"We've got a million things to talk about," Elliott said, taking Paula's hand again as Garza put on his coat and walked toward the door.
"I'll be back as soon as I can, Mr. Strickland. You won't do anything foolish, will you?"
"I won't let him," Paula assured. "Your plan sounds like our only hope. We'll stick to it."
Garza allowed a grin to cross his face. "You've got a very intelligent daughter there, Mr. Strickland," he said as he went out the door.
Huddled in a corner of the dank wine cellar, Elliott sat trying to calm himself. Though his blood was racing through his veins, his mind was in a state of near shock from watching his wife and daughter go through their degrading performances on the stage. The vulgar shouts of the men, many of them American servicemen, still rang obscenely in his ears. He'd had to sit beside Garza, helpless as he watched the huge Negro fuck his daughter until they both shuddered through orgasm. It had looked like an actual rape, and Elliott couldn't really believe it was happening.
The American men there should have jumped up to stop the lewd act rather than shouting their vile encouragements. But they didn't offer to help Paula, not one of them, and of course Elliott couldn't, because it would have ruined his and Garza's chances to slip Ruth and Paula out of the wicked sin palace once and for all. When Paula had finally thrown her arms and legs around the pumping black man, shuddering and holding tightly to him as she screamed shrilly in orgasm, Elliott had nearly fainted. He realized her climax was not faked in any way, because the expression of total lust on her beautiful face was entirely too intense to have been merely acting.
Then the unbelievable cock had slid from her sweat-soaked body, long and shiny black with her juices, and she and the Negro were holding hands and smiling as they took their bows. A few moments later Ruth had been led onto the stage nude and apparently drugged out of her mind. He'd wanted to rush to his wife and take her in his arms, to cover her body and lead her off the stage. But the men in the audience were clapping and stamping their feet, impatient for Ruth's performance to begin.
Full of righteous indignation, Elliott had jumped to his feet only to be jerked back into his chair by Garza. "No, Mr. Strickland," Garza had said. "You'll spoil everything." And of course Garza was right, so Elliott had sat numb and dazed as a donkey was led onto the stage. They'd made her masturbate and lick the animal, and Elliott reeled at the sight. But he hadn't been forced to witness her actual copulation with the shaggy beast. Garza had punched him and motioned for him to follow, saying the time was right because all eyes were on the stage. But as they'd made their way to the stairs leading down to the wine cellar, Elliott had involuntarily glanced back at the stage.
The sight had made him want to kill Pico. He'd seen the flattened, thick glans of the donkey's cock pushing into his wife, had heard her choking and groaning. Then the animal had hunched forward and sent his cock deep into her, and the scream she'd uttered had made Elliott's blood run cold.
And now as he sat waiting for five a.m., thinking it would never come, he realized that he was going to kill Pico. He knew he would never draw another peaceful breath as long as the man responsible for his wife's and daughter's misery was alive. It was wrong and he knew it full well, but every nerve in him cried out for revenge. If he roasted in hell through all eternity for killing the vicious man, so be it; he had to do it anyway. He had to!
Holding his knees to his chest, hiding behind a wine cask, Elliott dozed off again and again. Each time his tired mind allowed a few seconds of slumber he dreamed of the sordid acts he'd seen Ruth and Paula in and hated Pico all the more. He would jerk awake for a few minutes, gritting his teeth, then would drop off again to hear Ruth scream as the donkey slammed into her defenseless body.
"Mr. Strickland. Wake up, Mr. Strickland."
Elliott shook his head to clear it, hooking his fingers over the rim of the wine cask and getting to his feet.
"It's time to go, sir. Five minutes to five."
"I'm ready."
"We'll have to be very quiet."
"I'm going to cut Pico's throat."
Garza smiled. "I'll do it for you."
"No. I want him to know who and why before he dies."
Garza nodded, pulling a switchblade from his pocket and handing it to Elliott. "It's very sharp. I bought it while I was out getting the heroin."
"Let's go," Elliott said, putting the ugly knife in his pocket.
They went cautiously up the stairs, stopping each time their feet brought a squeak from the aged timber, listening for sounds in the main room above before they moved on. No one was in the barroom when they finally entered it. Dawn was just beginning to break, sending enough light through the frosted-glass windows for them to pick their way silently through the tables and chairs scattered about.
The stairs leading to the second floor were carpeted. Elliott fought back the fear rising inside him and followed Garza up. It was very dangerous. The burly bouncers and bartenders probably lived in the building along with the girls, and from what Elliott had seen of them he felt sure they wouldn't hesitate to shoot intruders on sight, especially at such an unlikely hour. But his own safety wasn't important. The force driving him on was stronger than his fear – much stronger! He would never be able to live with himself if he failed Ruth and Paula after getting this close to rescuing them.
"Oh, stop it! Go to sleep!"
Garza put his finger to his lips as they crept past the room the tired female voice had come from. All the doors were closed, the sounds of snoring drifted into the hall through several of them. Garza had his compact radio out, the earplug stuck in his ear, stopping at the few doors which were padlocked, shaking his head and going on. Finally, after they'd rounded a corner and come near the end of the hall, Garza smiled and jerked out the earplug, pointing to the padlocked door as he put his radio into his pocket.
"This one's easy," he whispered. "I have a master that should take care of it."
Elliott stood by nervously, looking up and down the hall as Garza selected one key from the many he carried on his special key ring. It slipped into the lock. Garza crossed himself with his free hand, then took hold of the lock and turned the key. He let out a sigh of relief when the lock snapped open.
Her eyes dancing with excitement and hope, Paula rushed into Elliott's arms when he entered the room. "Oh, thank God!" she breathed. "I didn't really think you'd make it."
"What's the matter with your mother?" Elliott asked, alarmed at seeing Ruth stretched out on the bed fully dressed and sleeping soundly.
"I brought some sleeping pills before I came back here," Paula said. "I thought it would be best. Mother's given up all hope. There's no telling what kind of a commotion she would have made when she saw you. I thought it would be better for her to wake up in your hotel room."
"Good thinking," Garza said softly. "I'll carry her out to the car."
"Where's Pico's room?" Elliott asked.
Paula shivered at the expression on her father's face. "Why? What do you want to know that for, Daddy?"
"He has personal business with him," Garza said. "Tell your father where Pico is."
"I'll show you," she said.
"Just tell me," Elliott insisted, and when she had told him, he said, "Don't wait for me, Garza. Take my darlings out to the car right now. If I'm not there in ten minutes, leave without me, understand?"
"Si, senor. Vaya con Dios, hombre."
Garza's answer startled Elliott. It was the first time he had spoken a word of Spanish to him, and he realized from his voice that he was doing so now purely out of respect for him. He nodded, waiting until Garza had Ruth in his arms and was carrying her from the room. Then he kissed Paula's cheek and pushed her after Garza and her mother.