Of course, there were still questions he had no way of knowing the answers to, yet; questions like: how much had she changed since Tony'd been sent to prison? Did she still love him? What was she doing; how was she getting along? Could she really be trusted… and was he going to have to rape her, or would she fuck willingly? Because he damned sure intended to have her, one way or the other.
He'd formed a few ideas of his own and based them on the fact that her letters to her husband had fallen off to one every two or three weeks, and dropped from six and seven pages to one… it all added up to one thing, little Madeleine had had it with her Tony. New things were in the wind for her, which might well play right into his hand. Besides, he still had his main ace-in-the-hole… her kid, and this was what he was counting on to swing things his way.
Shannon's mind churned busily as he hailed a cab, gave the address he had copied from one of her letters to Tony, and leaned back to contemplate his financial situation briefly. It wasn't what he could call sound; he had fifty-three dollars to his name and he was going to need a little bundle to set the wheels in motion. Someway, somewhere, somehow, he had to garner a sizeable stake, and for some reason he was convinced that Madeleine Poirier was also going to be his answer in this department.
The cabbie swung around the corner onto a narrow side street and slowed to study the housenumbers. Shannon noted the semi-shabbiness of the section with its near-ugly three and four storied red-brick buildings and their long ascending porch-steps. Momentarily, he speculated that Tony's little wife might not be making it too well and this didn't please him.
The Frenchman pointed out the right entrance and Shannon hopped out, paying but ignoring the tip.
"Merci, M'sieu'," the driver stressed sarcastically tossing his fare a disgusted side glance, as he pulled away from the curb with a squeal of rubber.
Shannon spat after him and cursed under his breath. Lousy frog. He climbed the steps irritably, hardly prepared to walk into the building superintendent. He had just entered the dingy, musty-smelling vestibule when the other appeared out of nowhere before him, a thin, narrow-shouldered, elderly Englishman with a fat little belly and a pinched face. His hair had long left him and his eyes bore a strange cloudiness about them that reminded Shannon of a junkie he had known a long time before in Syracuse. The little man looked at Shannon's six-feet from head to toe, appraising the close cropped, almost white hair, the hard blue eyes and straight lipped mouth in a manner that indicated he didn't like what he saw.
"Well?" he said with a near cockney accent.
"Madeleine Poirier? She live here?"
"Maybe. Who're you?"
"Which apartment?" asked Shannon, ignoring the question.
"She ain't in. Saw her leave a couple of hours ago," the little man told him snidely, working his milky-eyes up and down Shannon's face once more. "Who're you, anyway?"
"Her brother."
His pinched face twisted into a contemptuous grin. "Now I've got yuh, wise guy. You don't look like her; you don't look French either. So, let's try a better one, eh…"
Shannon lost patience. He caught him by his long necktie, winding it around his big hand until his fist was shutting off the breath in the other's windpipe. "Which apartment, Pop?" he hissed without moving his lips.
The Englishman attempted to swallow. It seemed difficult. "You… you better not try any rough stuff here, mister," he gasped, the haze temporarily clearing from his eyes. "This is a respectable house, see… No rough stuff… I… I don't know anything about her… I ain't sure she lives here… okay…?"
Shannon let go of him and stepped back. He sighed and brought bills from his pocket, peeling off one of the precious tens and extending it to him.
"W-Well… well," the little man stammered, simultaneously massaging his throat while his eyes darted from the money up to Shannon's face. "W-Why didn't you say you were her brother?" He made a more acceptable grin and grabbed at the money, shoving it deep into his shirt pocket. "Follow me… I'll let you in to wait for her, eh? She ought to be 'long any time. Been gone quite awhile now." He winked and spun around.
"Thanks," said Shannon drily, falling in behind him to climb the stairs.
"Yeah…" he repeated as he led the way to the third floor, "… should've told me that in the first place, mister…"
CHAPTER THREE
Madeleine doubted that she would ever get over her timorousness at a first appointment with a new patron. Perhaps in time, when, and if, one became seasoned, a certain callousing metamorphosis took place, but so far in her short career she'd noted no such mutation. In fact, at the moment, standing in the luxurious living-room of Julian Forrest's elegant suite before the appraising, lecherous eyes of the handsome Inspector, she sensed a tiny shiver begin at the calves of her legs to creep up over the satin-smooth flesh of her body and along her spine in an emotional blend of trepidation and sensual anticipation. The latter somatic reaction surprised her, but she couldn't seem to help herself; his imposing masculinity just seemed to set her off in a carnal manner she could never recall experiencing before.
"Ah, my pet, you're very punctual," he said, smiling and moving toward her with the suave charm and dash of a cavalier, "and even more lovely than I remember… if that's possible."
"You're too flattering, Inspector," she replied as he took her soft, long-fingered hand inside his large, strong one, while the other moved tantalizingly along the warm, smooth skin of her arm almost to her shoulder, his fingertips brushing beneath to tease at the velvety, erogenous flesh at the pit of her underarm. The erotic sensation took her completely by surprise and she made a little unintentional gasping sound.
Her reaction pleased as well as excited him and he drew her closer, slipping his arms around her slender waist. Madeleine looked up at him, her dark eyes unable to conceal her own arousal. He held her gently but firmly, until she felt her full, erect breasts flattening against his chest and then his hands were moving downward to encompass the round full orbs of her buttocks possessively.
"Let's dispense with the formalities, cherie," he whispered in English, his strong hands teasing and massaging the smoothness of her buttocks, ever drawing her closer into the solid strength of his loins.
Once more, his overwhelming charm completely captivated her, raising another little gasp in her throat. Ohhhh… for certain, she was going to enjoy this… He lowered his head slowly, completely engulfing her soft, wet mouth with his own lips, his tongue sliding between her lips and against her teeth, sending an ungovernable tremor rippling over her. He held her almost crushingly, his large hands hot and moving as they pressed into the spheres of her buttocks, forcing her pelvis tighter to him, his height placing the still unhardened bulge of his penis snug against the softness of her belly.
An unexplainable, little sense of injured pride at his lack of immediate penial response to the physical contact of her body caused Madeleine to begin a barely perceptible undulation of her belly and pelvis as she opened her mouth to the exploration of his tongue… and then he was slowly drawing her down onto the davenport, one massive hand moving to cup her full, round breast, squeezing and kneading it gently.
"Ohhh… ohhh," she moaned purposely, but not wholly with pretense. "Y-You're not a lover who believes in wasting time, cheri." She squirmed suggestively beneath his hands.