Chapter 6
It was 5:20 p.m. In ten more minutes, Wainwright's Department Store would be closed for the day. And on this Tuesday afternoon in mid-June, a very jumpy, very dubious Vesper Delaney was wandering the aisles of Wainwright's linen shop, her eyes furtive, assessing the movements of the three clerks riding herd on the dry-goods department.
But with a decided difference. Whereas ordinarily, she'd have been cool, deliberate, where it would take an outright nab to put her into a flap, this afternoon she moved in near hysteria.
Damn Gil! she cursed to herself. Oh damn, damn! Where does he get hare-brained schemes like this?
She paused at a voluminously draped table featuring damask dinner service, she pretended to examine the imagine napkins. While her eyes, actually, watched a harried, eager-to-close-shop employee across the way. A clerk who, even then, got trapped by a picky, nasal-voiced matron inquiring after peppermint-stripe sheets, and as the clerk, momentarily distracted, turned her back on Vesper, the girl took one last sweeping appraisal of the department, found herself alone in it, totally unobserved.
Now! her mind goaded, Now! Make your move! You'll never get a better chance!
And with that, that knell-of-doom ringing in her ears again, a terror she thought she'd put behind her for good, Vesper fell to one knee on the floor as if recovering a dropped item. One last look about her then.
Suddenly she lifted the heavy, floor-sweeping table cloth, darted beneath the table, crouched in that comparative gloom, fought to focus her eyes. Her heart pounded in her head, she was sure its pulse must be reverberating through the entire department.
Dear God, if anyone saw me duck under here! It would be open and shut. They'd haul her away without another word.
She froze in a pained crouch, stealthily arranged her feet beneath her haunches, fought to control her breathing. A chime sounded in the distance, signal that the store was closing, she sensed hurrying feet on the carpeted floor. Counter doors were slamming, cash registers were clanging
Still she waited, with one leg going to sleep under her. She listened, for the sounds of the clerks departing. Voices faded, she heard the sound of the crash bars on the inside doors being engaged, the hearty good-byes of store personnel. For the fiftieth time she wondered where Gil had stumbled on a scheme like this.
A few last customer-cursing grumblings were heard, one of the department managers called, "How about tipping a few, Hank? I sure's hell could stand a drink. What a day."
Vesper checked her watch, read 6:00. Still she made no move, except to adjust her leg, ease the cramp in it. Gil had wanted her that this was the most crucial moment of all.
Her heart leaped as she heard the final invasion of the department, as she saw trousered legs pass within two feet of where she crouched. The floor manager and his assistant were running a last security check. The sound of slamming rest-room and storage-room doors carried to her.
Minutes later the inspection was complete. A distant elevator door clanged, a humming began. The store became a tomb as the escalators quit running. The heavy clunk of the master switch, and the floor was in darkness.
Vesper followed her instructions to the letter. And though she breathed easier now, she remained under the table for ten minutes more. She heard no sounds whatsoever during that interval.
Then suddenly, there were quick, stealthy rustlings to her right. She tensed anew. Then the sibilant command carried. "Okay, Sparrow," Gil whispered, "you can come out now. All clear."
Nevertheless, she was still shaky as she emerged from her lair. Seeing the red-and-white glow of the exit signs in the distance, she reflexively ducked back.
"It's okay, kid," he grumbled. "They're all gone."
She stifled a groan as she stood, shook one leg to rout the shooting pin-pricks running its length. "God," she hissed, "I thought they'd never leave."
But Brewster was in no mood for small talk. "This way," he said, drawing her forward, "we gotta, clear this area before the guard comes through. He's about due."
They crept up the immobilized escalator. "Up on the third," he muttered, "in furniture. We'll hole up there. Easy, dammit! Carry those shoes, stupe!"
They paused at the top of the third-floor escalator, listened, searched the darkness. There was nothing. "That watchman comes through every hour," Gil advised. "At least until midnight. Then he goofs off. But until then ... We gotta be on our toes."
They started through the yawning, carpeted furniture department, headed for a far corner of the floor. "Wainwright's behind the times," he continued. "Most of the other stores got police dogs they let loose. They prowl all night, an honest heel ain't got a chance...."
