Gaston Larreau smiled to himself. Guests, noting the expression, anxiously returned it with one of their own, but truly the little man was smiling in his own amusement. It pleased him that celebrities and others of importance vied for invitations to his weekly affairs. It gave him a certain inner sense of superiority. He knew what they thought of him… Canada's czar of the underworld; yet, to be seen at one of Gaston's Larreau's Mont Royale affairs was to be mentioned in the society columns of the Montreal World. He hated them all; they were frauds and parasites; yet, he appreciated them too, for they gave him an air of legitimacy.
Gaston Larreau stood five-feet-seven-inches tall in his exclusively hand designed, one-hundred-and-fifty dollar elevator shoes; he was abundant of girth, broad at the shoulders, balding, and meticulous of dress. His head, like his face, was round and set close to his shoulders, and his small grey, almost colorless, eyes were spaced too-wide apart, just as his too-small ears clung tight to his head. The cicatrix left from an aged razor wound ran the length of his right cheek, ending at the corner of his mouth, making the flesh there puffed and malformed until he smiled, and then the line of strong golden upper teeth became predominant.
Presently, he smiled with her by his side and moved amongst them, always hating yet always appreciating, lashing and cutting with his bitter tongue, but forever enjoying, listening to the whispers, staring down the men and lecherously eyeing their women, while unendingly squeezing her hand. She would be his ultimate moment this evening. He looked forward to it as might a connoisseur saving the finest wine until last. She had no idea what was to come. The expression on her lovely face would be as exciting to him as a moment of actual seduction, he thought. He could wait; to savor in anticipation was often greater than the act itself.
They whispered: She is the niece?
She is Antoine's new wife three months, I think. But of course, he's adopted, you know.
I didn't know. I thought he was actually related.
Hell, no. He's not a Larreau; his name is Poirier. That monster adopted him when he was twelve… conscience, I suppose… inasmuch as he killed the boy's parents. A struggle for power within the syndicate, as I understand it, and the lad's mother happened to be in the car when the bomb went off.
My God! Are you certain, Chapput? That's a dreadful thing to say unless you're certain…
Certain? Who's certain about anything these days, M. Minstre? I'm simply a reporter.
She is devastating, a female voice commented jealously.
Sexy, I believe is the modern term, my dear, replied her male companion.
They say she comes from the Gaspe… that horrid place, spoke another female. Unbelievable… such a lovely creature…
Breathtaking. But why doesn't he have his own daughter act as hostess, seeing she is home from college? It doesn't seem right, does it?
Annette? Don't be silly. They don't get on, you know… an estrangement of some sort between them… at least, that's what I hear. Probably over her mother… she's in an institution… has been for years.
I've heard, but I know little… Tell me, is M. Larreau as vile and evil a man as they say? tittered the first female voice.
Ask Chapput. He's the reporter, came a male retort.
Don't ask me anything. I need my job. Just look around you and consider yourself one of the chosen… the czar has commanded your company.
Look! She's lovely. Isn't she lovely, Chapput? What to say to him.
My God! She's lovely. Isn't she lovely, Chapput?
Tonight, she's lovely; tomorrow, well… one hesitates to guess…
Madeleine Poirier watched her handsome young executive husband from across the room. Uncle Gaston's so-called secretary, Ginny Novak, continued to cling to his arm. It irked the beautiful, raven-haired girl, but there was little to be done about it; Uncle Gaston's Friday night cocktail-dinner parties were a social must on their calendar; they had no choice but to attend, it seemed, their wealthy and powerful benefactor having chosen her to act as hostess and remain at his side. It was a distinct honor, Antoine insisted, especially now that Annette was down from Quebec where she attended Lavel Universite. Madeleine tried, as she had for the past eight weeks, to enjoy the distinction, attempting to put her own inner burden temporarily from mind as she assumed a false, worldly attitude, while the squat mighty overlord clung to her small soft hand inside his own fat, sweaty one; but invariably she felt uneasy… hardly equal to the task, and the manner in which the glamorous twenty-nine year old blonde from the States hung possessively to her Antoine was annoying her to no end.
