“He doesn’t sound like he’s much of a help.”
“I don’t know what I’d do without him.”
“You’d have forty more dollars a week to spend.”
“Fifty. He’s gone up.”
“What a rip-off artist.”
“He’s not a rip-off artist.”
“What’s your prospective bridegroom’s name?”
“Donald.”
“Are you in love with him?”
“I think so.”
“If you think so, what are you doing here?”
She looked perturbed. “Because I love you too.”
He smiled. “Oh come on. You don’t love me.”
“Yes I do,” she insisted.
“How could anybody possibly love me? I’m so nasty.”
“That’s true, but you’re a sexy man. At least I think so.”
“You’re about the only one.”
“Who else thinks you’re sexy?” she asked.
“How should I know?”
“Other girls don’t tell you?”
“What other girls?”
“The other girls you’re with when you’re not with me.”
“I’m not with any other girls when I’m not with you. I’m either at work or I’m here alone sleeping.”
She pouted. “I don’t believe you.”
“How can you love me when you think I’m a liar?”
“Sometimes I wonder myself.”
“But it’s all right for you to sleep with other men,” he said, leaning toward her.
“What do you mean?”
“Donald and God knows who else?”
She raised her eyebrows. “Why can’t I have other boyfriends? We’re not married.”
“Then why can’t I have other girlfriends?”
She pointed her finger at him. “I knew you had other girlfriends.”
“I don’t, but you have no right to be jealous.”
“I do too.”
“Why?”
“Because.”
He shook his head. “I don’t understand this conversation.”
She placed her hand on his. “Let’s get married, Danny.”
“I thought you were going to marry Donald.”
“I won’t marry him if you marry me.”
“I thought women didn’t want to get married anymore.”
“We don’t.”
“Then why do you want to marry me?”
“Because I want to, but we can live together if you like. I just don’t want to be alone anymore, Danny. I’m tired of going on dates. I want to have just one man.”
“I’ll think about it,” he said.
“You will?”
“Yes.”
She smiled. “You really will?”
“I told you I will. I’m getting tired of going out on dates too.”
She frowned. “Who are you going out on dates with?”
“I’m not going out on dates with anybody.”
“Then why did you say you were?”
“It’s just a way of saying that I’m getting tired of screwing around.”
“Who are you screwing around with?”
“Nobody. I’m talking about the concept of being single.”
“Oh.”
He looked at his watch. “You know, I really ought to go to work.”
“But Danny,” she protested, “I hardly ever see you. Just a few more minutes.”
“Okay.”
“I thought we were going to go to bed together,” she said unhappily. “We haven’t been to bed together for weeks.”
“Okay, let’s go now.” He stood up.
She looked at him. “Just like that?”
“What am I supposed to do—stand on my head?”
“You could be a little romantic.”
“I’ll be romantic in the bedroom.”
She got up and they went into the bedroom. He took off his bathrobe and hung it over the bedpost, while she unbuttoned her dress. She pulled it over her head and then bent over and rolled down her pantyhose. He looked at her, so lithe and graceful, such a lovely body, so utterly desirable. Moving toward her, he clasped her tightly against him, kissing her neck. He felt her hands on his back as she strained against him. Their lips fastened together and tongues intertwined. He was getting very excited. Picking her up, he laid her down on the bed, pulling down her underpants, which was all she was wearing now. He touched his hand to her fluff, and she sucked in air through her teeth, wrapping her fingers around his dong, squeezing it. They kissed again and he caressed her groove, making it hot and moist. His blood was boiling and his ears pounded with lust. He laid on top of her, got into position, and slid it in.
“Ooohhhhhh,” she whispered as it filled her up.
Suddenly he froze. “Did you put your diaphragm in?” he asked.
“I put it in before I came over,” she said,
“Good girl,” he replied, beginning to work her.
Chapter Thirteen
It was two o’clock in the morning and Rackman lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Francie was cuddled up next to him, fast asleep, and he wondered what to do with her. He didn’t think he was in love with her, but he liked her an awful lot. He certainly enjoyed screwing her once in a while, but after it was over he always felt disgusted with sex and wished he was alone. It wasn’t just Francie—he was like this with other women too. He lusted after them like a horny old billy goat, and then after he had them he was overcome with revulsion.
He’d been wondering about this for a long time, and had come to the conclusion that he wouldn’t feel such revulsion if he liked the women more as people and less as his little sex bunnies. If he could admire and respect them he thought he wouldn’t be so prone to disgust and loathing after lovemaking, but Francie could be an awful pain in the ass, and so had most women he’d ever been mixed up with. He needed a woman he could love more completely, but where was she? That airline stewardess who’d been his second wife was the absolute worst. She was screwing other guys after they’d been married only three months.
The phone rang. He rolled over and picked up the receiver. “Hello.”
“I hope I’m not disturbing anything,” said Inspector Jenkins on the other end. His voice sounded sleepy.
“You’re not disturbing anything. What’s going on?”
Francie had awakened and was trying to bring her ear closer to the receiver. Rackman made room for her so she could listen and know it wasn’t another girl.
“It’s the Slasher again,” Jenkins said. “He killed a girl on West Ninety-fifth Street. Can you meet me at the morgue?”
“Sure thing.”
“You’d better shave if you haven’t recently. The Commissioner will be there and the mayor might even try to get into the act.”
“Is she another massage parlor girl?”
“I don’t know yet. I’m home and I just got the call. I’m assuming that the detectives on the scene will determine that by the time we get downtown.”
Rackman hung up the phone and rolled out of bed, groaning.
“Where are you going?” Francie asked.
“To the morgue.”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
He lumbered to the bathroom to get cleaned up, and she followed him, tiptoeing naked over the floor.
“What happened?” she asked, her arms crossed over her breasts.
He began brushing his teeth. “The Slasher killed another girl.”
“My goodness!” She watched him for a few moments. “How come you have to go to the morgue?”
“Because I’m working on the case,” he said through the suds.
“You mean they can’t get along without you?”
“They can get along fine without me, but I ought to be there because I’m working on the case.” He rinsed out his mouth. “In fact, I blew the case wide open yesterday.”
“How’d you do that?”
“I found out who the Slasher is.”