Posted by hisdinner on December 11, 2004 at 22:53:13:
Chapter 7
Allie nodded against Martin's shoulder as they drove down from the mountains and into wine country. Around ten o'clock, he pulled the car off the road southwest of Vacaville. Martin used a pay phone outside the 7-11 while Allie wandered inside to get something to drink. A couple of cadets from Travis Air Force Base were playing a video game by the cooler. They watched Allie as she pulled out a canned iced coffee.
"Starbucks is just a couple miles from here. You can get a real coffee. We can show you where it's at." The taller guy in uniform nudged the shorter one behind him and reached for the coffee in Allie's hand.
Allie shook her head. "This'll do me fine, officers, thanks anyway." She maneuvered around the end displays of sunflower seeds and chips and reached the counter. The Air Force flanked her as she dug in her pockets for change.
"On us then, least we could do," the shorter one said, pulling out a couple bucks.
Martin pushed through the doors and eyed the two cadets on either side of Allie. He grinned and walked back to the coolers. Allie pursed her lips and blew a puff of air skyward. Some help he was. Tall cadet and short cadet tried to keep formation as they exited the 7-11 with Allie, but the doorway was not quite wide enough. She smiled and nodded and waved goodbye and reached for the door handle of Martin's car. Locked, of course.
"Aw, don’t you want to hang with us? Our leave's not up 'til 1700 hours tomorrow!" the tall one said.
"She's got to be back in lockdown by twelve-hundred. Sorry, fellas," Martin called. The two cadets jumped back, spines stiffening, as Martin reached the car and unlocked Allie's door. "Maybe you all can hook up if she makes parole." The two stared at him, and then at her. "Serial rapist," Martin whispered. He climbed into the car and started the engine.
Allie gave the cadets her sweetest smile as Martin drove away from them. She punched Martin in the arm and giggled and sipped her drink. Martin laughed and turned on the radio. "Ventura Highway" was playing, and they both sang along. The sun was high, purple thunderclouds hung over the eastern mountains and the valley glowed with a dozen shades of green.
"Serial rapist!" She snorted. "I'll show you serial rapist, Mr. Man."
Allie burrowed under the steering wheel and into Martin's pants, and began to use her mouth lasciviously. Martin had no intention of fighting her, but he didn't want to wreck the car. He found a country road just off the highway into Napa. Rest stop. Perfect. He parked and pulled her mouth up to his and kissed her, hard. Martin pulled up Allie's sweater and pulled down her pants, and they groped in the car like teenagers, thrashed and bumped and swore and Martin finally gave up, laughing. Allie wouldn't quit. She threw the door open and pulled Martin out and around the car and next to a disused picnic table hidden behind a thick green hedge.
Martin eyed the splintery surface. "There?"
Allie nodded. It was about 50 degrees, cool, damp from rain. Everywhere they were surrounded by green, tall trees, thick grasses, rain clinging. She shrieked and pulled off what remained of her clothes and Martin's. They made hard love leaning against the gray, rain-soaked table. Allie wrapped around Martin and Martin pounded into her. They growled and clawed and clung to each other, fiery hot, steamy in the chill air. Martin sank his teeth into that perfect juncture of neck and shoulder. Such tender flesh.
"Here, Martin, here, yes! Now, here!" she gasped and clung and pressed his head to her body, urging him further, squeezing him tight inside her. He moaned and filled her, then gently lay her down against the splintery wood. He covered her with his body, pressing her down against the table. She made urgent wordless cries, exhorting him, but he did not take her. He held her soft and warm. She sobbed. She couldn't stop.
He buried his face in her hair. It curled in wispy ringlets in the mist. He said, "Not yet."
Allie moaned and tightened her grip around him, her legs and arms, her hands caressing, pulling his face up to peer into his eyes. "When?"
"I have a job tomorrow in San Francisco, Allie. Longstanding order, regular, once a month thing." He'd gathered her up like a child, still clinging to him, her legs locked around his waist. He walked her to the car and laid her on the backseat. He sat beside her as she dressed, brushing her hair with his fingers, watching her eyes.
"You like it here." They sat in their customary places again, driving the Napa road, breathing in the winey air.
"It's perfect, Martin. Yes. So beautiful," Allie whispered. She watched endless rounded hills give way to more, all neatly stippled with careful rows of vineyards, endlessly repeated, broken only by groves of trees from Tolkien pictures or Dr. Seuss dreams. It was unreal.
"Stay here. I can do the job and come back to you. We can find a place for a couple nights, just relax, soak up the wine, and soak up the scenery. Sound good to you?"
Allie nodded her head, eyes big, feasting on the layers of misty green and mountains, on the flowers in the borrow pit and the unearthly brilliant yellow mustard fields.
Martin shook his head. This girl. He looked at her. "You want this."
Allie pulled her eyes away from the window. She touched his cheek then kissed the spot she'd touched. "Yes." It was all she could say. It was enough. He nodded.
They drove to a little hotel above the Napa River. Their room had a fireplace, a terrace over the water, and a big old fashioned tub, and Allie fell in love with it immediately. She exclaimed over the curtained bed, the bounteous tall trees outside their huge terrace windows. She was a desert child in Eden. She ran outside to turn and run back in again, sailing onto the high bed, staring into the crackling fire. "Perfect," she said. Martin sat down on the bed and rested his hand in the small of her back. "You are," he said.
