Driving home from work, Winslow Bass parked in the lot in front of his favorite bar. Each Friday he stopped for a few beers, relaxing and disengaging himself from the problems and details of a week's work. He liked the bar because it was usually near empty till after he had gone, and thus was quiet.
"Hello, Mr. Bass," Pete, the bartender, greeted him. "The usual?"
"Right," he smiled back, watching Pete fill his frosted glass from the tap, barely capping it with suds. "How'd the week treat you, Pete?"
"Can't complain," Pete shrugged, taking the offered change.
"Can be a lot worse," Winslow said, and turned toward his booth.
He was startled to see someone sitting there, but passed it off, sitting in the next booth, his back against theirs. The gaunt, dark eyed youth and the heavier man in his early thirties glanced at him without interest.
Taking a sip of his beer, Winslow unfolded his newspaper and separated the sports section. The men were talking behind him, their voices muffled slightly by the wooden seat back, but he was not interested.
"You know what I'd like, Billy?" asked the voice closest to him, receiving a mumble in response. "A piece of leg to stick it in."
"But we're splittin', John. Remember, you said we were goin' south so you could make another run in Mexico," the younger man said nervously.
"Yeah," John answered narrowly. "But right now we're right here, ain't we? And I want some ass.
"I don't know anybody, John."
"Remember that little thing on the beach? Um, I'd like some more of her. What was her name? Oh yeah, J-Jennifer," he laughed. "I-Jennifer and J-Jud. Sounds like a vaudeville act, don't it?"
The words were audible to Winslow, but he did not give them any conscious attention. But a moment after the mention of Jennifer and Jud's names, the words that had proceeded were recalled. He stiffened in his seat, his hands holding tightly to the newspaper.
“That's the nice thing about luckin' onto somethin' like that piece. Afraid mommy and daddy'll find out she's been out behind the barn, and afraid of what people'll think of her. Love them. Can shove it right down their throats, slam into them, whip 'em, make em grovel for you. You know, we let her off too easy; could o' had her kissin' my feet," he sneered.
Winslow had not moved, but the veins stood out on the backs of his hands and at his temples. His jaw muscles were in relief from the hard grip of his teeth.
"Think we could find her again, Billy boy? Maybe she's out there looking for us," John chuckled.
"Doesn't seem likely," Billy murmured.
"Yeah. All the same, I'd like to really rip her up this time."
Winslow folded his newspaper and stood. He walked calmly toward the door without looking back at the two men. He had seen them once and they were the only other customers.
"See you next week, Pete. Just remembered something I should be doing," he said with a wave.
"Have a nice weekend, Mr. Bass."
"Thanks, Pete," he said as he went out the door.
Winslow stood looking at what had to be John and Billy's car, breathing in the cool night air. There was no doubt in his mind as to who they were. They were the ones who had taken a beautiful, alive young girl and turned her into a sad, empty-eyed sleep walker. They had raped Jennifer.
It did not seem possible that it should happen this way, that he would be able to avenge her as he had wished. Life just was not like that. Yet, it had happened. He put his jacket and newspaper on the front seat of his car and went around to the back. Unlocking the trunk, he took out a jack handle and shut it back.
How long would they be in there? Till other customers started arriving? Well, he would just have to wait.
He moved into the shadows between their car and Pete's parked next to it. He squatted down and leaned back against Pete's auto, his back to the bar. An occasional car went by on the street, but no one pulled in. Twenty minutes later he heard their voices at the door of the bar.
"We goin' to the border tomorrow, John?" Billy asked anxiously.
"You know, Billy, I ought to hold out your fix, that's what I ought to do."
"Huh? Why, John?" Bill asked with desperation.
"Then you'd go out and find me J-Jennifer," John laughed.
The laughter trailed off and both men halted as Winslow stood up to face them. They looked at him in confusion, noting the length of iron in his hand.
"What seems to be the problem, pal?" John asked.
"I'm going to collect a little of a debt you owe," Winslow answered, his tone cold and precise.
"Debt? Why, I've never even seen you before," John laughed nervously. "How 'bout you, Billy?"
"Huh? No. No, I never seen you before, mister," Billy stammered, frightened.
"So what kind of debt can we owe you?" John asked as if that dismissed matters.
