Kevin awoke the next morning to the loud medley of traffic and street vendor sounds that carried up through his window from the street five storys below. His head felt as though a pile-driver were crushing down on it and the thick cotton taste in his mouth almost nauseated him. He groaned, and sat up in bed, blinking his eyes at the full bright rays of sun that trickled in through the breeze fluttering curtains.
It was a short moment before he could recall where he was and what he was doing in this strange European looking room that had the washbasin right out in the open next to the bed. Then, slowly the entire sordid nightmare of the night before flickered back through his fogged mind. He groaned aloud and fell back to the pillow as the horrid vision of Jean's body squirming down on her knees in front of that dwarf who had sodomized her mercilessly bored itself deep in his brain. He clenched his fists tightly together until the whites of his knuckles showed as he recalled the ecstatic abandoned look of joy on her face as she had let herself be screwed like a common whore in front of all those people. And she had been loving it. He tried to the best of his ability to understand, to make himself understand and find an excuse for her, but there could be none. He had seen her. He had seen her doing it, not once, but twice if he included the fat Arab that had been licking her in that room when he had walked in unexpectedly. Monique had said the girl was there for some unusual kicks and she had no reason to lie to him, plus she did not even know it was Jean until they entered the room. She had just been told by that Arab Gamal that it was some American girl who wanted to taste the seamier side of French night-life. It was just by their accidental rummaging around through the place that they had burst in on those two.
Well, she had certainly tasted it and in first class style. He wondered how many others present at that little gathering had tried it too after he had been sent away from the place. Jean had looked like she might be in the mood to show half the room a good time. It was just strange that he had never recognized the nymphomaniac streak in her before or that it had never shown itself during some of their sessions in the back seat of his car when they had been dating or at least back in the hotel room in Paris where she had screamed so convincingly at his advances.
Perhaps Monique had been right. Women are strange creatures and there is no way of knowing what their reaction to a given situation will be until they are actually placed in that situation. He could have never in his wildest dreams have imagined that underneath the stiff upper New England facade of respectability in Jean that such an uncontrolled demon of passion smoldered. And what was more mysterious and difficult to understand, was how it was set off so violently in the short span of a few days since she had run away from him in Paris. There was so much he could not understand and so many questions he wanted answered that it caused his head to throb more than it already did. But, he had to know some of these things before he left Jean here even though she had done so much to him in the last few hours. He would at least ask a few questions to ease his own mind if he could find the right places.
Later, after he had pulled himself from his bed and shaved and showered, he had coffee downstairs at the restaurant and planned out his days itinerary. He had called the airline office and found that he could get the plane for Paris with direct connections to New York at seven o'clock tonight. That should give him plenty of time to go to the hotel that Jean had indicated in her cable to him and ask a few questions. He could possibly find out whet happened to Monique also. He had wondered where she had gone after he had been knocked unconscious last night and decided she had probably gotten out of the place. He couldn't blame her very much under the circumstances after they had seen Jean lying under that Arab friend of hers, with her legs spread wide open in invitation. She had probably been so upset with what she had seen that she had gone on back to Paris. He couldn't blame her very much after all she had done to try and patch things up between two juvenile young newlyweds. He would at least like to let her know that he didn't blame her for the way things had turned out. She had no way of knowing what Jean was really like or that she would turn nympho overnight. Flow could she possibly know if even her own husband didn't. He paid the waiter for the coffee and stepped out of the hotel to hail a taxi clutching the address of the hotel in his hand. The hall porter had said it wasn't too far away but had had a funny expression on his face when he mentioned the district it was located in but Kevin shrugged it off. Nothing mattered too much now anyway and he was just taking the trip to satisfy a vague curiosity about Jean's sudden about face. Last night had destroyed any love he felt for her and nothing he found out today would make any difference in his plans to go home and file for divorce immediately.
