The sea wind rushed through the eaves of the large warehouse, sending draughts of humid air through the cracks in the windows and up the stairs into the rooms occupied by Cash and Ellen, the driver, Sylvia, and the German Shepherd.
Cash sat nervously silent. After his face had broken into a grin of relief at seeing Ellen captive, he had said simply, "Hi, Sylvia," out of the corner of his mouth and then gruffly but not cruelly grasped Ellen's elbow and led her back upstairs.
It was obvious that he was uncomfortable around the well-dressed middle aged man, who – in spite of the dimness – had put on a pair of sun glasses. The man's clothes, suave cleanliness, and unsmiling face made him look more menacing than any of the convicts. Feeling drained of hope and lifeless, Ellen sat wearily down at the small table, her shoulders slumped, and felt the return of sensation to her gravel-shredded bare feet. The pain seemed to radiate upward to her bruised and battered vagina; it throbbed in protest with each beat of her heart.
Sylvia stood with her hands on her hips and gazed around at the soiled mattresses and the litter on the floor. "Jeez, what a fucking dump," she said loudly and to no one in particular.
The driver had disdainfully pulled out a chair opposite Ellen, brushed crumbs off it, and sat down, holding his umbrella between his knee; the attache case he had been carrying was placed on the floor by his left foot. Ellen noted that he continued to wear his hat, raincoat, and driving gloves. He waited quietly, like a sleeping coiled snake, as if he had all the time in the world.
Ellen was sitting there, trying not to weep, when she saw the German Shepherd, Rex, suddenly perk his long ears forward. He rose, his tail wagging, and went to the head of the stairs. Then he barked loudly and began noisily scrambling down toward the landing.
The driver spun rapidly, his hand blurred as it came out of the raincoat pocket clutching a snub-nosed revolver. Ellen gasped as both Sylvia and Cash froze.
A second later, they all relaxed when Billy silently padded into the room followed by the dog. His hooded eyes took in Ellen first and, although he didn't speak to her, she sensed a surprisingly quiet gentleness in his movements which made her feel slightly more at ease.
His hand dropped to Rex's ears and he scratched the dog affectionately as he nodded toward the man who had been driving the car.
It was then that Sylvia, tall, dark-haired, and sensual-looking in spite of the fact that she was probably still a teenager, stood up with a look of obvious displeasure on her face. "Whatsa matter, Billy, don't you have any kisses for me, or have ya been saving them up for your Goddamn dog," she asked coarsely. When he didn't answer immediately, her eyes narrowed nastily, "Or maybe you been up so long that you've gotten used to those penitentiary fairies I hear so much about. Or maybe it's this blonde bitch here," she said, tossing her head contemptuously toward Ellen.
"Shut up, Sylvia," he said ominously.
"Don't tell me to shut up…" she began and her words were cut short in the middle of the sentence when Billy took two fast steps forward and viciously slapped her face; the force of the blow caused the girl to topple sideways and fall onto the mattress.
"Who is she," Sylvia spat out like an angry cat.
"That ain't none of your business." His attitude softened unexpectedly. "Besides, we wanted a little something to keep us company while we waited for you guys to show. We just might need her if things get tight with the fuzz."
Sylvia stood, obviously emboldened again by his softened tone of voice. She looked at the gang leader, then glared at Ellen across the length of the room. She was a tall, remarkably striking girl with jet black hair and large, ripely rounded breasts whose nipples appeared clearly beneath her tight, flimsy blouse. Her young face had an arrogance to it that emphasized an aggressive sexuality, and it was suddenly quite obvious to Ellen why Billy had been attracted to the woman: she was the perfect alter ego to the gang chief, whose every gesture reflected a primitive grace and animal sexuality.
The tall brunette nodded, then her lips curled in a sneer and her face flushed. "She says you all gang-banged her. Ya mean to say ya couldn't wait until I got here to get a little?"
Cash broke out with a loud guffaw, a laugh that was quickly smothered when he saw the murderous look on Billy's face. "Why should I wait for a slut like you?" he said quietly. "Did you wait? Or have the stories I've been hearing about you and 'Paddy' O'Hare been all lies?"
