by Dane Hartman
DAMNED IF HE DOES,
DAMNED IF HE DOESN’T.
DIRTY HARRY
STANDS ALONE!
Anything goes in San Francisco, but now it’s gone too far! Somebody is carving up beautiful lesbians—and that somebody has the right friends. Only Harry can stop the slaughter, but now both the gays and the cops stand in his way. Will he have time? The answer is at the end of a barrel—a .44 Magnum barrel!
Harry raised his stein of beer to his lips. But he didn’t stop there. With one quick sweep of his arm, he threw the stinging brew directly into the eyes of the man to his right. Blinded, the gunman sputtered back, his snubnose revolver wavering.
Harry kept his momentum, letting the toss whirl him around, and grabbed a fistful of the man’s shirt. He pulled him forward just as two men by the booth aimed and fired.
Their point-blank ammo sparked across the room and burrowed into the trunk of their friend. Harry felt the hood jerk in his hands as the tiny balls of lead ripped up his insides . . .
Books by Dane Hartman
Dirty Harry #1: Duel For Cannons
Dirty Harry #2: Death on the Docks
Dirty Harry #3: The Long Death
Dirty Harry #4: The Mexico Kill
Dirty Harry #5: Family Skeletons
Dirty Harry #6: City of Blood
Dirty Harry #7: Massacre at Russian River
Dirty Harry #8: Hatchet Men
Dirty Harry #9: The Killing Connection
Dirty Harry #10: The Blood of Strangers
Dirty Harry #11: Death in the Air
Dirty Harry #12: The Dealer of Death
Published by
WARNER BOOKS
WARNER BOOKS EDITION
Copyright © 1982 by Warner Books, Inc.
All rights reserved.
Warner Books, Inc., 75 Rockefeller Plaza, New York, N.Y. 10019
A Warner Communications Company
Printed in the United States of America
ISBN: 0-446-30050-0
First Printing: October, 1982
DIRTY HARRY #9
THE KILLING
CONNECTION
C H A P T E R
O n e
Everything looked fine until the girls kissed. Up until then, they simply looked like two girlfriends coming home after a movie or a late dinner. There was nothing unusual in that. In fact, it was a real good idea to pair up on these balmy September San Francisco nights. Between the fog and the intermittent showers, a person had to be careful.
In this case, only one of these girls showed any concern at all. And that concern was limited to an occasional glance in some direction other than the face of her companion. While the pairing of the two was not unusual, the same could not be said of the pair themselves. For while many sets of women walked the city streets, not all of them were this striking.
The brunette was taller, at least five foot seven in her medium heels. She wore a casual suit, well-tailored slacks, a sweater, and a light jacket. She could have been a model, but her face had an open freshness which ran counter to the angular bent fashion editors prefer. Her cheeks were high and round, her dark eyes sleepy and her red lips full. Between searching looks at the night mist, she smiled down at her partner as she walked.
The other girl was shorter. With a mane of cascading hair whose color lay between blonde and auburn; deep, dark blue eyes; innocent, serene features; and a compact, but devastatingly rich body, she gave off an impression of sweet lust. While the brunette was elegant, the blonde radiated sensuality.
The tense male hands checked the snugness of his thin, form-fitting black gloves for the fifth time since the two women appeared from around the corner of Arguello Boulevard.
Even with the fog the man saw them kiss. While the two women moved in and out of his vision, the rolling white stuff creating makeshift camouflage, there was no mistaking their actions in the apartment house foyer. The two walked up the brownstone steps, oblivious to everything around them but each other. Their arms snaked up onto each others’ backs, as if they were making sure neither slipped. But even this act revealed a tenderness, a deeper consideration. There was something more than friendship here.
That much became crystal clear when the blonde unlocked the front door and the two entered the illuminated anteroom. From the man’s vantage point, the duo executed a silent routine in which the blonde looked one way while the brunette looked the other, then the two switched gazes. It was obvious that they were checking to see that no one was watching.
Satisfied that no prying eyes would witness their moment of passion, the two wrapped their arms around each other in a tender hold. For a moment, they smiled at each other with a contented gaze. Then they kissed. It was a luxuriant, full caress. An expression of profound commitment, ending with a look that said they knew something not many others, homosexual or otherwise, knew. They knew the meaning of love.
For a moment, the man felt a rush of envy rising up inside him, but just as he was trying to identify it as such, it turned into a blazing hatred. The gloved hand checked his jacket pockets, feeling the comforting, round hard shape there. He heard metal clink against metal, then he moved sideways, edging into the fog-filled night.
“Are you sure you can’t stay?” Kim Byrnes asked with honest longing.
“I really wish I could,” Lisa Patterson replied with an insecure glance out the front door at the mist-covered street. “But I’m expecting a call.” The brunette smiled with anticipation. “About the part, you know.”
Kim’s nose and eyes crinkled in a mischievous expression. “Why don’t you go home and set your phone for call forwarding to here?”
Lisa shook her head slightly in pleased disbelief. “I need my sleep,” she laughed. “Honestly, I’ve never met anyone like you before.”
“And you never will again,” Kim said, feigning jealousy. “Remember that.”