Ginny Novak was never a secretary; in fact, Madeleine wondered if she could write her own name correctly. She was Uncle Gaston's mistress and nothing more. There had been a great number of them over the last dozen years according to Antoine, ever since Aunt Yolande had been put away in some institution or other… a mental case the family said; no one ever went to see her. Antoine, himself, could hardly remember her; he was fifteen at the time of her commitment, and he doubted if Annette remembered her at all. She had been only nine, and he remembered no mother-daughter relationship. A calloused, if, strikingly attractive girl, Madeleine had opined from their very first meeting, and constantly at odds with Uncle Gaston, seemingly taking pleasure in defying him. Now, she looked about the room, but the nineteen year old lovely was nowhere to be seen.
"Come, ma chere," Uncle Gaston said, distracting her fixed dark eyes from Ginny Novak who was laughing gaily into the slender handsome face of her husband. "It's time we reviewed this assemblage of social leeches, eh?"
Sometime earlier in the evening, Madeleine had fastened a perpetual little smile to her delicate-featured, oval face. She offered it to him in answer as the emperor maneuvered her about the luxurious room, always holding to her hand, introducing her to new guests as his Madeleine, "… wife of that adopted nephew of mine. Magnificent, isn't she? Sometimes, I wonder if the boy realizes how lucky he is…"
After awhile, Madeleine no longer blushed at his syrupy compliments before others. It was natural that these praises should react upon her ego, never in her poor existence having known such flattery, but she hardly felt parallel to them and she was pleased when other topics dominated the conversations, especially politics and more worldly subjects in which she was not expected to be versed. It gave her the opportunity to look intelligent with pretended interest while her mind actually wandered on many planes.
Sometimes, she could not believe this new, luxurious life she had become a part of and she would have to pinch herself to know that it was real. Then the lump of near-ultimate happiness would rise into her throat, but always followed by the little tears of pain as thoughts of her tiny Igat would rush to mind. Her shame… her child… her dreaded secret… Dear God, how she longed to hold the beloved little creature in her arms… to cuddle her… to mother her… her own precious Igat. What would all of these people think of her if they knew? What would Uncle Gaston say? But more important than all, what would Antoine believe of her, then? Oh God, she dare not even think of that; she loved him so.
Now, automatically, she let her eyes search the room until they found him again, and the little lump of near-happiness arose in her throat. He stood among several guests engaged in conversation, that blonde vixen beside him… he stood taller than the others, not handsome really, she supposed… his face was too thin and his nose too long, but it had been his gentleness of eye and his firm, thin-lipped mouth that had first attracted her… that she had fallen in love with. She watched him smile; his handsome white teeth sent a little thrill through her. Antoine Poirier, President of Galaxy Mining, Ltd., how impressive it sounded. Of course, Galaxy was one of Uncle Gaston's enterprises and it was not as if Antoine had worked his way up the ladder the hard way; all the same such an executive responsibility required great intelligence and ability, and Uncle Gaston was not to let him remain in such a capacity if he didn't merit it. She was so proud of him… loved him so… God, if there was only some way she could unburden her soul to him and have him understand, perhaps, even bring her Igat into their family… Heavenly Father, how wonderful that would be… if only there was some way… But she was groping for straws and she knew it. There was just no way… no way in the world… at least, not at this time with only three months of marriage behind them, and that somewhat strained with their individual efforts of trying to discover each other.
She thought about that now as she wore her pleasant little smile and feigned being a good listener while Uncle Gaston argued with Ernest Mallory, the Minister of Citizenship and Immigration over existing, 'stupid' immigration laws. She thought about their love-making, and her own inability to respond fully because of her constant pressure of mind over Igat. In effect, the unfulfilled results, time and again, had left her as flustered as Antoine, for invariably, once he had emptied his loins into her, he would blame himself over her lack of climactic achievement, often-times with tears and swearing that next time it would be different… but as yet, it was not. Sometimes, she felt that he, too, was carrying some heavy inner burden… a business pressure probably, but she didn't pry; when it was time, if he wanted her to know, he would tell her. Nevertheless, their sexual fiascos had added to her growing feeling of frustration, until she had reached this point of even being jealous over the likes of Ginny Novak. Lord, she had to get hold of herself. She was a woman of position now…
"What is your opinion, Cheri?" Uncle Gaston interrupted her train of thought, speaking in English for the benefit of the Minister from Ottawa.