Vesper shuddered at the thought of Gil's being misinformed. Maybe Wainwright's had recently acquired German Shepherds without his knowing about it. The vision of being pounced upon by a ferocious, snarling dog petrified her.
"C'mon!" Gil gave her a jerk. "This way!"
He led Vesper into a corner congested with tall dressers, stacked-on-end mattresses and box springs. 'The guard works the main aisles. He never comes back here."
Then, as they sank into some convenient easy chairs: "Have you done this before, Gil?" she asked. "You sound like you know what it's all about."
"I do," he laughed softly. "It's the oldest stunt in the world. People been rabbin' these stores blind for years this way. At least until recently. Those dogs, all that electric-eye stuff. You can't make a move then. This dump's one of the last holdouts in town. There's The Bon Ton, Merriwell's, The Philadelphia Shop. I got inside dope that Merriwell's will have dogs next month too."
"Where do you hear things like that?"
He sniffed, grasped Vesper's knee, slid his hand up, clenched her nyloned thighs. "Connections, kid. A guy's gotta have connections in this racket or he's dead." He laughed salaciously. "Those are quite some connections you got there, baby."
She brushed his hand away as he became bolder. "Please, Gil, don't. Of all the times and places for that is sex all you ever think about?"
"Can you name anything better? And what better place for sex? What better way to kill time? Why'n hell do you think I brought you along? I needed someone to talk to." His hand returned. Vesper froze, let him have his way. "Such a nice conversation we're gonna have, Sparrow."
Gradually Vesper's breath evened out, she took heart at Gil's easy confidence. If he knew his way around this store at night, what did she have to rear? Her heart kicked. Except whatever sexual demands the long night would bring. There was terror with a capital T.
"How do we get out of here in the morning?" She squirmed. "Gil, stop that! Not now."
He snickered, withdrew his hand. "Nothing to it," he said. "We hide in the John until the store fills up. Tomorrow's Downtown Day, the place'll be mobbed. They always check the rest rooms at night, but not in the morning. At least this dump."
"You make it sound so easy."
"It is and it isn't. You gotta have lots of moxie when you clear, you can't lose your cool for a second."
"How long ... before we start?"
"No hurry, baby. We got all night. In a little while, now."
"What are we looking for?"
Gil glibly ticked off the list. "Forget the big scores, Sparrow. Stuff like mink, like the big jewels. They lock those up at night. Alarms all over the place. But the small stuff, watches, costume jewelry and such ... Pick the biggest handbag you can find and load up."
"Is that wise?"
"Well, be selective, honey. A little here, a little there. Let them think inventory got rifled, make out like amateurs scored. They find gobs of stuff missing the first morning after, they'll get wise. Next time we try this gig...." He laughed. "Redheart. Buzzers, the whole bit."
"What else?"
"Clothes, of course. Pick out two or three expensive outfits, put one over the other. Dawn's soon enough for that. Fill you little bag with all the stuff that won't go in the purse. We need some cameras, some transistor radios too. Some of that imported glassware if you can manage. That always goes good. But don't overdo."
He rose finally. "Let's go. Make a start. You got everything located? like I told you?"
"I ... I think so. And the watchman...."
He glanced at his watch. "He's downstairs now. We'll go up. Ready?"
Then they were skulking through the gloomy store again, furtively mounting the stilled escalators. They found some flashlights, went their separate ways, Gil heading toward men's clothing, Vesper heading toward the exclusive French Salon.
Apprehensive, uncertain without Gil, she stabbed the racks bulging with $2O0-$30O originals with her torch, picked out three stunning outfits in successive sizes, put them to one side. Again and again she stopped in her tracks, killed the light, listened for any undue sounds.
As afterthought she chose an expensive lingerie ensemble, panties, brassiere, girdle and slip, all done in a wild tigress pattern. As Marcy had said: Bonus. Why shouldn't she have something for herself out of all this?
She held the panties to herself. Won't Marcy like me in these? Won't she flip? Immediately she discarded the conjecture, felt queasy. Especially when she thought of how their perverted love had been taking place more and more often of late.
She carried the lingerie to where she'd stashed the $600 worth of gowns, placed them on an adjoining shelf, filched a few pairs of Wainwright's most expensive hosiery.
