“The drugs are nothing. Even the back isn’t as bad as it looks. It’s inside. His rectum and bowels are all torn up.”
He raised his hand and held up a fist-thick ten-inch dildo. “This was shoved all the way up inside him.”
For a moment I thought I was going to be sick. “I’ll get in touch with his father,” I said.
The doctor nodded solemnly. “You can assure Reverend Sam that we’ll be very discreet.”
“You know the boy?” I asked in surprise.
“No, but Mr. Lonergan called and said you might be stopping by.”
Lonergan had thought of everything. Now maybe he could think of a way I could tell a father who trusted me to look after his son that I failed him.
15
The Collector was on the pay phone when I went into the waiting room. “Lonergan wants to talk with you,” he said.
My uncle’s voice was flat. “How is the boy?”
“Hurt bad. But he’ll make it. I was just going to call his father.”
“I’ve already done that. He’s on his way over there now. I’m sending a car to take you home.”
“I have the Rolls here.”
“The police are looking for it. Leave the keys for Reverend Sam and get out of there.”
“I didn’t figure they were stupid enough to call the cops.”
“You put two men in the hospital,” he said dryly. “And the police ask questions. But you’re in the clear for now. Nobody gave them your name.”
My uncle always managed to surprise me. He seemed to have ears everywhere.
“When you get home, stay there until you hear from me. I’ll have a better line on this in the morning.”
“I have to talk to Reverend Sam and explain to him what happened.”
“You can do that tomorrow. Right now get your ass out of there.”
The phone went dead. I think it was the first time I ever heard my uncle swear.
The Collector held out his hand. “The car keys.”
I dropped them in his hand and followed him to the reception desk, where he gave the keys to the nurse, and then out the front door.
“There’s an all-night coffee shop on the next corner,” he said. “The car is pickin’ us up there.”
We walked the street in silence, the only sound our footsteps and an occasional automobile passing. The clock behind the counter in the restaurant read four fifteen.
The waiter put steaming cups of coffee in front of us. “What’ll it be, gents?”
“Ham ’n’ aig sandwich on a kaiser roll,” the Collector said. He looked at me.
I shook my head. “Nothing.”
The coffee was scalding hot. I searched my pocket for a cigarette. The Collector held out a pack. I took one and lit it.
The Collector took a big bite from the sandwich the counterman put in front of him. He spoke with his mouth full. “You learn all that shit in the army?”
“What shit?”
“That judo stuff. The kicks an’ all that.” There was a note of admiration in his voice.
“That’s not judo. And they don’t teach it in the army.”
“What is it then?”
“Savate. It’s French. I took lessons from an old Foreign Legion sergeant who stayed in Saigon after the French pulled out.”
He took another bite of his sandwich and chuckled. “Man, I wisht I could do that. It was graceful like a ballet dancer. Lonergan tol’ me that it’ll take ’em three hours just to wire up his jaw. He’ll be eating through a straw for three months.”
“The son of a bitch is lucky I didn’t kill him.”
The Collector looked into my eyes. “You’re a strange one, Gareth. I don’ understand you at all. All this time I got you figured for a nothin’. I never understood why Lonergan took such a personal interest in you.”
“Now you know. I’m his nephew.”
“It ain’t just that. Lonergan’s too smart to go for the family trap. You’re somethin’ else.” His eyes went to the window. He got to his feet, pulled out two dollars and dropped it on the table. “The car is here. Let’s go.”
By the time I reached the apartment door the coke had burned out of my system and I was dragging. I reached for my key, but the door was open. The lights were on in the living room.
Denise, still wearing the maid’s uniform, was asleep on the couch, one arm thrown over her eyes to shield them from the light.
I went to the bedroom, pulled an extra blanket from the bed and covered her. She didn’t move. I shook my head. The innocents. They thought they were so wise. Yet they knew nothing.
Denise was eighteen, Bobby nineteen. For them life was still a dream, an ideal, filled with beauty and goodness.
Shit. I returned to the bedroom, kicked off my shoes and fell across the bed. I used to be an innocent. Used to be. Used to—be. I closed my eyes and dreamt.
I felt a hand on my shoulder. “Gareth! Gareth! Wake up!”
This was not a voice from a dream. I opened my eyes. Denise was shaking me. “What? What?” I mumbled.
“You were shouting and screaming.”
I shook my head groggily. “No.”
“You were having a bad dream.”
“I’m sorry.” I sat up and reached for a cigarette. My hands were shaking.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes.”
“Did you find Bobby?”
“Yes.” The cigarette steadied me. “He was hurt. I took him to a hospital.” I saw the look of concern on her face. “He’ll be okay,” I said quickly.
“What did they do to him?”
“They drugged him, then beat and raped him.” I felt the tears in my eyes. I tried to hold them back but couldn’t. Suddenly I was crying.
She straightened up. “I’ll make you a cup of warm milk.”
I stopped her at the door. “I’m old enough for a whiskey.”
“We’ll put it in milk. Meanwhile, get out of your clothes and into bed.”