Shalla, when he heard the footsteps on the stairs leading up to the second floor desk leaped to his feet in excitement. He had been waiting for Monique to return with his share of the price for the American girl since early this morning. He had been counting with glee over and over again the money he had made from her yesterday and it was a considerable amount considering she had taken on between twenty and thirty customers not including the amount he made for the exhibition she put on with the African. Now, with his share of her sale to the syndicate, he could start his own business again and be on easy street. He had hoped this time it was her coming up the stairs but as they drew nearer a slight tinge of disappointment crossed over his brow. The steps were too heavy. It was not a woman, just probably another tired seaman who wanted a room for the night. He was surprised suddenly when an American appeared at the top of the steps looking as though he had just stepped from the advertising section of one of those American men's magazines Shalla had sometimes seen, old and used, in the barbershop. He must be wealthy and perhaps looking for a woman for the day. Why else would he come down to this section of town. Damn, if he only had the American girl here now he could probably get four or five times the price he would have from the customers he had sold to yesterday.
"May I help you, Monsieur," he purred in his best English, hoping to make an immediate impression on him. He enjoyed speaking to them first in English and always getting the query, "Why, how did you know I was American?" It was strange that they didn't even know themselves they always looked so different from Europeans in their neat looking ever-pressed suits and shirts.
Kevin looked at the desk clerk for a moment before answering. He was still stunned by the appearance of the neighborhood when he had gotten out of the cab downstairs. There were nothing but cheap looking bars, sailors, and prostitutes for blocks. Why on earth had Jean chosen a place like this to stay in unless she were really looking for a chance to wallow in filth. Had she gone completely out of her mind. It certainly would appear that way.
"I-I wonder if you might answer a few questions for me," he managed to stammer after an uncomfortable moment.
"Certainly," Shalla grinned, sensing that there was some money to be made here if he played his cards right. Truly this was his week of "bonne chance" and rebirth. "Anything that Shalla does not know about Marseille, Monsieur, is not worth knowing."
"I would like some information about a girl," Kevin said softly, his voice lowered in suspicion of the unsavory looking character standing in front of him.
"Ah, but you have come to the right place," Shalla answered in a low confidential voice so endemic to pimps. "I can arrange any type you want, Monsieur, or any color. And it will not be too expensive. You have come to the right man."
"I-I didn't mean that kind of woman," Kevin quickly corrected. "I mean a woman that was registered here at your hotel. A young American one."
Shalla's grin suddenly faded as the recognition flickered through his mind. He suddenly recalled the cable the American girl had sent to Paris. This was her husband! Panic seized him for a moment as thoughts of the police following close behind came to him. He had sudden frightening thoughts of the entire transaction being destroyed by an over-zealous husband and with that the destruction of his profits from the deal. This would ruin him and his plans for his business that he had spent the whole morning dwelling on.
"H-Have you seen her?" Kevin's voice interrupted his thought. "Her name was Taylor, Jean Taylor."
"I-I don't know, Monsieur, if I can help you," Shalla hesitated, placing his finger against his chin as though trying to recall. "I am not always on duty here."
"It would mean a great deal to me," Kevin offered. "I will pay you well for any information you can give me."
Shalla sensed that he should just deny any knowledge whatsoever of the girl but the mention of money started his mind working again. He could kill two birds with one stone by misleading the American and still take his money for the information even if it was false.
"Perhaps if Monsieur could describe the young lady," he ventured cautiously, "you see we have so many customers, particularly during the tourist season. I don't know if I would recognize her."
"I think you would remember her if you saw her," Kevin said. "She was a very pretty girl with long dark hair. Twenty-three years old and built very well."
The thoughts of the American girl's body thrashing under him in wild abandon that first day drifted back to Shalla as Kevin continued his description. He felt a slight tinge in his prick as he thought back on it. Yes, he mused silently to himself, she did have a nice body and again a surge of secret power rippled through him as he listened to her husband stand before him and describe a being that he in all probability knew better than he did. He wondered what his reaction would be if he knew that he had fucked her silly not long ago and then watched while multitudes of others used her body for any purpose they wanted for hours on end. Yes, it did give him a secret sense of power to listen to this poor fool here who probably was looking upon him as nothing but a dirty illiterate Arab as his wife did when she first came into the hotel. Perhaps he could make up a story that would be half true that would bring him down a peg or two. He would enjoy watching him squirm.
"And, oh yes, she was traveling with an older French woman. Nice looking also and about thirty-nine or forty years old," Kevin added as he finished describing Jean to the apparently close listening Shalla.
