Rape Machine

by Randi Masters

  You'll have to see this!" It had seemed that half the people in the bar were crowding into the rear room and there, with the company of a dozen other men and two or three women, he had watched one of the most amazing spectacles he'd ever seen: the young Go-Go girl crouched on her hands and knees; a man beneath her thrust his cock up into her cunt, while another knelt before her and shoved his erect cock into her mouth, and a third man behind her thrust his cock into her anus. At first, watching the lustful rhythms of the men as all three of them mounted toward a completion, he had thought the girl had somehow been forced into this group sexual act but then, seeing the gleam in her eyes and seeing the shudderings of her soft flesh when she reached a climax as the three men almost simultaneously reached a climax, he'd realized with a shock that the girl enjoyed the group act and would have probably enjoyed it less without the audience!

  "Clark!"

  "Hello, Elaine."

  "How long have you been standing there?"

  He shrugged his shoulders.

  "You should have said something!"

  "You were busy."

  She rolled her chair away from her desk, turned the chair toward him. Her knees were slightly apart and he remembered the trick she'd had of teasing him by giving him a view of her thighs. Now he could see only her nyloned knees but he was still getting a hard-on, his cock straining his shorts, dribbling.

  She rose from the chair, came closer. "Is this your first day back at work?"

  "No."

  "When are you coming back?"

  "I don't know. I talked with Maclary about it. I wanted to extend my leave of absence but he didn't want to extend it. He gave me a free lunch instead." He pretended to burp.

  She was standing very close now. He could smell her perfume and look down into the depths of her eyes. He studied the mounds of her tits beneath her blouse and wanted to touch them. He glanced down at the width of her hips, the middle valley that was only hinted at by the tightness of her skirt, and he wanted to slide his fingers into her juicy cunt, feel the tender bud of clit ...

  She frowned. "I don't understand ... If Mr. Maclary won't extend your leave of absence ... and you say you're not coming back to work?"

  "I'm taking my four weeks' vacation," he explained. "I offered it as a solution and Maclary accepted. After my vacation, we'll talk about it again and make a decision."

  She folded her arms beneath her breasts. It was as if she had completely forgotten their intimacy when she'd been his secretary; as if he'd never touched her ...

  "Don't you think it would be better if you came back to work again?"

  "I couldn't work. I won't be able to work until that man is caught."

  "Oh."

  She was frowning again. She shifted her stance, moving her long legs more apart.

  "Have time for a cup of coffee?"

  "Oh. I'm sorry, Clark. I have a gigantic report to type. It has to be done before ó"

  "Some other day?"

  "Yes. Yes. Some other day, Clark."

  He took a backward step.

  "It was nice seeing you again, Clark."

  "Nice seeing you again, Elaine. Don't work too hard."

  "When you come back ó" She hesitated, bit her lower lip, and glanced nervously at the two other girls in the office. "When you come back, will you ask for me to be your secretary again?"

  "I sure will."

  She smiled. "Good-bye, Clark."

  "See you later."

  * * *

  He went through Rodney Park on his way to his car. He thought, Bitch! "Will you ask for me to be your secretary again?" Bitch! If he asked for her to be his secretary again, it would be the same as it had been before. Her letting him play with her. Her playing with him. Nothing more than that. Never anything more than that. She'd always carry that excitement home to her husband and expend it on her bed with him. A good, loyal wife ... Bitch!

  Standing there before her in that office and looking at her beautiful body with all the erotic memories, his cock had gotten harder and harder, and he had wanted to fuck her more than anything else in the world. It had been impossible. It would always be impossible ...

  He stuffed his hands in his pockets and felt the .22, which reminded Clark that he wanted to talk with the policeman named Weinman and see if he could help in the case.

  When he reached his car and was about to place the key in the lock, he paused. It burst upon him. That nagging weight of guilt ó that nagging urge to help capture and to kill the rapist. The truth he'd never faced fully ó the truth he'd always managed to keep shoved aside until now. It was his fault Alma had died. Because he had sometimes gone home to have lunch with her. That particular day he had not gone home to have lunch with her ó not been there with her to protect her ... Not been there with her because he had been with Elaine!

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  In a booth at Keenan's Cafe, after they both had the first drink and waiting for the second, Clark began, "I want you to keep me informed about the case.

  I want to know everything as it happens, all the steps you take to find the man who raped my wife."

  Weinman's dark eyes narrowed for an instant. "All right. I understand how you feel. I'll keep you informed."

  "I'm going to sell my house, Mr. Weinman. The equity that I have in the house plus some cash I have will amount to more than twenty-four thousand dollars. If you locate the man who raped my wife during the next month, I'll give you the entire twenty-four thousand. If it's the month after that, I'll give you twenty-two thousand. The month after that, twenty thousand. The month afteró"

  "I get it. An incentive to locate him as soon as possible. A two thousand dollar decrease for each month's delay."