But then, as Vesper browsed in the handbag section, a sixth sense warned her. Instantly she extinguished the flash, ducked down behind the counter. Not one minute too soon, for now the watchman was some thirty feet from her, his flashlight sweeping the room, making arc on the ceiling as he strode through the department.
Vesper was shaking like a leaf when the guard finally went on to the next floor.
Next she chose a large, satchel-like bag carefully, took its resale value into consideration as well. Then she headed downstairs. She knew just which jewelry, which camera, which radio she was going to clout. And, just as Gil had said, a dab here, a dab there-
They met back at the furniture department, Vesper's booster bag jam-packed as well as her handbag. She found Gil already waiting for her, a jaunty Homburg on his head, his Moroccan leather brief case bulging with loot. His smile was broad. "How's shopping, baby?"
"Wonderful," Vesper giggled. "This's wonderful. Not crowded, no snippy salesclerks. I can't remember when I've enjoyed shopping more. Why we bother with that other stuff...."
"We bother because this is just a one-shot deal. You can pull this only every month or so before your string runs out." He opened her handbag, went through it. "Nice, very nice--. A good selection, Sparrow. His eyes smugly studied her exposed legs as she unstrapped her booster bag, put it aside.
Immediately his hand dropped, he clutched her in that so erogenous zone. "Nice selection there too, sugar. I can hardly wait to sample it." Shortly he withdrew his hand, let her drop her skirt. "Hungry?" he asked.
Vesper realized that she was. In all the scouting of the store, in those tense moments when she'd concealed herself beneath that table, she'd completely forgotten about food. And not having eaten since lunch, she was starved. "Yes, I am. I could eat a horse."
"Over here, kiddo," he smirked. He shone his light on a small round table he'd pulled over. On which stood a bucket of potato salad from the delicatessen, a gang of ham sandwiches. Two bottles of chilled champagne had been provided from the liquor department. Pleased as punch, he led Vesper to the crude repast, handed her a paper plate, a paper cup, some wooden picnic tableware he'd scrounged. "All we need's candlelight and soft music," he said.
"Wonderful," Vesper sighed, moving in on the food. "This is all like some kind of dream come true. Being turned loose in a store like this. I wish I had a truck...."
They were quite drunk by the time they finished the pickup meal. Their eyes long accustomed to the dark by then, they ate by the glow of the EXIT lights, they drank at their leisure, Vesper trusting Gil to keep weather eye out for the watchman. And also to warn her when she got carried away with the bubbles, talked and giggled too loudly.
It was after 11:00 when they finished. By then, the double effect of the champagne (Vesper's first), the novelty of having this vast store as their playground, getting to Vesper, she didn't care what sexual tribute Gil would extort from her by way of finale to their madcap adventure.
Thus she was more titillated than shocked when Gil next led her down the way a bit, showed her an American Colonial bed on which he'd arranged a sheet, some pillows. And more astonishing: The sexy, black negligee he'd laid on that bed in provocative drapings. "Put it on, huh, doll?" he chuckled. "Sex it up for Gil, huh? Let's get number one out of the way."
He never left her for a moment, his eyes hot and greedy on her body as she stripped to the skin before him. A thing Vesper minded not at all, consumed with an insane, hectic gaiety as she was. And though she knew she was being used, debasing herself, she didn't mind. These unique circumstances ganged up on her, made the impending love bout vastly intriguing.
How many other girls, she thought bawdily, have ever had it in a department store at midnight?
Even when Gil forestalled the love event, beckoned her to stand before him, did she demur, did she feel debased. Docilely she posed for him, she tolerated enjoyed, even his fingers, his lips on her breasts. She let him pull her down, she gaily fed him first one nipple then another. And when he forced her knees, she submitted readily. He riled that font of sensuality, his fingers crudely invaded, conferred a stinging, irresistible arousal.
Vesper was helpless before the passion that crashed down on her then. Sense of self-betrayal or not, she couldn't help herself. She wanted this mockery of love, she wanted to pursue it to any lengths. Great, sibilant pantings broke from her, she began to shudder, to rotate her hips, she bent her knees, actually moved to meet his searing caress.
"Tell me you don't want old Gil now," he snickered. "I dare you to. You hot-tailed little bitch. You're hurtin'. You know you are. Say it."