"Billy… honestly… I… I…" she began, and it was obvious from her expression that she was going to lie.
"Oh, shut up," he said contemptuously. "Just shut up."
The gang leader went back toward the doorway and rapidly flicked the light switch off and on three times. "Pop's out there at the turn-off," he said to Cash. "Anyone seen Vito?"
"I believe I almost ran over him," the well-dressed man said, not changing expression.
"It's too bad you didn't," Billy said. "It would have saved me the trouble of killing the son of a bitch."
A moment later, the sound of the pickup truck came from beneath the windows. This was followed by Pop's heavy foot-tred on the stairs. He, like all the others, looked relieved when he saw Ellen had been recaptured. "It's starting to rain," he said, as casual as if he were entering a barber shop for a haircut.
"You see Vito?" Billy asked.
Pop hesitated a second, then shrugged. "Yeh. I saw him cutting through the dunes coming in this direction." He looked back and forth between Ellen and Billy, then shrugged again as if he had decided to keep his thoughts to himself. His weathered face broke into a slight grin when he saw Sylvia, apparently for the first time. "Why… lookie who's come to visit! Hello, there… honey," he growled playfully.
Sylvia merely stared at him as if he were something that had crawled out of a sewer pipe, then turned her back on him.
Pop's face flushed in anger and his eyes narrowed. Ellen found herself shuddering at his look of hatred, and it was only then that she remembered her original opinion of the fat old man – that although he was not as sadistic as Vito, he was probably the most evil of all of the convicts in spite of his jolliness and friendly outgoing demeanor.
Less than a minute later, Rex moved restlessly away from Billy's side and growled low in his throat. The gang leader gave a hand signal and the dog went over to the corner and lay down.
Vito, looking white-faced and frightened, slunk into the room. His ferrety eyes blazed with murder as they swept over Ellen. "You fucking bitch," he said, and had taken one step toward the cringing young blonde when Billy's fist hit him on the side of the head. He literally flew through the air and bounced against the wall, where he slumped almost unconscious to the floor. Then, shaking his head to clear it, his eyes a cauldron of madness, he put his hand in his pocket and withdrew a switch blade knife which he flickered open. The seven inch blade leapt to life, ready to destroy.
Stone-faced, completely unconcerned, Billy pulled a revolver from his waist band and pulled back the trigger with a soft click. "Tell everyone goodbye, Vito."
Only then did the wiry little convict panic. "No… no, Billy. Don't…" he panted. "Look, I'm throwing away my knife. I didn't mean… I… NO…" The last was a scream as he saw his death warrant written on the gang leader's face. "NO!"
"No, Billy," a new voice came – a voice of authority, full of cold menace… sure of itself.
Billy spun around and found himself facing the barrel of the well-dressed man's gun.
"Put it away, Billy. Put it away… now!" the man said, his finger white on the trigger.
There was silence for a moment – a silence broken only by the sound of excited spittle sliding down Pop's throat as he swallowed, and the sudden scrabble of paws against wood as Rex scrambled to his feet.
"Stay," Bill commanded, not taking his eyes off the man. When he was satisfied that the German Shepherd was going to obey, he asked, "Why shouldn't I kill that little son of a bitch? Give me one reason. He let the girl escape. He's the one who almost got us picked up even before we left the prison. Why shouldn't I put a bullet in his fucking brain?"
"Because you need him. He's a good mechanic and you'll need him if anything goes wrong with the boat when you're en route to the island."
"He's trouble," Billy said.
"He's a mechanic, and you might need him," the man repeated.
Ellen stared at the showdown between the two men and then saw Billy's shoulders slump in defeat. Gradually he lowered his gun. The other man's expression remained unchanged; he waited until Billy's gun was back in his waistband and then put his own weapon away.
Once assured that he was safe, Vito got quickly to his feet again. He stumbled as he stood, falling against Sylvia. "Get yer cruddy hands off me, you fucking little creep," she said in disgust, shoving him away.
