Don, meanwhile, lay flat on his back, on his narrow bed, smoked a cigarette and tried to find some answers for himself. His body hurt, horribly, from the blows he had received at the hands — and feet — of Jack Roberts and his two hangers-on.
Right after he had let himself in the house, he had gone, immediately, to the drawer in his parents' bedroom where his mother kept her extra cash, took a twenty dollar bill, put it in his wallet and went directly to his room. He felt a qualm of conscience, knowing that what he was doing was wrong… but rationalizing with himself that he could not do differently. He had to have the money! It was expedient to take it from his mother's cache. He had a passing thought concerning the possibility of trying to return it, later, but he knew that would not be possible… at least, not right away; especially, after she had discovered its disappearance. He had already decided to take it… and he would lie, if necessary, after his mother discovered its loss. God! He was in a real bind! They'll cut me up… sure as hell… if I don't pay up!
Then, he had stripped himself naked, in the privacy of his room, to examine his injuries. There was no blood, no broken bones, but the bruises were already evident. He would be awfully sore and stiff. In a little while, he would go take a hot, soaking bath to allay some of the soreness.
Damn! It's muscle and organization! That's what Jack's got! And there's no fighting it alone! Christ! Three to one! I didn't have a fucking chance!
His mind raced. His thoughts dealt with revenge, planning how he would even the score with competition, trying to think of ways to hurt Jack Roberts, fighting fire with fire, as it were. He couldn't settle anything, but he knew that Don Scott had been made a fool of… for the last time. He was going to play it smart and cool… never allow himself to get into any kind of bind at all, and he would do all and more that Jack Roberts was doing. When the time came, he would take care of Jack… and Marcy! Just use my head from now on! Brains! Muscle! Organization! That's for me, man! Yeah!
He put on a bathrobe and went into the bathroom. There was only the one connecting bath in the house, making it necessary to go through one or the other of the bedrooms. He chose to go through Charity's room, thinking he might get to see her nude body, again.
Not knocking at her door, he went in. She was just taking off her bra, the only garment she wore, and just before she turned her back on him, clutching at herself to cover her nakedness, gasping out a frightened, "Donnie!", he saw her in all her luscious, young beauty: the mounding swell of her breasts, high and proud, her smooth, white thighs, her full, soft, rounded buttocks and the curling reddish hair at the vee of her thighs. "Sorry, Sis!" he mumbled, not at all sorry, but happy with what he had seen.
"Ugh! How many times do I have to tell you to knock!" she stormed, angrily, as he went on into the bathroom.
Turning back to her, as he closed the door, he said, "Don't get shook, Charity… I've seen naked women before!"
He closed the door quickly; she had just hurled a shoe at him, with another snort of irritation. Inside, the bathroom he took off his robe to reveal an almost instantaneous erection, spearing out from his loins, thick and hard. He reached down to massage and caress it with a hand. Christ! She's beautiful! Man… how I'd like to get it into her… if she just wasn't my sister!
Charity was irritated with her brother for his frank appraisal of her body. It seemed he had "accidentally" been seeing an awful lot of her nakedness, lately. She was embarrassed by his lustful stare, each time he had walked in on her like this. He looks at me… like he does at those pictures in the books and magazines he reads!
She remembered how her cheeks had flushed when he had shown her a particularly suggestive picture of a couple in lewd copulation. "Donnie! That's not very nice!"
"Get with it, Sis!" he had told her. "Sex is here to stay!"
Then she remembered what he had just said. "I've seen naked women before!" He hadn't said girls… he said women! Donnie considers me a woman!
She looked at herself in the mirror, tipping it and standing tall to see as much of herself as she could. What she saw, she liked, for the first time. Yes! He's right! I'm really a woman… almost a full-grown woman!
Something he overheard from the man next to him caused him to prick up his ears and listen more closely. The man had asked about a woman… a woman named Dottie!
"Yeah… I got a real good lay with her a couple of days ago, when I was through here… thought I'd look her up, again!"
"Sorry, buddy… I can't help you…" the bartender said.
"Name's Dottie Scott… good looking… damn good legs… and she really knows how to wriggle her ass! Hell! It cost me twenty bucks for less than an hour with her!"
The bartender looked aghast at him, then cast a surreptitious glance at Gabby Scott. Good Christ! Gabby's wife! "Look, buddy! I think you'd better drop it… just a word to the wise!"
Scott was off his chair, his fists swinging in short, punishing arcs, and the salesman was on the floor, in seconds. Gabby's drinking buddy grabbed him to keep him from changing the man's sex as he aimed a deadly kick at the salesman's groin. The bartender called the police, and Gabby was arrested and booked on a disturbance of the peace charge. The salesman was pretty badly shaken up. He told the arresting officer that he was thinking of preferring a charge of assault, against his attacker.
"Damned if I know what got into him!" he told the bartender.
"Dottie Scott is his wife!" he told the salesman, levelly. "Now, get the hell out of here!"
"It's a fact… What I said."
"Maybe Gabby'll want to sue for slander… now, just leave my bar, fella…! I don't like your kind of business!" the bartender said. He was exasperated. Trouble like this was bad for business… and he could care less how many guys Dottie laid. It was none of his business… up to the time it began to affect the patronage of his bar. Then, he didn't want any more to do with it. The stupid ass could take his problems some other place!
The salesman slapped a bill on the bar and growled. "Mighty friendly place you got here!" His voice dripped with sarcasm. He left the bar and went back to his motel to take care of his cuts and bruises. Damn! That was a coincidence! Who'd ever think the broad's husband'd be sitting right next to me? Well, he'll be in jail for a few days! Then, the idea hit him! He's in jail! Obvious!
"Dottie… I'm being booked… down here at the jail," he said… "can you go bail for me…?"
"What happened? Why were you arrested?" she worried.
"I hit a guy… in a bar! I was under the influence…"
"Whatever for…"
"You and me'll talk about that, later!" he said grimly; then, more placatingly, "… But, I don't want to spend the night in jail! Can you get me out?"
"Gabe… I can't! We're short-handed here… and if I walked out… I'd get fired sure!" she explained. "I'll come down first thing tomorrow morning… all right…?"
"Hell no… it ain't all right… but if that's the way it is… I guess I'll have to live with it!" He growled and hung up.
She stared at the silent receiver, replacing it in its cradle, absently, trying to fathom what he meant. How could she be involved? What dark reason was there for her husband to beat up another man in a bar? Who was it? Why? WHY? There were no answers coming her way, and there was a customer signaling for her. She moved out to the floor, going about her work in a daze. Dear God… what's happened? I wish I knew! Oh, how I wish I knew!
About ten o'clock, the traveling man came into the cocktail lounge. Dottie recognized him, at once, but there was no way she could avoid him; she had to take his order, serve him his drink… and talk to him, if she had to do so. The owner wanted happy, satisfied customers. It was that simple, and since he had chosen to sit alone in one of the booths rather than at the bar, she went, reluctantly, to take his order.