She was just slipping out of her dress, and Tiger was glad he had timed it just right. She was standing with her back to him, her hands were reaching behind her shoulders for the zip, or little hook. “Hello—” she murmured low, stepping out of the dress. He came up to her and gently slipped his arms about her, his hands cupping her breasts, tenderly fondling the beautiful things. She gave a little murmur, and a soft sigh, her right hand touched his face. She caressed his face, and her face turned toward his, and she kissed him on the lips, as he unhooked her feather-light bra and received the superb gifts that fell into his hands, marvelously. The bra slipped away from her. He looked down at her, loving the view. He loved her flanks flaring out, they were sturdy beauties alright, what a well-formed girl she was. He loved her. "Darling—” she murmured, as he caressed her breasts, and her belly now, and downward, gliding exquisitely over her, over the silky things, starting them downward, as she exquisitely helped him ease them off her. They stood there, and he continued caressing her, so gently now inside her thighs, circling, back and forth, finding finally the sublime terrain, lingering there. His phallus was prodding and pressing against her marvelous buttocks. He caressed them. He kissed her along the neck and shoulders, and one hand still fondled her fabulous breasts, their sweet pink sentinels fully alert now. “Take off your things—” She murmured to him, reaching for him, kissing him, as only she could kiss. . . .
At a little before midnight, just as Chief Poldaski was about to hang up his cue and call it a day, the place having thinned out quite a lot in fact, most of the boys heading for Selmo’s, Harding’s, or similar places of refreshment, for a few brews before retiring for the night, Sam Roto’s phone, stuck under the counter, rang, and it was somebody asking for the Chief. Thinking it might be his beloved, who once in a while did give him a call at Sam's place, Poldaski walked reluctantly and even somewhat resentfully to the phone and answered it in not his most dulcet tones. However, it was not Mary. It was Larry Mellish, who ran Sawyersville’s most bustling electrician’s business (he had wired up the town hall, Sam’s place, the school, Selmo’s, and many other local establishments, including the Chiefs own little abode). He gave a piece of news to the Chief in very worried tones, and demanded that he do something about it. The news was: his daughter, Yvonne, was gone.
Missing.
Poldaski heard the news and nearly fell off the stool he had perched himself on. For a moment he said absolutely nothing, hearing only Larry’s voice saying over and over, “John? Hey, John? John?’*
Then he said, ‘‘You home, Larry?”
“Yeh—”
“Stay there. Don’t do nothin’. Understand? Nothin’. I’m
cornin’ right over.”
And he hung up.
A moment later, as Sam stared, he tore out of the place, jumped into the Borough Police Car, roared off, nearly plowing over a bunch of the boys* and rocket-powered for Larry Mellish’s place. . . .
Surcher felt they were getting somewhere. It was one A.M. and not only had all attempts by the lawyer (and others) so far failed to dislodge the boy from his grasp, but the boy himself seemed more and more like the culprit to him. He wasn’t as yet one hundred percent sure. They had been working on him nonstop, the three of them, taking turns of course, as per Change Up, Phase Four, and he seemed to be wearing down, or approaching the threshold, at any rate. Just now, Grady was questioning him, in his unique way, having taken over from Surcher, who at the moment was grabbing some shuteye in the special Police Slumber Room, well equipped for such vital
Pretty Maids All in a Row 289 breaks from prolonged periods of strenuous activity, or duty beyond the call, as it might be called.
“How much more shit you think we’re taking from you, Cassius?”
The boy mumbled something. He was obviously tired. “What? Can’t you talk? Can’t hear you, Hot Shot!”
“Fuck yourself—” The boy mumbled.
“You didn’t get much fucking out of her, did you, Boy?” Grady threw at him, “Not a thing, not a bunt, nothing, right there, Big Boy?”
“She was a honey—” mumbled the lad.
“Yeh! So Long Honey! That’s what you mean—” Grady fired at him. “That’s what you’re trying to tell me—C’mon, come clean—Where’d you write that—in the lavatory? What made you pin it on her? Tell us all about that. Who the hell are you? What was it, a joke, or something: Pretty funny? Give everybody a good laugh? That it? What's your name?”
“One of these days—” Jim mumbled.
“What’s your fucken name?”
“You know my name—”
“Is it Muhammad?”
"White prick—wait—’’
“You don’t have a white prick—what a shame! A Goddamn Shame! That poor gal would still be around! Right, Jackson? White. Big and white. That’s what you needed. Right? Kid? What a kid! Answer that one! Listen—when did you pin that note on her? Was it hard—getting her head down the head? C’mon, Kid! You sure must have worked fast! How’d you prop her up like that? We figure you did it all in ten minutes flatJ That’s fast! A jump pass! How’d you do it, Kid? Start from the beginning, that’s what, don’t skip a thing—”
“When do I sleep?” mumbled the lad.
“Sleep? Christ! All this on your mind and you want a sleep! A little snooze for Frooze! Pull out the bed! The Best bed! Floating Slumbertime mattress for you, Kid? Sweet Christ! Know when you can sleep? Now listen to me— Don’t drop off that chair because Jesus Christ I’ll just kick you to—Understand? Listen Boy—you can sleep when you’ve told the scoop. The Whole Scoop. Understand? Ready to do that? You’ll be here until you do just that! Better face that!”
Ponce was in his Home Room standing up with the rest of the class Pledging Allegiance to the Flag (and to the Republic for which it stands) the next morning when Jim Green’s ordeal ended, though unbeknown to him or to Ponce, or to Tiger, who at the moment was finally putting in a phone call to Surcher with his interesting news. It happened this way: The School Janitor, Bill Honeywell, opening up his broom closet in the basement not far from the boilers, for the purpose of selecting the appropriate brooms and associated equipment to commence his early-morning brush-up, found himself confronted with a totally unexpected and jarring sight—the lifeless form of Yvonne Mellish, Assistant Head Cheerleader—inside. She was propped against the back of that closet and she was leaning over a broom, she almost seemed to be using it, in fact She was completely naked, save for a pretty pair of briefs, on which was pinned the message—SWEEP, HONEY— written in pencil, in large capital letters on a standard sheet of school paper.
52
“Hello, Peggy—" Tiger said to the blond young lovely as she entered his office, right on time. He felt pretty good in fact. He had just finished talking to Surcher and he felt pretty certain it wouldn’t be all that long before his star Right End was back again, none the worse for wear, he hoped. Tiger didn’t know it, of course, but Surcher was about to get another phone call which would make that practically certain.
Pretty Maids AII in a Row 291 “Hi—** said that sweetie of a kid, giving him her sweetest smile.
“How are you this morning?” Tiger asked, with a grin. “O.K.,” she said, so sweetly.