The bottle of scotch was on the tray next to the cup of warm milk. She looked disapprovingly at my shirt and pants, lying on the floor next to the bed. “You’re not neat,” she said as she put the tray down.
“I never said I was.”
She picked up my clothes and took them to the closet. I took a sip of the milk that I had laced with the scotch. It was awful. I put down the cup and took a swig of whiskey from the bottle.
“That’s cheating,” she said over her shoulder. “Drink the milk.”
I watched her crossing the room. The maid’s uniform was crumpled now. “You going to wear that stupid outfit the rest of your life?” I asked.
“Don’t change the subject. Drink the milk.”
I drained the cup. “Okay. Now get out of that uniform and come to bed.”
She hesitated a moment, then sat down in the chair near the foot of the bed. With her eyes fixed steadily on mine, she leaned forward, unbuckled the patent leather pumps and kicked them off, then slowly rolled down the black silk hose and hung them neatly over the back of the chair. She got to her feet and her hand went behind her back to the zipper. “Turn off the light,” she said. “I don’t want you to get excited. I want you to sleep.”
“Too late. If you’d taken off one more stocking, I would have come.”
“Turn out the light,” she said, not moving.
I turned it out. I heard the rustle of her dress, then felt the weight of her body on the bed and reached for her.
Her hands caught mine. “No,” she said firmly. “You’re too uptight. I want to make love to you, not just be something you pour your tensions into.”
“What’s wrong with that? You know a better way to unwind?”
“Yes. The fifth-plane exercise.”
“What the hell is that? Some kind of mumbo jumbo you learned at the workshop?”
“Do what I say,” she said, placing my hands at my sides. “Lie back flat and close your eyes. Let your body go loose and open your mind. I’m going t
o touch you in different places with both hands at the same time. My right hand will be the yin contact, the left hand, the yang. Your body currents will flow through me and be restored to their natural balance. Every time I touch you I will ask if you feel me; when you feel both hands, say yes. Understand?”
“Yes.”
She placed an open hand on my chest and gently pressed me back. When I was flat, she took the pillow from behind my head, pulled down the sheet and placed it under my feet. “Comfortable?”
“Yes.”
“Close your eyes and we’ll begin.”
Her fingers were soft and light as a feather’s touch at my temples. “Feel me?”
“Yes.”
At my cheeks. At my ankles. At my knees. At my shoulders. At my nipples. At my arms. “Feel me?”
“Yes.”
At my ribs. At my hips. At my chin. At my calves. At my thighs. I giggled.
Her voice was patient. “What are you laughing at?”
“I’m waiting for you to touch my balls.”
She didn’t answer. I felt her hands at my temples again and then the warmth of her breasts on my face as she bent over me. “Feel me?”
“Yes.” I had an idea. “If your hands are yin and yang, wouldn’t your breasts be yin and yang also?”
She thought for a moment. “It’s possible.”
“Well?”
“You’re a difficult case,” she said. She slipped down on the bed beside me. Her arm circled my head and drew me to her breasts. “That better?”
“Yes.” They were warm, so warm. I buried my face between them.
“Try to sleep,” she said softly.
I closed my eyes. I had a feeling of total security. The knots in my stomach were untangling and my bones were turning soft. I pressed my lips to the side of her breast. I was so tired it was an effort for me to talk. “Do you know you have beautiful breasts?”
I thought I heard her whisper, “Thank you.” But I couldn’t be sure. I was fast asleep.
16
There was a knock at the door. I struggled up through the darkness. “Come in.”
Sunlight flooded through the open door. I blinked. Denise came in with a tray of orange juice and coffee. Silently she put it on the bed. Verita followed.
“I am sorry to wake you, Gary,” Verita said, her faint accent more noticeable because of her excitement. “But Persky said it was very important.”
My eyes adjusted to the light. “What time is it?”
“Eleven o’clock.”
I got out of bed and padded to the bathroom in my bare feet. I flipped the seat back on the toilet. “What did he want?” I shouted.
“Mr. Ronzi is downstairs. He says he has to see you.”
“Tell him I’ll be there in ten minutes.” I stepped into the shower and turned it on full blast. When I went back into the bedroom, Verita had gone, but Denise was still there.
She picked up the glass of orange juice. “Drink it.”
I sipped at the juice. It was freshly squeezed and ice cold. “How long are you going to keep wearing that silly outfit?”
“Don’t you like it?”
“That’s got nothing to do with it. I like it fine. But it keeps turning me on. I’ve got a French maid fetish.”
She didn’t understand. “How do you get a thing like that?”
I laughed. “We had one when I was a kid. I used to stand at the foot of the stairs, trying to get a peek up her dress. Then I would go to my room and beat off.”
She didn’t smile. “That’s stupid.”
“Maybe. But it’s quite common.” I had an idea. “Remind me to use that for one of the future layouts.”
She exchanged the orange juice for coffee. “You’ve had some phone calls.” She held out some slips of paper.
I sat down on the bed, sipping the coffee. “Read them to me. I don’t think my eyes are up to it yet.”
She looked down. “Miss Sheridan wants to know if two o’clock is still okay for today. Mr. Lonergan will call you back. Your mother. Call her this evening.”