"You don't owe me anything, you piece of shit. You owe a girl named Jennifer and a boy named Jud," Winslow replied, his eyes chilling in their calm resolution.
John and Billy froze. Billy swallowed hard, sweat suddenly bathing his palms and back. John blinked over and over.
"Listen, pal," John began, and then leapt at Winslow.
Winslow stepped back and the tire iron slammed into John's ribs. With a deep groan he stumbled back grimacing. Billy tried to turn, but Winslow pulled him around with his free hand. He started to pull back with the iron, but saw John pushing off the side of the car toward him. He jammed the end of the pipe into Billy's stomach.
Billy fell, doubled over in pain as John collided with Winslow. Desperate, he clawed at Winslow's hand, trying to loosen his grip. Winslow brought his knee up hard into John's crotch. His face tightening with agony, John held on and threw his weight into Winslow. They fell back against the bumper of Pete's car and the tire iron clattered on the asphalt.
Winslow felt relieved. He did not want to risk the gas chamber, he just wanted justice for Jennifer. His knee came up again, and a third time. John crumpled and fell.
Turning, Winslow grabbed Billy up by the shirt front, pulling his fist back.
"No, wait, mister," Billy pled. "You must know I didn't do nothing to her. She must of told you I didn't hurt or touch her, that I was too junked up to do anything even if I'd wanted to. And I didn't want to bother her or her boyfriend, man. I just wanted to sit up in the dunes and nod out, that's all. But John, he supplies me. If I go against him I'm without a fix. I couldn't help myself," he pleaded. "Please, mister. Please," he finished, crying.
Winslow looked down at the frail youth and believed him. He leaned him back against the car and picked up the tire iron.
"I'm going back inside to make a phone call. You'll have a few minutes before the cops have your names and descriptions, if you want to try to run, Winslow said. He looked down contemptuously at John. "If I was willing to get down on your level, you'd be begging me for the cops by morning. But there is that difference, thank god."
Winslow turned and walked back to his car, putting the tire iron away, and then started back toward the bar. He turned his head as John's car started.
"Let me go, John!" he heard Billy yell.
"No, you little junkie, I got plans for you and your big mouth," John yelled back.
The car's lights flashed on, momentarily blinding Winslow, and the auto raced forward. He moved back, shielding his eyes. It turned and bore down toward him. Winslow moved back and, at the last moment, leapt across the hood of his own car.
John jerked the wheel hard, the numbing pain in his groin keeping him doubled over the wheel. There was a police car pulling into the lot! The tires screamed and he hit the brakes, but the wheels were crossing the oil spills of parked cars. The wheels skidded to the side. John panicked, desperate to escape the police car, pulling desperately at the wheel. Before them was a bank of electric generators surrounded by a chain link fence. Billy screamed.
Winslow saw the car seem to slow, banking to the side, but the impetus flipped it, and the auto turned over to plunge into the generators. Electricity exploded in white showers around the auto, and then the current hit the gas tank. The explosion knocked Winslow back against his car, the flames and crackling power lighting the parking lot.
"You okay, Mister?"
Winslow turned to see a policeman standing beside him, his partner moving toward the burning car. Winslow nodded, confused and shaken.
"We saw them try to run you down and pulled in. What was it all about?"
"Huh?" he asked, clearing his head. "Oh, I heard them talking and told them I was phoning the police. One was a heroin pusher, and the other a junkie," Winslow answered in all honesty, omitting all mention of Jennifer and his beating of John and Billy. "Never thought anything like this would happen."
"Well, you shouldn't have told them what you were planning to do. But you're okay, huh?"
"Yeah," Winslow nodded.
"Can't say I'm sorry about the pusher. Live off despair, pain and fear, selling for money and power, not just to feed their own habits. Leeches sucking people's souls," the patrolman said, his eyes on the blaze.
Winslow glanced at the Negro patrolman, and wondered how close the person had been to him who someone like John had destroyed.
Jud held the tab of acid between thumb and forefinger, squinting one eye to examine it. grinning at his indecision. Gillian's eyes lifted to it.
"You know, no matter what I decide tonight, eventually I'll drop," he said.
"Curiosity's like that," Gillian smiled.
"But first I need to know a little more about life, about me. And I need to talk myself loose of Jennifer," he sighed, rewrapping the acid. "Sure hate to flush a buck seventy-five," he mused.
