Authors: Harold Robbins
There was another click. I could see the monitor change focus to examine the car. I was glad I had taken the Rolls. The tin voice echoed in my ear. “Just a minute.”
It was almost five minutes before the voice came back on. “There’s no one here by that name.”
I made myself sound shrill and angry. “You tell Kitty that he’s fucking with my slave and if he doesn’t let me in, I’m going to take this car through the fucking gate.”
“Just a minute.”
There was a pause. “Okay. Put the car in the parking area just inside the gate and walk up the driveway.”
The gates began to open slowly. Floodlights went on in the driveway. That meant more TV monitors. “You stay down,” I told the Collector. “Wait until I get into the house and the lights go out; then bring the car up to the front door and wait for me.”
“What if you need me?”
“I’ll holler.”
“Okay.”
As I walked up the driveway to the house, I could feel the monitors on me. The front door opened before I could press the bell.
A burly butch queen looked out at me. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward the living room. “The party’s in there.”
Music was blasting from a built-in sound system and the room was filled with the smell of hash and amies. The lights were down low and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust. There were about five or six queens in the room, two of them in drag, the others in freaked-out leather outfits. I didn’t see Bobby anywhere.
One of the drag queens came toward me. He looked like Mae West—overblown and wearing a teased blond wig. His mouth was garish with purplish lipstick and he had dark rhinestone-flecked shadow above thick, artificially lashed eyes. The voice was a rasping baritone trying to be soprano. “I’m Kitty,” he said. “Have a drink.”
CHAPTER 14
I followed him to the bar. “Scotch rocks,” I said to the white-jacketed little Filipino. I watched him pour the drink from the bottle and took the glass from his hand. There was no point in taking chances. I wasn’t in the mood for a mickey.
“Cheers,” I said, turning back to Kitty. The whiskey tasted clean. “Where’s Bobby?”
Kitty smiled. “You are stubborn. You can see for yourself, he’s not here.”
I played dumb. “I don’t get it. He told me to meet him here.”
“When did he tell you?”
“There was a message for me when I got home. I was having dinner with my mother.”
“A boy’s best friend is his mother,” he said.
I raised my glass. “I’ll drink to that.”
Kitty’s eyes were on my hands. “Why don’t you take your gloves off?”
“I have a contagious fungus,” I said. “Sort of vaginitis of the hands.”
Kitty laughed. “Now I’ve heard everything. Come join the party.” He turned toward the room. “Girls, this is Gareth. He’s come here looking for his slave.”
They giggled and one of the leather boys came over. “He’s cute,” he lisped. “I wouldn’t mind being his slave.”
“You’re too big. I’d be afraid of you. I like the delicate, gentle kind.”
“I can be gentle,” he lisped. He put a hand on my arm, his fingers digging in like steel claws. “I won’t hurt you too much.”
Smiling, I gripped his throat, squeezing his Adam’s apple between my thumb and forefinger. “I won’t hurt you too much either,” I said, watching him turn purple, trying to breathe, his hand falling from my arm.
Kitty’s voice was matter-of-fact. “He’s choking.”
“Yeah,” I said in the same tone. But I didn’t let go.
“Be careful. He’s got a weak heart.”
I let him go. The leather queen sank to his knees, gasping. “People with weak hearts shouldn’t play strenuous games,” I said.
The leather boy looked up at me. “That was beautiful,” he rasped. “I had the most fantastic orgasm. I thought I was going to die.”
I didn’t answer.
“I want to suck you,” he said.
I grinned down at him. “I told you. You’re not my type.”
I turned back to Kitty. “You’ve got a beautiful place here.”
“Thank you,” he simpered.
I walked over to a delicate table, near the couch. “This is a lovely piece.”
“It’s priceless, genuine Chippendale.” I could hear the pride in his voice. “I have two of them. One on either side of the couch.”
“Really?” I brought my hand down in a karate chop. The table splintered and I started moving toward the other one.
Kitty’s voice was a scream. “What are you doing?”
“Didn’t Bobby tell you? My thing is breaking furniture.” I raised my hand.
“Stop him, somebody!” Kitty screamed. “Those tables are worth thirty thousand dollars each.”
The butch from the doorway came barreling into the room. He paused for a moment to figure out what was happening, then charged toward me. I kicked him in the face without moving from the table. He tumbled backward to the floor, blood gushing from his nose and mouth.