"I'm hurtin', Gil," she intoned. "Ooh, that's good. I need you, man. Wow, but I need you...."
He chuckled, continued to torture her. He mouthed one breast, plucked at the other with his fingers. While, with his other hand-
He drove Vesper clear out of her skull.
Until finally she couldn't stand any more. "Please, darling," she gasped, "soon. I can't wait any more."
He pulled away from her with a sudden move. "Put on that sexy rag, Sparrow. Model it for me. Then come over here, get the old king ready." His chuckle was lewd. "And I mean ready."
Vesper did exactly as she was told. With no hesitation, no modesty whatsoever, she donned the frilly, diaphanous gown, she reveled in its luxuriousness, she thought nothing of the fact that it was absolutely transparent. Had it not been for the lacy hem and bodice, she might as well have been naked. She turned, arched herself, assumed every outrageous stance the man indicated.
And then, when he tired of that segment: "Over here now, sugar. Undress me."
Gil got monster boots out of watching Vesper strip off his clothes, undo his shoes, his socks, the bewitching, black nylon doing wonderful things for her body. And then, even as his undershorts were drawn away, as Vesper still knelt at his feet-
He got equally monster boots out of watching her perform that final prelude to love. Sitting up, watching her head rise and fall, feeling that hot constriction, that scorching abrasion silk upon velvet He went a little berserk, he groaned raggedly, clutched Vesper's head, governed her cadence. His husky cries came faster, overrode Vesper's muffled protests, her pleas for termination of the abomination. There was, after all, just so much of her, too much of him.
Summarily, a guttural growl breaking from the man, he fell back, disengaged himself from Vesper in the bargain. "Up here, baby," he choked. "Leave that torchy gown on."
Then Vesper scrambled up, sought to roll onto her back, prepare to receive him. "No," he rasped. "Stay up there. Mount up. I wanna watch that first one happen, Sparrow."
He actually clasped her under the ribs, helped lift her, he saw to her seating on that proud pommel himself. He exulted in the fearful expression that flickered across her face as she slowly, gingerly lowered herself.
Then as consternation turned to self-satisfaction: He chuckled salaciously, bucked up, thought her muffled moan the essence of delight.
He propped his head with the pillow, watched as Vesper commenced to post upon him, he took special pleasure in watching her breasts bob behind that murky, nylon screen. He took even more pleasure in the flow of emotions that crossed Vesper's face. As, shortly, all caution was thrown to the winds, as mild embarrassment was traded for uninhibited glee, Vesper's expression uninhibited, signal of flat-out lust.
"Sparrow," he gloated. "Ride, little Sparrow. Sparrow on the tree top...." The mocking chant became more vulgar by the moment, finally served to put Vesper over the top. And when she sagged in limp satiation-
Then he rolled her onto her back, he whipped up the nylon gown, arranged it beneath her chin. Chuckling arrogantly, he slapped her knees apart. Now he crawled forward, positioned himself, let his hand become forerunner.
Vesper gasped, grunted at the ferocity of that first pile-driver stroke. Despite the implied contempt of the thrust, she couldn't help herself. She squealed, raised her hips, met the brutish onslaught with matching ferocity. Almost immediately those stunning sensations were activated within her anew. And she went quite out of her head.
Even after Gil had finished, she still continued to gyrate and flop at him, she brought, secret muscles to play, still clung to him, still manufactured another feeble release for herself.
And that was their first bout.
Vesper drifted in and out of sleep all through that haunted, madhouse night. She aroused when Brewster demanded her anew, she moved like some sort of psychotic robot, she garnered ecstasy upon ecstasy for herself.
She slept and awoke at frequent intervals through the night, wondered where she was. And oriented again, bedazzled anew by the uniqueness of her situation, she dozed once more.
She left caution, night-long watch entirely to Gil. Spent, drugged by surfeit of sensation, emotion and tension, she was oblivious to fear now.
But now Gil was shaking her again. This time his demands were other than carnal. "Let's go, Sparrow," he grumped. "Rise and shine. It's almost dawn. The cleanup crews'll be here in an hour. We've gotta gather our stuff, find a place to hide. Move, damn you!"