At first it wouldn't budge. He heaved futilely, straining his arm muscles trying to slide the warped wood up. In the darkness around him he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. There was no place to hide, so he simply froze, hoping against fate that it was a casual stroller.
The sound stopped and the walker was still out of sight. Alex's hands were sweating as he waited, counting the seconds off. Then there was the patter of a steady stream of water striking the dusty ground, a grunt half way between an "ah" of relief and a belch, then the sound of a zipper closing.
Moments later the footsteps went away.
Alex attacked the window again. This time the frame gave way and slid part way up, but once again it stopped and wouldn't budge, no matter how much he cursed its ancestry. He measured the gap ruefully with his eye, deciding that maybe he could make it through.
Swinging his legs through first he sat on the sill, muttered a silent prayer that he wouldn't land on an occupied bed, and made the plunge.
The room was pitch black, but empty. Alex tried to close the window, but once again it resisted his most strenuous efforts and he decided to leave things as they were, rather than risk any further delay.
The door was unlocked and he stepped into the corridor and within seconds had found his way to the central room.
It was crowded tonight. The normal dirty movies were going full swing and the place seemed to be packed with American sailors.
Alex eyed the stairs. He was sure what he was after was up there. Last time, no one had gone up the stairway. And again, tonight, the steps remained barren of traffic. Furtively, he started edging his way toward the stairs. He'd wait until something caught everyone's attention on the screen and it should give him the few seconds he needed.
He had almost reached his goal when he looked up, and his heart almost stopped. Two women and a man were on the stairs blocking his way up. If he didn't move away immediately, they were going to bump into him. It would mean giving up that precious time he had used up already.
As he moved he suddenly realized he was giving up nothing.
The dark haired girl turned her head and Alex stopped breathing for a moment. His gamble had paid off. There was no question, it was Renee!
As they came down the stairs he guessed that the other girl was Fran. She was blonde, but Alex didn't remember her well enough to be positive of her identity.
At the foot of the stairs the man, a stranger to Alex, gave the two women a brief talking to. They nodded their heads slowly. And then he left them to merge into the crowd in the room.
The two women walked almost hesitantly into the hot, packed mass of men, breathing in their masculine odor and trembling before the massed virility they represented.
Almost immediately, a man had pulled Fran down to his lap and was fondling her. She submitted to it in an almost neutral fashion, quivering slightly as his hand roved under her skirt.
And then Alex stuck his hand out and caught Renee's arm and turned her toward him.
Renee and Fran had both been coached by Manuel about what they were going to do. No matter what it looked like down there, they should know that he controlled the situation, that there was no escape.
They walked down the stairs with the doorman and he hissed at them to do as they were ordered, before melting into the crowd.
When the man took Fran, Renee shuddered, realizing it was her turn next and that in seconds she would be selling her body to prove her docility so that Manuel could sell her body forever. And there was no escape.
The hand that grabbed her arm stopped her heart for a nervous second. And then it was beating just a little faster than normal as she turned to face Manuel's counterfeit customer.
Renee gasped and her heart almost did stop. It was Alex. The man she had trusted. The one she worried about because somehow she had gotten him in this mess. Then she bite her lip, concealing her rage and horror.
Alex pulled her to him and kissed her. "Look," he said, "is there someplace we can talk?"
She turned and led him back to the room that was waiting. The room that she knew Manuel and his friends were sitting over, looking into with strategically drilled peep holes. And all she knew was that she wanted to die in the face of this last betrayal! Salt tears ran down her cheeks, and she didn't see the bewildered Mexican stand up behind them, wondering what he was going to do now that this gringo had taken the girl he was supposed to have.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
When the door swung open, Manuel had to stifle a scream of rage. The man who followed Renee in was not chico, who looked so much like a gringo they did not even glance at him twice at the border, it was that Americano. The one Jose and Antonio were to have taken care of last night.
Manuel kept his eye glued to the peephole, no longer concerned about Fran, who was with Pepito, a reliable man. Inside he was fuming. Where was that cabron chico?
Renee followed Alex into the room and closed and bolted the door after them.
Wordlessly, she started peeling her clothes off, running her hands over her body in a constant gesture of enticement.
I will not help him, she thought bitterly. I would have trusted him and he betrayed me. She might have cried a few days ago, but now her face was molded into a mask that refused to give way. Thanks to Manuel, she thought.
She tossed her bra on the table, and then she was swept up into Alex's arms. "Wait!" She tried to writhe away. "I'm not undressed yet." She didn't want to, but she trembled in the warm shelter of his arms, at the comforting scent of his body.
"Renee! It is you, isn't it?"
She jerked free and turned her back to him. "Get undressed," she said. Quickly, she worked her skirt over her hips. Her panties followed with the gentle sign of silk wisping over nylon. Sitting down, she rolled her stockings down her legs. Then she was ready.
Alex stood watching her. A stupid, perplexed expression on his face.
"Get undressed," she hissed. "That's what you're here for, isn't it?"
Standing, Renee began to undo his shirt. Her hands crept to his belt, unfastened the top button of his trousers, gently ran the zipper down.
She pressed her body against his and wiggled until she felt his cock rising, jabbing against her thigh. It was distant. Although she was conscious of it happening, it roused no feeling in her. She knew why she was doing this.
Not for Alex. Or Manuel. But because of what Manuel promised to do to her and Fran if she failed. Renee shivered. He had the girl brought up so they could see – the girl with the nose split with a knife so that it spread across her face, the crushed cheekbones that made her look dead and old and used. The scars on her deflated breasts!
That, Manuel said, was what would happen to them. He promised. On his mother's name he promised.
Of course, he said, they would be worth very little to him then, and he would sell them to a less gentle taskmaster who didn't worry about looks because the things he wanted done were so ugly nobody wanted to look anyway.
Manuel had leered at them, and Renee believed. There was never any doubt in her mind that he meant what he said.
Pressing against Alex, she tried to stir his passion with her hand, afraid again, after she promised herself she wouldn't be.
Flopping back on the bed, she pulled Alex after her so he lay between her sprawled legs. That should be enough, she thought, staring up at the green ceiling where she knew Manuel would be watching.
Alex's body was fevered on hers. His heat warmed her and she felt his fingers tentatively groping for her slit. Then he had her and she signed in relief that the uncertainty was gone.