“My white carpets!” Kitty screamed. “I’m going to faint!”
“Better not,” I said. “Because when you wake up, you won’t have a whole piece of furniture in the house.”
“You really must love that boy.”
“You better believe it,” I said grimly.
“Okay. Come with me. I’ll take you to him.”
“Open the front door first.”
Kitty nodded. The other drag queen minced to the door and opened it.
“Bill!” I hollered.
The Collector’s massive frame appeared in the doorway almost before his name was out of my mouth. His white teeth gleamed in his black face when he saw the butch on the floor. “You been havin’ a party,” he said.
“You keep an eye on the others. I’m going with Kitty to get the boy.”
A .357 Magnum suddenly appeared in his hand. “Okay, you guys, or ladies, whichever you are. On the floor facedown an’ put your hands behin’ your heads.”
A moment later they all were stretched out on the rug. He nodded approvingly. “That’s cool.”
I followed Kitty down the corridor to a staircase which led to the basement. At the foot of the stairs there was a room—a special room.
The walls were covered with padded brown leather. Fixed to the wall were racks, and hanging from the racks was the largest assortment of whips, handcuffs and leg chains I had ever seen. In the center of the room were two things I had heard about but never seen before. One was a stocks, similar to the one the Puritans once used. But with this one the victim was forced to kneel in order to place his arms and legs through the holes. The base was covered with torn pieces of leather clothing and a pair of shoes lay next to the platform.
The other instrument was a wheel rack, on which Bobby, completely naked, was spread-eagled, his hips thrust obscenely forward over the center spoke. His head was lolling on his chest and his eyes were closed.
“Bobby,” I said.
He raised his head and tried to open his eyes. “Gareth,” he mumbled through swollen lips, “you came to the party.” Then his head fell forward.
I looked at the wall rack and saw what I wanted—a wide-choke leather dog collar with studs and a short leash. “Against the wall,” I said.
For the first time I heard the sound of fear in Kitty’s voice. “What are you going to do?”
With an open palm between his shoulder blades, I slammed him into the wall and held him there. With my free hand, I took down the choke collar, pulled it around his neck and then tightened it with a jerk.
He screamed in pain, his fingers clawing at his throat.
Bobby attempted a smile. “Good, you’re playing, too,” he whispered.
I tugged at the leash, dragging Kitty over to the rack. “Get him down.”
Frantically, Kitty worked at the clamps. I moved next to him and caught Bobby as he came down from the wheel rack. He hung limply across my shoulder.
I tugged at the leash again. “Upstairs.”
The Collector grinned when he saw Kitty on the leash. “Got yourself a new dog.”
“Let’s go,” I said. We moved to the open door. I pulled Kitty with me. “Open the gates.”
He picked up a telephone near the door and pressed two buttons. A television screen came to life in the wall above the phone. I could see the gates opening slowly. I took the gun from the Collector.
“Put Bobby in the car,” I said.
He took Bobby as if he were a fragile piece of glass and I turned back to the drag queen. “What did you give him?”
“Nothing. He wanted to do it all himself.”
I jerked on the leash. He gave a choking cough. “Don’t lie to me!” I snarled. “I saw his eyes.”
He pulled the collar loose. “Angel dust and acid.”
I looked at him for a moment, then dropped the leash and started out.
Kitty called behind me. “You’re welcome to him. He really isn’t very much. We’ve all had him, you know.”
Not bothering to turn around, I caught him with a back kick. I felt the heel of my shoe crunch into his jawbone. When I glanced back, his chin was somewhere up under his nose and the blood was beginning to spill out of his mouth. “Bitch!” I said.
The Collector was at the wheel of the car. I got in beside him. “Did you see that kid’s back?” he asked.
I turned and looked into the back seat. Bobby was sprawled on his stomach. From his shoulders to his buttocks he was nothing but raw meat. They had done everything but flay him alive.
“Take him to UCLA emergency, Bill.”
We were through the gate. “That’ll bring the police down on you. And they’ll ask questions.”
“The kid needs a doctor.”
“I know a place where they don’t ask no questions.”
***
It was a small private hospital in West Los Angeles, but they knew what they were doing. I hung around until the doctor came out of the emergency room.
“How’s he doing?”
“He’s going to be all right. But he’s going to have to stay in here at least three weeks.”
“I didn’t think it was that bad.”
“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.
CHAPTER 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.