"Yes," Shalla finally said after a long minutes thought. "I do recall such a pair. What is it exactly that Monsieur wishes to know about them?"
"Nothing in particular," Kevin flustered for a moment. "I-I just wondered if the young one had any v-visitors or went out much at night."
"Ah," Shalla's face brightened as though in comprehension. "Monsieur is a detective, no possibly, for the young ladies husband?"
"Y-Yes I am," Kevin lied, thinking it might be the least painful way to ask embarrassing questions. In fact he was glad that Shalla had made the mistake as it wouldn't put him in the position of the jealous husband chasing after an errant wife.
"Well then, if it is a business matter then I think I can he of assistance," Shalla grinned, proud of his cleverness in leading the American on to think that he did not know he was her husband. "How does fifty American dollars sound for my information?"
"Yes, that will do," Kevin said, matter-of-factly, and reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He carefully peeled five tens from it and placed them on the desk in front of the grinning Arab. He didn't like the man's looks at all, but this was the only thing that he had to go on so he had no choice in the matter. His own personal pride dictated that he at least find something out about Jean's activities the last few days before he went home and filed for divorce. Even if it was all over he would like it verified by someone else too. He still was having trouble believing what his own eyes had seen last night.
"Good," Shalla said, tucking the bills carefully under his robe. "Now we understand each other."
"Please hurry," Kevin asked. "I haven't much time and I want to know all you can remember about her movements while she was staying here."
"Well actually, Monsieur, there is not much to tell. She was just like many of the other young tourists. She came here for a good time because evidently she had a very negligent husband who could not satisfy her back in the States or somewhere. It is a very common cause for the women who come here. They have no fear that their little indiscretions will become known."
Shalla paused for a moment watching with secret satisfaction the blank expression on Kevin's face. He knew this would get to him because he recalled the groans of passion and relief from the American girl and knew she had never been screwed the way he had given it to her before. There must have been something lacking in the husband. Shalla had the knife in him, he knew, and he twisted it further as he watched the color of Kevin's skin ashen slightly as the words he was hearing sunk into his mind.
"She had several lovers here the first day and just did not seem to be able to get enough. She kept going out into the streets for more. Do you believe it, Monsieur, she even tried to get me into her room but I explained to her that I am a business man and not for that kind of thing."
"The Arab was almost bursting inside now with the joy of watching Kevin squirm before his words. It was all he could do to keep a serious expression on his face as he described a few of the lovers that Jean had brought back into the room with her. He had no way of knowing just how devastatingly effective his lies were as he did not know that Kevin had watched Jean being sodomized in apparent ecstasy last night and was at the point where he would believe anything without question. Shalla had his final blow for the spoiled young American now. He had been saving it for the last of the descriptions to make certain it hit with the correct impact."
"And, Monsieur, the last she brought here was enough to make a man cringe. He was a giant Nubian black from the south of Algeria. A sailor I think and he must have been built big enough to kill any ordinary woman but she loved him I could hear wild sounds coming from her room for hours after they went inside. And it was disgraceful, the way they made noises like animals. I was tempted to knock on the door and throw them both out. I was afraid they would disturb the whole hotel, Monsieur, and we must protect our clientele from such inconveniences. Do you not agree?"
"Do you not agree, Monsieur?" Shalla repeated, an indignant expression on his face. He pushed the question to force Kevin to answer. He wanted him to have to speak and show his emotional weakness. No wonder the girl had been so hungry with someone so weak for a husband. It was unusual too, he mused. The American sailors that came into Marseille had the reputation for being the most insatiable men on earth and one didn't see the whores of the town out working for days after the American fleet left. It was joked about the quarter that there was not one left that could walk after such an ordeal. Well, this one was different, he was not the common American stock. It would be good for him to suffer a penance for his cowardice.
"Yes, yes of course, you could not let them make so much noise," Kevin said slowly, his eyes misting. "And what of the older woman?" he queried after a pause.