Madeleine caught herself; she never liked to appear the fool. "I think my opinions are better left unsaid, Uncle," she replied smiling somewhat shyly, entirely unaware of the nature of their conversation.
"What's more, Madame Poirier is a diplomat, M'sieu'," Mallory returned, smiling broadly. "As if being beautiful is not enough."
"You flatter me, M'sieu' Mallory," said Madeleine into his pale, hawkish face. He was a tall man, lean and impressive of stature, with fine eyes and an unruly shock of white hair. "I fear if you gentlemen don't stop you'll turn my head."
"In my direction, I hope," the Minister teased.
Madeleine made an habitual gesture of tossing her head to right her shoulder-length, raven-black hair even as she continued to smile. The little movement caused her firm rounded breasts to quiver in the thin, invisible bra behind the low-cut, white mini-gown she wore and Uncle Gaston imagined that he heard male eyes click as they locked upon the voluptuous spectacle. He squeezed her hand and let his tongue wet his dry lips. It was time, he thought. Why the hell should he wait any longer? He'd been waiting all day. He stole a glance at Antoine and saw that Ginny was keeping him occupied… per instructions.
"You will pardon us, M'sieu' Mallory," Gaston Larreau excused them, "but we must argue with the other guests too."
"Of course," said Mallory. "Perhaps we can get back into the subject later, M'sieu' Larreau. There are some other ramifications I believe you're overlooking…"
"Later," the little czar replied bluntly. "Come, ma chere." He held to her hand and led her across the room toward the archway into the central hall, then addressed her in French: "There's something I want to discuss with you, my pet."
"Oh…?" said Madeleine, surprised. "What is it, Uncle?"
He retained her hand within his own and escorted her to his large, paneled study. There, he let free of her, closed the double doors, flicking the locking catch on the knob, then walked toward his private bar to make them a drink. As yet, he had not answered her and Madeleine watched his broad expensively covered back move away from her; she glanced behind her at the closed, locked door, then back at the squat, powerful man who now mixed casually behind the bar. Occasionally, his colorless little eyes raised from what he was doing and dwelled upon her face, then, openly raked the length of her curvaceous body with an almost lecherous gleam lighting them. He smiled, his gold teeth flashing in the indirect lumination of the room. She felt a little catch in her breathing and a certain clamminess moved along her spine as he continued to smile… almost leer while his eyes all but stripped her naked.
Whatever it was all about, Madeleine had no idea. She had never seen him like this, and he coldly frightened her.
"Are you happy with Antoine, dear?" he questioned in their native tongue, his vicious small eyes never ceasing their lewd undressing of her person.
"O-Of course… why do you ask, Uncle?"
"I'm concerned. After all, besides Annette, I have no one else… with the exception of you, now… and I regard you of the greatest importance, Madeleine." His near-twisted smile seemed affixed to his round face as he came from behind the bar carrying two drinks. His eyes held her own exotic dark ones levelly, almost hypnotically, as he moved toward her, one hand bearing the glass, extended. "I wouldn't want you unhappy, my pet."
Automatically, Madeleine's graceful hand accepted the glass, but her eyes remained adjoined to his. Additional ripples of chill trickled up her back. She knew of his reputation, his ruthless brutality, had even guessed that such tales might be… could be true, but she had never dreamed that she, herself, would ever witness any indication enlightening that part of his character. Dear God, she thought she was previewing it now… but why? Had she done something! Where was Antoine…?