“Nothing from Reverend Sam?”
She shook her head.
I didn’t like it. “Try to get him for me.” I put down the coffee and began to dress while she dialed. I had my shoes and jeans on by the time she put down the phone.
“He’s not at home, at the church or at the workshop,” she said.
“Try the hospital.”
I had just finished buttoning my shirt when she held the phone toward me. “He’s coming to the phone.”
All the strength seemed to have gone from his voice. “Gareth?”
“Yes, sir. How’s Bobby?”
“He just went back into surgery.”
“I thought—”
He interrupted. “The bleeding wouldn’t stop. And they can’t find the source without going inside.”
“I’ll be right over.”
“No.” His voice was stronger. “There’s nothing you can do. He’ll be in there for a couple of hours. I’ll be here. I’ll call you as soon as I know something.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know what he was going to do. If I had, I would have stopped him.”
His voice was gentle. “Don’t blame yourself. You did all you could do. In the end each person has to accept the responsibility for himself.”
I couldn’t entirely shake my feelings of guilt, but Reverend Sam had a point. I knew Bobby was submissive, and it wasn’t a long jump from his kind of passivity to heavy masochism. He was just naïve enough to think it would all be fun and games.
“How is he?” Denise asked.
“He just went back into surgery,” I said heavily. “They have to find what’s causing the bleeding before they can stop it.”
She reached for my hand. “I’ll pray for him.”
I looked into her earnest eyes. “Do that,” I said, starting for the door.
Her voice stopped me. “You don’t believe in God, do you?”
I thought of all the savagery, death and destruction I had seen in my life. “No,” I answered.
Her voice was soft. “I feel a great sorrow for you.”
I saw the tears in her eyes. Only the innocent can believe in God. “Don’t feel sorry for me. I’m not the one who was hurt.”
Her eyes seemed to look into my soul. “Don’t lie to me, Gareth. You hurt all the time. More than anyone I know.”
“Give me another ten thousand copies and I can move them out by Monday,” Ronzi said.
“No way.”
“Don’t be a schmuck. You got a hot issue. Ride it. How do you know the next one will be as good?”
“It will be better. If you’re smart, you’ll go to seventy-five thousand on your next order.”
“You’re crazy. There’s never been a paper that topped fifty thousand.”
“If I printed ten more, this issue would.”
He was silent.
I pressed. “This would have been sixty thousand. With what I’m laying on for next week, seventy-five will be a cake.”
“What are you doing?”
“Four-color cover and centerfold.”
“You’ll go broke. You can’t afford that at thirty-five cents.”
“Don’t shit me, you hiked the price to fifty cents already. That’s the new price.”
He turned to Persky. “This guy is crazy.”
Persky didn’t answer.
I signaled to Verita. “Bring me the eight-by-ten color prints of next week’s girl.”
A moment later she spread the photographs on my desk. It was an airport layout. A beautiful Eurasian girl with hair down to her ass. I pushed the pictures toward him in sequence from the time she came down the ramp of the plane until she lay naked on the bed in her room, hugging her knees to her chest.
“You won’t be able to print that,” Ronzi said. “You can see her slit.”
“It’s already on the presses.”
“You’ll get busted.”
“That
’s my problem.”
“It’s my problem, too. I’m the distributor. And I got enough troubles without this.”
“You want out?”
“I didn’t say that,” he said quickly.
“I’m not pushing you. Take your time. Think about it. I’m sure I can get Ace or Curtis if you want out.”
He stared at me balefully. “Fuck you, I’ll take it.”
“Seventy-five thousand,” I said.
He nodded. “Seventy-five thousand.” He glanced at Persky, then back at me. “Is there someplace we can talk alone?”
“You can say anything you want to right here.”
“This ain’t business. It’s personal.”
He followed me up the stairs to the apartment. Denise let us in. The crazy uniform was gone and she was back in shirt and jeans. She looked better. I took him into the bedroom and closed the door behind us.
I waved him to the chair and sat on the edge of the bed. “Okay. What’s personal?”
“I was on the wire to my contacts back East. We think you got a big future in this business.”
“Thanks for the vote. What does that mean?”
“It means we want in. Lonergan’s small potatoes. We can take you national. That means real money. Big bucks.”
“No partners. I like being alone.”
“Come off it, Gareth. We know Lonergan’s in with you.”
“All I got with him is a space contract. Nothing else. Maybe I didn’t make that clear to you.”
“Okay then, that makes it easy. We’ll give you a hundred grand for fifty percent of your action. You still run the paper like before and we take it all over the country.”
“No.”
“You’re a fool. We’ll make you a millionaire.”
“Give me a million now for half the paper and you’ll convince me.”
He exploded. “You are crazy. What makes you think that stinking rag is worth a million?”
“You did.”
“Only if you go national.”
“I’ll go national.”
“Not without us, you won’t. We’re your exclusive distributor and if we don’t take you out, nobody does.”
“Our deal is only for one year.”
“By that time your paper will be ripped off all over the country. It won’t mean nothing nationally.”
Harold Robbins Thriller Collection Page 28