"Ah, Monsieur, that was the mystery. She was the tower of virtue, which is most unusual for French women. She tried very hard to hold the young girl down. They had just yesterday a loud argument right here in front of me about the way she was acting but she would pay no attention to the French lady. She just told her to mind her own business that she knew what she wanted out of life now."
"And what did the French woman say?" Kevin asked. This must have been after she had returned from picking him up at the station yesterday and he was curious even in his grief about what she had tried to do.
"She just said to the girl that she has a surprise for her and for her to be good tonight."
"And did she?" Kevin knew the answer after what he had seen last night but wanted it substantiated again for some unknown reason in him that would not admit Jean had turned so quickly away from him. "Did she ask you about going to a special place or anything like that?"
Shalla paused for a moment. He could sense that this was a loaded question and knew also that if the American knew about that special place and the fact she may have asked about it, then someone had told him that he had directed her there.
"Is there a particular reason you asked, Monsieur?" Shalla asked cautiously.
"Yes, there is," Kevin replied, innocent of what the Arab was thinking. "Someone said she was directed to one of those exhibition and orgy places last night and may have gone."
"Oh, why yes, I do remember her asking about one, but Monsieur, I know of no such places and I explained it to her."
"Most probably in one of the bars on the street. They would all know about them. I understand there are several around the city of Marseille. I am certain she asked as she seemed determined to find something unusual and bizarre in the way of sexual experience. She also said something about finding a happiness she had never known before. We get many strange ones here, Monsieur, and I would say she was one of the strangest. You must tell her husband, Monsieur, not to expect her to ever come home. They always find themselves a lover and stay. I have seen hundreds like her."
Kevin's heart sank. He had heard enough. It was obvious now from what the Arab was saying and what he had seen last night that Jean had played him for a complete fool all this time. He had been a child and nothing more in her eyes. Well if that was the way she wanted it then there was nothing he could do or wanted to do for that matter, it was her life and she had obviously decided to go about it without him.
"Thank you for your assistance," Kevin mumbled as he turned and started toward the stairs. "You've been very kind."
"It was nothing, Monsieur," Shalla smiled as he watched him disappearing down toward the street. "I am glad to be of help to you."
He fingered the crisp ten dollar bills happily in his pocket. He could hardly wait to place it with the amount he had collected yesterday from pimping for the American's wife. It would make a handsome amount in itself and he would be a rich man when the French lady came with the rest. He was not worried that she would not come. She needed this hotel to do her business in and even if later she decided to try another he would still find her. Besides, she knew he knew all about the operation and he could always threaten to go to the police with what he knew. No, she would come back this afternoon and he might even drag her back into the room and try a little more of his new partner. He whistled happily to himself as he tidied up behind the counter preparing for the days rush of prostitutes and customers that would want to rent the rooms by the hour.
Kevin waved to the taxi from the sidewalk and entered it quickly when it stopped at the curb. Small streams of tears had begun to run from the corners of his eyes and he wanted to get off the street as quickly as possible so that no one would see him. It was ridiculous for a grown man to be crying on the streets like this. As the cab drew away from the curb, he noticed two dark looking men entering the hotel. They looked vaguely familiar from somewhere but it wasn't important. In his grief everyone looked alike.
Shalla heard the noise on the stairs and for the second time that morning his pulse quickened. It must be her this time, the walk was soft like a woman tiptoeing. It drew closer up the stairs and sounded strangely like two women. He lifted up on his tiptoes so that he could see farther over the counter and down the stairs. Strange, he thought, two more men. Algerians this time. What could they want at this hour unless it were women. Perhaps this was his lucky week.
"Your name Shalla?" one of them asked casually as they advanced to the desk.
"Why, yes, it is Monsieurs," he answered slowly. "May-may I help you?"
The last thing Shalla saw on this earth was the silencer end of a snub-nosed automatic that appeared suddenly in the hand of the man who had asked the question. It puffed softly three times straight at his belly bringing a surprised gush of air from his open mouth before he pitched forward stone-dead across the counter. The man who had pulled the trigger walked behind the sprawled body and reaching under the robe withdrew his hand filled with crisp French francs and American ten dollar bills. He smiled toothily at his companion, quickly dividing it in half and handing one pile to him before they disappeared silently back down the stairs from which they had entered.