into his mouth.
"Beautiful stud prick," she whispered. "Hard and long, and thick. Veined and pulsing under my fingers. Lovely prick, strong and hungry, wanting to be inside me, in my cunt. I love your prick, Rush Scanlon, I worship your prick."
She drew him back and down, and they were on the floor together. Her body was supple under his, bending and arching, and she caressed him with the insides of those long, exquisite legs, with the satiny touch of her symmetrical thighs.
Glowing and anxious, twisting and turning, hunching against him, Cleo tired of the foreplay and as he slid both hands under her slim buttocks, she suddenly used her hands to cram his rod into herself.
Hard, she shoved it, and hard it was, stuffing up inside that clinging, hot passage already turning dewy from her oils. Cleo raised her long, sleek legs, and wrapped them about his body, crossed them over the small of his back at the ankles. As he stroked it into her, she would squeeze him between her thighs, then let go as he withdrew for most of the length of his staff.
Her hands roamed over his shoulders, his throat, they fondled the back of his neck, his hair. He thrust it deeply into her, and she arched her back to take it, quivering and lunging in return, trying to get more of it into her vagina.
Feeding it into her, grinding and hunching between those beautiful legs, he leaned to kiss her, and she bit his lips, raked her teeth over his and sucked on his tongue. Her pelvis rotated against his, and the walls of her vagina caressed his prick at every lingering stroke.
Then Cleo tore away her mouth, contorted her heaving body so that she could turn her face under his chest. Her sharp teeth were at his nipple then, her sucking, hungry mouth and the darting caress of her busy tongue. Her nails raked his back and her pussy convulsed upon his rod.
She came, and her entire body shuddered with the force of her orgasm, with the leaping joy of it. He felt her hot juices bathe his prick, and hammered it steadily into her, even as her mouth moaned and she fell away from his nipple, even as those lithe and shapely legs fell away from his pistoning back.
"Oh stud," she cried out, "oh big man! Lay it to me, screw me some more, do it to me strong, Rush!"
He kept going, building the lift in her vagina again, making her rise to meet his strokes, forcing her to once more lift and meet him as he drove it home, as he buried it in her flexing sheath and drew it back for another twisting stroke.
Cleo cried; Ahh, and came again, the sweat shining on her smooth flesh, beading her face and puddling with her juices in the forest of her pubic hair.
Only then did he let his own good feeling build, and give in to the pressures that were growing in his loins and in his belly. He thrust into her as she lay flaccid beneath him, as she lay broken upon the strength of his ramming prick, and because she was helpless, beaten, he got a bigger kick out of it. He fired his load into her, and Cleo only quivered as the release bathed her womb.
Crawling off her then, Rush looked down and saw her eyes closed, but there was a faint, sleepy smile upon her mouth. He left her supine upon the floor and stood up to walk over for another martini, his rod still pushing out in front of him.
He poured his drink, and reveled in the cold bite of it. If he'd run into a girl like Cleo Allison a long time ago, he would probably never seen the inside of a gym, much less a ring. She put heart and soul into her screwing, and when she recovered from this bout, she'd be ready for another.
When he refilled his glass, the pitcher was about empty, so he moved behind the bar and mixed another batch. No one man could continue to gratify the Allison women; he realized that. He knew that no man in his right mind would marry into them, unless the guy had a certain way of looking at sex, and could accept the fact that they were going to fuck any man they damned well pleased.
But if a guy could understand and accept that much, then look at the kicks he'd get with the rest of the family-Lorna and Cleo and Jan. Mama bear and her two lusty cubs. Rush shook his head and treated himself to another belt. He wasn't seriously considering marrying any one of them, even if they would go for the idea.
This was great, but it was temporary, and he kept the transient affair in its place as something to enjoy while it lasted, as something to look fondly back upon, when it was all wrapped up.
Maybe when it was all done, when the heroin was sold and the ranch bought, the rest of the . money safe, maybe he could drop back down here for a visit sometime. Maybe he could visit mama and the girls and they'd hold a special orgy, just for old times'sake.
Grinning, Rush carried the pitcher from the bar I and put it on a table. There were smokes in a silver box. He helped himself to one and flicked an engraved lighter at it.
He felt good; he felt good when he looked at Cleo, curled girlishly on the floor and sleeping peacefully, all softly naked and momentarily screwed out. He felt good when he thought of the j stuff hidden away, out of that damned bar at last.
Geegee Fallo? The bastard couldn't call the I cops, anyway. All he could do was hire some ; muscle, and they'd all run around like crazy for a few days. Then Fallo would figure Rush was . already in The City, and the stuff was already I peddled. Why not? That's the way it would look-especially when they checked Lei's place and found she hadn't even stopped to pick up her clothes, when they found the red MG he'd been i driving, left where he'd parked it.
Maybe they'd even go so far as to check the Allison home, but they wouldn't lean on Lorna Allison, she carried too much weight on the peninsula, in the state itself.
He'd tell Lei all the details this time. She deserved that much, and he might need her help. There'd be time for quiet talking here, when the Allison girls were still, when they'd been well laid.
"Never trust a naked bartender, I always say." Jan stood in the doorway, towelling her wet hair; she was completely nude, and the freshly showered scent of her reached across to him.
"Drink up, Rush," she said. "You're going to need all the help you can get."