From the moment he handed her the glass he never stopped moving closer to her. They were nearly of equal height. She felt his great middle pressing ever stronger against her, his round, scarred face closing in on her own. The meaning of the gesture was beyond her and Madeleine stood her ground, iced fear stiffening her being. But, then, within that scope of inches, she saw the blurred visage of his puckering lips swooping in upon her own, and she realized the affront.
"Uncle Gaston! My God! What're you trying to do…?"
Her hands, one still holding a glass, came up between them, rigid at arm's-bent length against his chest. She backed several feet toward the locked door behind her and gaped at him.
"I was going to kiss you," he hissed, the wild satyrism she had read in his eyes even more pronounced now. "I'm sure you're familiar with the act."
"Uncle Gaston…! I-I just don't… I don't understand…! Please… please, let's go join the others…"
"Shut up, slut! Shut your fucking mouth!" he spat at her.
Madeleine stared in utter disbelieving, mounting horror at the squat despot of crime before her… this man who not only controlled the vile and vicious underworld, but whose company the wealthy and famous competed for, while the lewd word he had blurted at her ricocheted like a giant, depraved, evil omen in her brain.
"Un-Uncle Gaston… Wh-What is it…?"
"Bitch! You stand there, cunt-slut that you are and tell me you don't understand?" Suddenly, he threw back his vicious head and laughed, loud and not caring, his teeth glistening in the light. He stared at her, his evil smile never lessening, then, he moved closer to her once more. "You've got a kid! You've hid it out in the home of one Rafael Girarde here in Montreal. A bastard brat you'd like to forget… and you dare to marry my Antoine and pretend? Cunt-slut! That's what you are! Come into my house… Me, Gaston Larreau, and put on airs! You pig! What do you think Antoine would say if he knew? Eh? And you wonder how I know, don't you, bitch? Well I'll tell you. Your Dr. Carey does little things for me… takes a shady bullet out now and then… whatever I have for him. But suddenly, he read the papers… thought he might have a hot banana, one he could use to raise hush money, so he dared come to me and spit out the truth."
Madeleine had backed to the door. The czar inched closer against her. He said: "You know what that information cost me?" He laughed. "Twenty dollars… enough for a gallon of booze. And you know the value of that same information my pet?" Once more, he laughed… slowly at first, then, in a rising crescendo. "You! You, my dear, are the ultimate value of that twenty dollars so well-spent. You, with your young, voluptuous charms will crawl to me unless you want me to destroy your world. You will give yourself entirely to me to do with as I see fit… otherwise, I'll completely destroy you not only with Antoine, but wherever you go. Now… say something, darling… say something intelligent, you luscious creature."
Madeleine stood frozen in mental horror. Her entire body seemed a part of the door as she pressed backward against it and stared at the metamorphosis of human into monster before her. She watched him raise his drink to his lips and sip, and she watched mesmerized in abject terror and instantaneous hatred, the salacious leer ever contorting his evil face as inch by inch he moved in closer to her.
"Oh God! Please… Uncle Gaston… My God! You can't tell Antoine," she pleaded, for nothing else mattered. "Let me! I'll tell him! I swear it…!"
"Stupid cunt," Larreau spat and Madeleine cringed at the vile insult. "What good do you think that'll do, now? The damage is done. Do you think he would want someone else's bastard child?"
"But you don't understand! She's just a little baby. Stop calling her those names! Damn you…!"
Larreau widened his grin. "So… you do have some spunk, after all. I… I was beginning to wonder."
"She's not to blame! She's an innocent baby…!"
"Shut up! You hear? Shut up, cunt!"
She did, gaping at him. His smile had disintegrated; his eyes were emblazened with rage. He raised his glass and drained it, then threw it on the davenport beside him, the ice dribbling out to wet the expensive cushions, his vile epithets cutting her to the quick. Heavenly Father, she had never been so abused in her life. He came next to her and tore the glass from her grasp, then wound his pudgy, brutal hand in her hair and forced her mouth to his.