Lisa became serious. “I won’t,” she promised sincerely. “How could I?”
Again, the two needed no words to express the bond between them.
Reluctantly, Lisa broke the clinch. “I really have to go,” she said with concern, looking outside, as if trying to convince herself as well.
“Do you want me to call a cab?” the smaller girl asked, reading her lover’s face.
Lisa thought about it for a while. “No,” she finally decided. “The park is beautiful this time of the night.”
Kim skeptically followed her lover’s gaze out the front door. She saw the mist, alternately thin and thick, rolling across the edge of Golden Gate Park. “I don’t know, Lisa,” she said reluctantly. “I really think you should call a cab.”
Lisa looked at her friend, then laughed lightly. “Nonsense,” she said. “I won’t hear of it. There’s no reason I shouldn’t be able to walk home.”
“You never know who’s out there,” Kim said with more than concern.
“You forget,” she said eagerly. “If I can’t see them, they can’t see me either.”
This time, it was Kim’s turn to laugh. “I never can change your mind about anything, can I?” she mused. “Once you make up your mind about something, that’s it.”
“That’s it,” Lisa agreed. “Don’t worry. I’ll be all right.”
Kim nodded bravely, unable to clear her expression of concern. “All right,” she echoed. “But call me when you get in, OK?”
“OK,” Lisa agreed, using that as a cue to part. She turned and pushed open the front door. She paused and turned back to her partner. “I love you,” she said simply.
“I love you too,” Kim replied, not having moved from where Lisa had left her. “Be careful.”
“That’
s easy for you to say,” Lisa quipped, trying to lighten the mood. “You’re already home.”
Kim laughed as Lisa exited, each giving the other a last wave. Kim then watched her friend trot down the steps and walk across the street. She kept watching until Lisa disappeared into the mist-enshrouded dark, remembering the times they had together—both upstairs in her apartment and in Lisa’s place on Kirkham Street. She remembered the security and the warmth. Then she shivered.
Turning away from the empty street and empty foyer, she dug into her pocketbook for the key to the second door. That was one thing she liked about the building. Although they didn’t have a doorman, like Lisa’s apartment house, they had decent security, with well-lit hallways and solid construction. It was comforting for a girl like her to know that she was safe.
After all, she was an old-fashioned girl, she thought. Leaving home had been a tough enough decision, so it was a pleasure to find a place in the big city where she felt so comfortable. Here, in San Francisco, she could still take long walks, scout the antique shops, and wear as much lace as she could find. She enjoyed being a woman, so she acted and dressed like it.
Tonight, for instance. While Lisa looked comfortably casual with her jacket and slacks, Kim was more friskily feminine with a soft, breezy patterned dress belted at her slim waist. She felt the fabric fluttering against her moving thighs when she walked, a reminder of her disappointment with Lisa’s departure.
As she moved up the stairs and along the landing past the first two floor doors, she also felt the material of what she wore beneath the dress. She had, after all, dressed that evening to kill. Below the v-neck of the dress was a soft, satin bra and panties as well as a lace garter belt and shiny hose. It all ended with dark beige ankle strap heels which were far harder to walk in than Lisa’s conservative shoes.
The second floor landing was as empty as the first. In actuality, the building was one big, roughly circular staircase consisting of carpeted steps, wall-length landings, and a thick, round, wooden bannister. The apartments themselves seemed merely an appendage. The wall was nicely papered and old-fashioned double lamps were installed high on the walls. They gave the building a burnished glow.
As nice as they were, they shed little light, only enough to cast a pale shadow. Kim wasn’t the kind to think that the landlord installed twenty-five watt bulbs because they saved him half-a-penny in electricity. She was the type who wanted to feel that he had done it to create the proper mood.
Basking in the warmth of her evening and the golden dimness of the house, Kim pushed the third key on her brass key ring into the first lock on her door, and turned to hear the tumblers open. Then the fourth key went into the second lock. Pulling out the metal opener, she dumped the keys into her pocketbook while turning the doorknob. The last things she made note of before entering was that she was glad the door had one of those crystal-like knobs cut like a gem. The door itself was so strong, solid, and thick.
The hall light drained into the dark apartment. Kim knew she should have left a light on, but every little saving helped, especially on her salary. Even without the illumination, she could see where the mock oriental rug ended and the framing teakwood floor started. She took pleasure in picturing the entire second floor apartment in her mind.
Small, but exceptionally comfortable, there was the entrance which led to a small eating area. To the left was the kitchen. The two doors off that led to the bath and bedroom. Moving forward from the door, the dining spot spilled into the living room with its plush sofa sitting before the bay window which looked out over the park.
Moving back to close the door and turn on the light, she realized that a large shadow had brushed by her breasts just as the door closed firmly behind her.
A moment after that sensation, Kim succeeded in quelling her initial surprise. It could’ve been anything, she told herself. Maybe she had left a window slightly open. It had been a bit muggy the last few days, so she could have, almost unconsciously, left a living room window ajar to let in some cool night air. Or it could be the breeze from the closing door.