Pop and Cash both guffawed loudly and Billy nodded as if he finally agreed with something the tall brunette said. Vito's mouth tightened and his wiry figure stiffened dangerously.
Sylvia stood her ground, smirking at him. "Don't ruffle up your feathers at me, pigshit. You ain't got no knife to back you up now… or had you forgotten you threw it away when you were crapping in your britches a couple of seconds ago. It's too bad Billy didn't shoot you."
"Shut up, both of you," Billy said with ominous softness.
Vito stood, trembling with barely suppressed violence. His glance of hatred raked over the tall brunette's body, then flickered – snake like – toward Ellen seated at the table. If anything the murderous look intensified.
Ellen shuddered in spite of herself. Vito was really the only one that truly frightened her. Pop was evil, but she had discovered last night with her mouth full of his hotly throbbing penis that she could handle his particular brand of evilness. Vito, though, was something else than human… and she was eternally grateful that he had not been given a chance to use her as the others had last night. Now she could feel his eyes course viciously down the length of her young body, and she felt vulnerable as she sensed his lust mounting anew as he made an obscene appraisal of her still partly exposed breasts and the line of naked flesh showing openly through her ripped jeans.
The young blonde hostage instinctively drew nearer to the gang leader who kept a watchful eye on Vito and her. She had already forgiven him for using her body as a wager in a crap game the night before. He had lost her in a game of chance that had as much value to the four desperate criminals as any judgment from a high court of justice. She sensed that Billy had resolved to hold his gang off from her and would do all in his power to keep them from using her as they had during the long and horrible night. He wouldn't reprimand them, but they wouldn't get the chance to abuse her again… not while he was alive!
Ellen felt relatively secure now that Billy was still here close by her side to protect her. He wasn't angry at her escape attempt; it seemed as if he liked her even more as a result. Her thoughts automatically turned to ways she might please him if she really had to, and she knew that if called upon to give herself to him she would do it in gratitude, but she would never permit herself to be handled by the others again. Yes, Billy was strong and she was going to humble herself, no matter how distasteful it might be, to the more powerful of her abductors. Only then – as the chief's woman – would she be protected. It was as simple as that, and yet the young girl still was deeply shaken at how the comparatively serene course of her life had been dramatically altered within a period of only a few hours.
Now she would do anything to please Billy, and she was aware that he needed her silent encouragement if he were to remain gang leader. It was strange how most of life's choices were made by outside circumstances alone. She wondered how much her choice of Bob as her fiance had to do with their first accidental meeting at a dance, and the fact that his mother and father were close friends of her parents. Now she had a choice between four escaped convicts, all of whom, except Vito, had ravished her against her will, but she still had to make a choice between them for her protector.
She knew it wouldn't take much to get any one of these men to act as a shield against the others, but the question was whether her own choice would hold in good stead. Despite her own deep-seated feelings of revulsion and fear of Billy, she knew through a second sense that he had a soft spot in his heart for her. She could tell by the way he had acted, almost tenderly, after he had raped her in the back of the truck, and she had become aware of his feelings again after he had lost the crap game. The look of sad relinquishment of her beautiful young body to Cash and Pop last night had sent a shock of momentary understanding through her tortured mind – but that had been quickly blotted out by the brutal ravishment of her tender young body that had followed.
Whatever warmth and compassion Billy might show toward her would, of course, be bestowed at no expense to the gang leader's pride and sovereignty over the others. She knew that in the final analysis she was still an object to be used and disposed of like a cheap rag doll that is thrown into the trash after its novelty has worn off and the child has lost interest. No, she could not hope for more than a passing interest in him for her safety, but meanwhile she must play this momentary tenderness he felt for her for all that it was worth. She would be his whore; somehow or the other, if she hadn't already replaced Sylvia in his affections, she would have to get rid of the other girl. But how?
She looked up dully as a sudden splatter of rain hit the windows and a gust of wind rattled sections of the tin roof.
"All right," Billy said, assuming command again. "Let's get this meeting started. Come on Cash… Pop." He looked at the ferret-like Vito, and his face twisted in disgust. "You, too."