He kissed her! His vicious tongue stabbed at her lips and she fought it, clenching her teeth until his hand twisted the long length of her hair, until tears streamed from her eyes and her mouth gaped from the pain. His tongue, hot and wet, plunged to her throat and his short arm encircled her waist powerfully, crushing her to him. He ground his belly overwhelmingly against hers, his groin tightly against her own soft, tender pelvis, until she could feel the hardness of his swollen member undulating in a near-pulverizing motion at the juncture of her full, warm thighs.
Mon Dieu! Antoine! Please… come quick! I need you! I need you!
Finally, he eased back from her, smiling as if he had just brought her great pleasure.
"There now," he said, "Not so bad is it?" He lifted the glass he had taken from her and drank from it. "Why satisfy yourself with the parasite when you can have the king, my pet?"
"I-I-I love Antoine."
He drank again. "Love? Humph!" he grunted. "A word… not a very meaningful one either. Only an excuse for attachment." Again, he drank, "Never mind, it isn't important what you think, or want. It's what I want that counts… and I want you, my dear." He backed away and moved in a small circle before her. "You'll do what I say from here on… unless you prefer to be completely destroyed… along with your illegitimate daughter."
"What are you saying? You… you wouldn't do anything to hurt Igat…?"
"Why not? Bastard kids are born every day. What's one more? If she or he holds me from getting what I want… then, it's time to destroy them."
"My God! My dear God! You're horrid! An unadulterated monster…!"
Larreau set down his glass and moved against her once more. His left hand encircled her small waist while his right darted to her left breast, encompassing its full, rotund protuberance, squeezing and kneading, working at its nipple through the several layers of garments until it stood hard and erect, and in her helplessness she submitted to him.
"No… I'm not what you think," he said, letting his hands trail down her slightly delineated ribs to her hips, then moving behind her while she stood spellbound, and slipping downward to envelop her soft, warm, full buttocks in cupping fashion. He pulled her to him and once more she felt the hard unbelievable length of him grinding against her pelvis. "I'm human enough. Trouble is… you don't know what made me the way I am. It isn't important, anyway. What's important is that I want you… and I know I'm ugly. So… I have to take you… to force you. I-I-I'll make a deal with you. You be 'nice' to me and I'll get your kid back for you… make Antoine accept it. I promise, I will. Girarde is a nothing… a Ministre Of Gouvernment, but a nothing. I'll get the child, I swear it… if you're nice to me…"
"And… and if I'm not?"
His face changed. Before, when he'd spoken of returning Igat, he was almost the man she had come to know. But now…
"I'll completely destroy you and the kid! I swear it! I take an oath on it!" Once more he grabbed her, clutching her to him. "Christ! I want you, pet! I'll give you anything… just be nice to me. Don't you understand? I've got to have you…"
And then, she felt his small pudgy hand moving down her outside thigh, brushing up beneath the skirt of her gown along the nylon-encased column of her smooth, tensed, long leg. Dear God! What was he going to do? Should she scream… create a scene? She was entrapped! His hand felt hot… repulsively hot against the frightened, twitching flesh of her thigh, while the other brazenly cupped at her buttocks, holding her firm, unable to move away from his insulting hand. Even so, tiny, unwanted prurient twinges seemed to erupt within her at the attentions of a strange touch, while simultaneously, she fought the vile idea of his lewd suggestion.
"Please… please, Uncle Gaston, don't! Please don't…!"
"Christ! I've got to. You understand? I've got to have you…!"
"No… No! Please… I understand… yes, I understand… really, I do!" she pleaded and babbled, frantically struggling both physically and mentally, but she was no match for his strength and her brain refused to function in her fear and shame. "L-Let's think about it… tonight, we'll think about it… Oh God…!"
His hand reached and played at the tight, concealed portion between her legs where only the narrowest, sheerest strip of nylon protected her secret, sensitive genitals. She felt the knuckle of his hand press the material of her panties between the soft, fleshy lips of her vulva as it stroked again and again into the warm, moistness of her womanhood. She whimpered helplessly. Mother of God, no woman alive could endure such galvanic touches at her most delicate parts without knowing sensation, she swore it. Yet, she was near-overwhelmed with the abasement he was heaping upon her; it could not go on like this! He had to listen to reason!