Secure in that rationalization, Kim relaxed, only to tense again when a hand clamped around the wrist of her arm reaching for the light.
Kim was caught off guard, the cry caught in her throat. She breathed deeply, her lungs filling and her back arching.
At that moment, the hand left her wrist. It reached up and slapped around her mouth. But instead of covering her lips to stifle the noise, the tough, hard fingers were pushed into her open mouth. Kim suddenly had a mental picture of the intruder breaking her jaw by pulling her mouth apart. Just as she brought a sound up through her larynx, his other hand appeared, holding a red rubber ball.
The thing swung down across her face. As it passed, she could just glimpse, through closing eyes, two tails on either side of the ball flapping behind it. Then all her concentration was centered on her scream. She could feel it was in her throat and her mind leaped ahead to when its sound would burst into the apartment and swell through the entire building.
The sound was cut off by the ball being rammed against her teeth. Her shocked struggle was momentarily stilled and the shout cut off as her eyes snapped open and her jaw forced apart. The strong pressure behind the three inch hunk of rubber was pushing her mouth to its very widest opening. It silenced her completely.
She painfully tried to fight against it just as the ball snapped in place almost behind her teeth. It was large enough to force her tongue down so she couldn’t push it out. It was alien enough to sap her full strength. All her attention focused on the red ball.
By the time she was able to get enough pressure inside her mouth to dislodge it, quick fingers tightened its two tail straps on the back of her head. Knotting it quickly, he fastened it against the back of her neck. The rubber ball was now securely in the girl’s mouth.
With quick viciousness, his fingers snapped around her left wrist again. She cried out at the tight roughness of his grip, but all she heard was a distant grunting. To her astonishment, she felt saliva and mucous building up in her mouth—her body reacting to the rubber wedging in her mouth as if it were something to eat.
She felt her attacker pulling her left arm until it was straight down her back. As her forearm was pushed against the rear of her dress, she felt something hard encircling her wrist and heard a click. The attacker’s fingers let go, but the pressure did not let up. She still couldn’t raise her left arm.
But she could raise her right. And just as she did, the attacker reached between her shoulder and neck to grab a hunk of material covering her stomach.
“So you like pussy too, huh, bitch?” he whispered in her ear as he pulled her dress up. “Well, I love pussy and I just want to make sure yours won’t go to waste.”
The attacker pulled until the hem of her dress rose past the garter straps and panties. Then he reached down quickly. Kim looked down, her eyes wide, to see the man hand-off the free end of a pair of handcuffs to himself. Holding it tight in his right hand, he swung his left arm around her body, then handed the end back. He pulled her cuffed left hand between her legs from the back while grabbing her right wrist.
The attacker picked her flailing arm out of the air like a sharpshooter. He half-pushed, half-pulled the limb down her own front until it was parallel to her left arm. Then he professionally snapped the open end of the handcuff around her unencumbered wrist.
“You like that dike meat, huh, baby?” he hissed at her. “You like it a lot, huh?”
Her cuffed hands were on either side of her crotch, one in front and the other behind—the short chain digging into her vagina through the satin of her underwear. To keep her upright, his hands had left her arms and were grabbing across her front.
“How does it feel, baby?” she heard him coo into her ear. Then his fingers were everywhere, rubbing, slapping, grabbing. Without ceremony, he slipped one hand into her dress and behind her bra. The other settled again on her right wrist. He kneaded her ample che
st with one while pulling up with the other. Her head rolled back against his chest and shoulders, her eyes looking wildly at the ceiling, tiny burbling noises and spit coming out from behind the ball.
“How does it feel?” he repeated with a savage pleasure.
There was cutting pain at her wrists and shoulders, a twinging hurt across her chest and a burning ache between her legs.
How did it feel? It was a mockery of the tenderness and giving she had shared with Lisa. It was a vicious travesty of heterosexual affection.
“Feel good?” the attacker continued, holding the small girl upright, practically lifting her off the floor as he rubbed her breast and pulled the handcuff chain even tighter against her loins. Kim tried to scream, but the rubber ball diminished the call into a gurgling rattle.
“No,” the attacker guessed, his face a dark blotch above her head. “Well, maybe that’s because you’ve never had a real man, bitch. Maybe you’ve never had a man at all because of that dike meat. It only hurts because you’ve been starving for dick meat, baby.”
He grabbed either side of her dress’ neck line and ripped it apart. Kim tried to bend over and twist away from the man, but her awkwardly cuffed hands kept her from moving too far.
She made it into the kitchen, but slammed up against the table. Before she could right herself again, the man was upon her. Only this time they were face to face.
The first thing she saw was not his visage, but the long stiletto he held up between her eyes. It seemed to gleam in the moonlit apartment.
“You want it, don’t you?” he asked ominously, the words coming to her from a darkened, seemingly featureless face. He twisted the blade around slowly, as if it were a beautiful work of art to be savored. “Something long and sharp and hard, right?”
Tears of pain coursed out of her widened eyes, but she couldn’t get anything but her neck to move. It twisted her head slowly from side to side.
“But not this, right?” the attacker said, going along with her motion. “Something else . . . somewhere else.”