They spent the night exploring the waterfall, the gardens and the outdoor spa. Allie and Martin enveloped themselves in fluffy white robes and slaked their thirsts for hours, slowly drinking in wine and kisses in front of the fire. They sat on the terrace and watched the moon glint on the river. Allie nestled in Martin's lap and slipped her arms inside his robe and pressed her head against his chest. "Perfect," she repeated.
"Mm-hm," he said. He lifted her up and carried her to bed.
The next morning, while she was drowsing on the bed, Martin packed his cloth bundle of knives inside a case and left her.
"Back by four, five at the latest," he said. He pressed his lips to her cheek. She was hot from the morning sun. Martin inhaled her scent. She smelled like peaches.
"Mmm." She responded. The wine was good, but there had been too much of it. She slept on. The white sheers billowed, stirred by a warm breeze from the terrace windows.
A basket of fruit and scones and a pot of coffee arrived a half hour later.
"The gentleman asked me to give you this, ma'am." The waiter set her breakfast on the terrace table. He blushed. Allie took a slip of paper from him. It was Martin's scrawl-- "To Our Darling Serial Rapist, with Fondest Regards, the Cadets of Travis AFB, Et cetera."
Allie grinned. She sipped coffee and watched the river and listened to the birds. About twelve o'clock, she decided to go for a run down by the water and burn out the last of the wine fumes from her head. She wanted a clear head, she wanted him; she wanted everything just perfect. She stretched and flexed and twisted, and the river sparkled, and Allie began to run. A late model Rover followed her around the bend and out of sight.
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In the City, Martin checked his watch. Twelve-fifteen, and he was already at the Drake, riding the elevator to his client's suite. The guy liked the red suite best. Nothing ostentatious about this one. Martin smirked. Red suite, red meat-- although the redhead he saw when he entered the room was barely beyond that pink, veal stage. Martin frowned.
"Pick her up at St. Mary's?" he asked the bruiser who sat next to the quivering girl.
"Naw, she's from across the Bay," he mumbled. "Waitress at the Denny's on Third."
"Where's Mr. Richard?" Martin looked beyond the girl to the set of beds, to the plush chairs, all red on red on red. Made everyone look feverish.
"Here I am, Martin. Good to see you." A boxy man charged around the L of the room, reaching out to shake Martin's hand. "Come on, sit down."
Martin eyed the girl, and then looked back at Richards. "I have a tight schedule today, Rich. Mind if we skip the—"
Martin's phone buzzed on his hip. "Excuse me. I'll just—" He checked the phone's caller ID. It was Graham. Graham! What the fuck? "Bastard can leave a message," Martin mumbled. He shoved the phone back onto his belt. Sure enough, it beeped at him a moment later. He ignored it. He drew up one corner of his mouth. "Damned things, but can't do this kind of business without 'em."
Richard shrugged. "What you gonna do?" He gestured at the redhead. "I want her like the one before; only put more wasabi on her. Makes 'em squirm so fucking good."
Martin shrugged. "Sure, Rich." That meant he wanted her live but ready to serve. He eyed the girl. "See some id on that?" Richard's gopher tossed her wallet to Martin. She was 22. "Ok." He walked over to her and used his fingers to press against the sides of her face. She was forced to open her mouth. Martin pushed two tablets inside her lips and forced her to swallow the pills with water. She choked and sputtered. "For the pain," he said. He sat back and waited, trying to gentle her down.
The girl was terrified and it took the drugs a good half hour to kick in. When she was finally stuporous and heavy in his hands, Martin laid her on the silver platter Richard had provided. Tight fit. He curved her body sideways. She could still be flayed, a thousand cuts, an old tradition, and she'd fit the platter. Martin set to work. An hour passed; he drugged the girl again and then he collected his fee and left. Upstairs, the men sat down to sushi. Martin pulled his phone out and summoned up his message from Graham as fought his way out of the parking lot and into San Francisco traffic.
At first, he couldn't understand. The traffic sounds were deafening. When he did, Martin roared. He pounded on his steering wheel and it took all his discipline to not hurl the phone, smash it. "Damn you! Damn you!"
Martin fought for every opening in the endlessly recombining lanes of traffic heading east and out of the city. He pictured Allie, swore, and rode the accelerator hard, and the horn, and finally cleared the last of the congested traffic around 3 PM. His car streaked down the highway.
Too late? He moaned and pushed the car to its limits. The message had been recorded so much earlier. Around noon? Twelve-thirty at the latest. Martin swore at himself for ignoring it, for not even checking. He had to put on a show for Richard, act all unconcerned. Graham-- He should have known! And now what? He could still hear the message; it was looping through his head, he couldn't get rid of it. It was a very simple message, really. Graham had laughed; he had snorted into the phone like a pig. And then he'd spoken.
"Got your girl," he'd said. "Got her good." Then there was a silence, a hissing sound, and then Martin thought he'd heard her sobbing. He wasn't sure. He was absolutely sure that he'd kill Graham before the sun went down. Martin clung to that certainty.
But what made Martin crazy wasn't Graham; it wasn't even the chance that Allie had been sobbing in the background. What made him crazy was the voice he'd heard just before Graham had hung up the phone.
He'd heard Smith. Smith, imperious. Smith, querulous and bleating.
"She must be turned!" Smith had whined. "Graham! Make sure that I can see her eyes."