"In heaven's name, Uncle Gaston, you've got to stop! It's not right! Please… I-I'll never be able look at you again, think of Antoine, if not me…"
"I'm thinking of me, damn you!" he hissed at her. "And I'm thinking if you want that kid of yours, you better be nice to me, understand? Nice! Now… do you want her or not?"
Madeleine wagged her head in confusion. She felt the hot tears welling onto her cheeks as he continued to stroke tauntingly at the now trembling, nylon-covered aperture between her legs.
"Well…?" he rasped.
"Yes… yes… you know I do! What would you expect? My God, I'm her mother! I want my baby…"
"And you'll do anything to get her back?"
"… Yes… anything… I'll do anything! My God… oh, my little Igat…"
Suddenly, his colorless eyes glowed as if they had been dipped in Satan's fire and he hauled her closer to him, his thick middle-finger slipping inside her elastic panty-leg to ease slowly between the fleshy-fringed lips of her now moistened pussy, moving downward through the velvety, pink slit toward the small quivering vaginal mouth… then, worming up into her… ever upward inside her warm, snug channel. She gaped at him during the inserting process… gaped and gasped in revulsive, helpless humiliation as she felt his thick finger sliding possessively further up into her while she stood as if frozen in horrified disbelief… and then his thumb began to massage the tiny, soon-erected bud of her clitoris maddeningly. She jerked then, bodily against him, causing her buttocks to spasm and circulate uncontrollably in his other hand, and he said: "I'm going to give you an address and you come there tomorrow. It's downtown… my special apartment. You fail me, pet… and both of you will pay… you and the kid… understand?"
Madeleine tried to answer, but her words bunched in her throat from the unwanted shocking spasms he was causing at her loins, and she could only nod her head jerkingly. Finally, she managed: "I-I under… stand."
Larreau laughed. "Good," he said. "But in the meantime… I want to play with this… this delightful little cunt of yours, pet."
Madeleine moaned pathetically, at the same time cringing as she sensed his thick finger move further up into her, while his use of the lewd, foul word caused strange, if, undesirable sensations to soar through her quivering body.
"Oh… Oh, please… can't we wait?" she heard herself whine, and even as she spoke she realized in self-abomination that she was moving sensuously upon his penetrating finger, making involuntary, pelvic motions as his finger reached and taunted the snail-like mouth of her womb.
"Oh God!" she blurted for the hundredth time.
"It feels good, doesn't it, pet?" Larreau tormented. "You wish to God it didn't, but you can't help yourself, eh? And how would you like to have a nice thick cock right up inside that little cunt at this moment… filling that round little belly… shooting its hot load into you, eh? You'd like that… but you wouldn't admit it, would you… you hot little bitch… All right… I'll wait until tomorrow… I want to be sure there'll be no interruptions when I fuck you, pet… no interruptions whatever… understand?"
"Y-Y-Yes… anything you say…"
"And now, you belong to me… is that clear?"
Madeleine managed to nod affirmatively. Then, she said: "And… and you promise about Igat?"
"Sure… sure, I promise."
"S-She's my baby… I'll do anything to get her back… You realize that, don't you?"
"Of course," he said, his thick finger worming around in and out of her damp, dilated passage now.
"And… and you'll help me… even with making Antoine understand?" she stammered.
"I told you I would, didn't I?"
"Oh… yes… Oh God…" she gasped, as vile, tingling sensations began to spread throughout her whole body.
"Damn!" he hissed, pushing his mouth against hers, his open lips engulfing her soft, wet ones, and then slowly he withdrew his finger from her vagina and she whimpered in the confused, unfulfilled passion he had aroused in her unwanting body. Dear God in heaven, she had to get out of here and think! Merciful Mother, what was she going to do now?
And a wicked spasm trembled Gaston Larreau's coarse body.