"Do you want to talk tonight? You're supposed to be out overnight, so we've got plenty of time."
"Yeah, but first…" he stood. Jennifer heard him climb the stairs and heard the toilet flush softly against the music. After a minute he returned. "Probably going to regret doing that."
"I'll give you a dollar seventy-five," she smiled. "No telling what kind of hallucinations the commode's having."
"You… you wouldn't mind listening?" he asked finally, very serious.
"No, of course not."
He nodded, thought for a few minutes and then recounted the night on the beach, Jennifer's reaction, her turning away from him, his sense of helplessness and loss, and all that Gillian's loving had given him to help in recovering.
"I'm glad that… that it's been good for you, too," she said, her eyes loving and caring upon his. "Do you feel any better now, for having told me?"
"Yeah. Yeah, released. Does it sound silly, me feeling so hurt, castrated by it all?" he asked hesitantly, biting the side of his mouth.
"No, darling. To see someone you love hurt and not be able to help or protect them and… and to have that person seem to blame you… well, that's a pretty heavy load for anybody."
"You don't think Jenny blames me?" he asked.
"It's, possible, but more likely she's just afraid of men now.
He thought about that and finally nodded. Gillian smiled and touched her lips to his. Their eyes met.
"Would it bother you if I told you… that I love you, Gill?" he asked.
"No. I love you, too, Jud. I mean it's not live-together happily-ever-after… but it's love.
Their lips brushed again and his arms went around her, feeling her flesh through the fine knit of the blouse. She pulled his shirt free of his pants and caressed his stomach. His fingers climbed down the buttons along her back and the blouse fell from her shoulders, his hands gliding over the supple firmness of her back, then up to remove the blouse. Her fingers freed his shirt and her breasts glided over his stomach and chest.
His tongue burrowing into her mouth, Jud unbuttoned and unzipped her pants, peeling them down over her hips. He stood and slipped them from, her, leaving her nude on the couch. His eyes took in the beauty of her face with its auburn frame, her delectable breasts, the tight curve of her belly, the auburn nest at the juncture of her thighs, and the long legs. He smiled and lifted her into his arms.
"So beautiful," he smiled.
Her arms draped over his shoulders, Gillian kissed him, feeling his strong arms holding her body to him, feeling him carry her toward the stairs and up to the bedroom above.
"One good thing about buying the acid," Jud said as he pushed the bedroom door open with his foot.
"What's that," Gillian asked as he laid her upon the bed.
"We got the whole night together this time," he smiled, removing his shoes and pants.
"Yeah, that's a trip," and they both laughed.
He leaned over her, his mouth savoring her, his hands gliding down her body. He raised up and smiled down at her.
"It's gonna be," he assured her, and covered her body with his.
Winslow phoned Debra to tell her that he would be late, and then went down to the police station to give his statement, briefly answering the reporters that clustered around him when he left. The drive home seemed long, too long.
Debra had a drink ready for him when he arrived as well as dinner, but he was not hungry. She sat patiently silent as he nursed his drink, staring at the wall before him, trying to shake off the shock of the evening. At last, he looked up at her for a moment. weighing his words, and then told her everything from watching Jennifer to the deaths of John and Billy.
"Well?" he asked.
"I'm sorry, darling. What do you want me to say?" she asked gently, sitting on the arm of his chair.
"You're not upset about me watching Jennifer from the window?" he asked.
"She's a beautiful girl. You didn't ever try anything with her, did you?" she asked calmly.
"No. No, of course not," he assured her, surprised at the suggestion.
"Then why should I be upset? You're a good husband, a great lay, and you're all mine. I should complain because you appreciate beautiful women and live with me, are faithful to me and give me the benefits of your getting horny over them?" she laughed. "No, sweetheart, I love you," and she hugged him.
"You think I should've said anything more to the cops?" he asked, relieved.
"All it would've done would've been to involve Jennifer. Otherwise, you told the truth, and they killed themselves trying to kill you. Maybe you shouldn't have beat them up, but… I can't imagine anyone blaming you. Especially me," she assured him.
He looked up into her face, fully appreciating her, and eased her down into his lap. Their lips met and he held her lovingly to him, needing no one else to arouse him.