  "That's right, Mr. Weinman."

  "Sid."

  "Are you interested, Sid?"

  "You're goddamned right I'm interested. If it took me a year to find the man, I'd still like the two thousand bonus. But ... I don't follow you. Why offer me money? I'm assigned to the case. I have to work on it The taxpayers are paying my salary."

  "I want you to work on it harder than you've ever worked on any case in your life." Their second drinks arrived. Clark lifted his and sipped it. It was tasteless as everything had been tasteless since Alma died. He watched as Sid rubbed the palm of a hand across his face and shook his head slowly.

  "Mr. Vaughn, you don't have to pay me a cent extra."

  "I want to."

  "No, what I'm saying is it'd be a waste of your money."

  "You mean you won't take the money?"

  He was surprised when the policeman laughed. "No. I'm not saying I won't take it. I'll take any money that's handed to me if it's a legitimate gift with no strings attached or if it's money I've earned. What I'm saying is you can't pay me to work harder on the case than I would ordinarily."

  "I don't believe that."

  Sid Weinman shrugged. "I said I'll take your money. I'm just telling you it isn't necessary to pay me extra."

  "You don't want ... ?"

  "Oh, hell, yes, I want money. Listen, I'm trying to be honest with you. I understand how you feel about your wife's death. I think I understand how much you want him captured and prosecuted. Look ... maybe I can explain it this way ... I do my best on every case."

  "I find that hard to believe."

  "Believe it or don't believe it, I'm telling you the truth. Look ... I'll give you an example. Last winter we had a screwy missing persons case where a boy said his girl friend was missing. He thought she'd been kidnapped or murdered. Digging into the case I found out she was a good-looking girl, and I mean really good-looking, the kind of sharp blonde who gives you a hard-on just looking at her. I figured she ... well, she'd been shacking up with the boy and they'd run out of money, so I figured she'd started working on one of the call girl circuits or in a whore house and was just keeping out of sight.

  "In other words, I figured she'd skipped on the boy. It seemed obvious.
That boy didn't have a penny, but I worked as hard on that case as I worked on the case where ó the Farley girl. You must've read about the Farley girl in the papers. Her father had a hell of a lot more money than you do and before he began thinking she was dead, when he thought she was kidnapped and being held somewhere, he came to me ó because I'd been assigned to the case ó and started talking about paying me to work on the case in my spare time in addition to my regular time. I shut him up quick. I didn't want his money. I worked on both those cases equally hard. For the boy who didn't have a penny and for Farley who would've offered me thousands if I hadn't shut him up before he got around to specific amounts."

  "All right ... I'll make the offer differently. The same amounts ... if you let me talk to the man before he's sent to prison."

  Sid Weinman finished his drink. He lit a cigarette and said slowly, "If I find a suspect and I'm even personally positive he's guilty of raping your wife, I couldn't leave you alone with him, I couldn't let you 'talk' with him and blow his brains out when you're finished talking with him ... I couldn't do it. You can't take the law into your own hands. Maybe it sounds corny, but it's right. The question of guilt has to be decided by a jury.

  The matter of punishment has to be decided by an authorized judge."

  "I didn't say I wanted to kill him."

  "I think you've implied it."

  Clark finished his drink and wondered how he could twist the policeman to his way of thinking. He said, "Are you afraid of the consequences if you accept the money?"

  "I always consider the consequences. I've had chances of making some extra money in this town. Keeping my nose so clean has cost me a lot of promotions. I could give you some examples of good policemen who've been thrown off the force for various trumped up reasons because they wouldn't play ball. Think about it. If you have a town with a majority of sticky-fingered politicians playing footsie with a syndicate making more money each year than I.B.M. does ... and a group of good cops who do their job but still aren't adverse to some extra cash for only looking in the right direction ... Toss in a party like that an honest cop, the kind you see on television or in the movies, a cop that can't be bought ... Can you imagine the mess? He causes trouble every time he turns around ... trouble for the other cops, trouble for the politicians, trouble for the syndicate.

  So ... I always consider the consequences. I never take any money. They know I'm that way. It's taken me a hell of a long time to show them how I am. So ... I get assigned all the safe cases. Missing persons. The guy who goes berserk and kills his wife. The punk who robs the liquor store. The rape cases and the muggings. They never assign me to the big larceny cases, the illegal alcohol cases or prostitution cases or certain murder cases. If I took your money or someone else's money, I'd be giving them a hold on me.

  Sooner or later they'd find out and sooner or later they'd be buying me one way or another. I don't want money. I can't single-handedly reform this town. I just want to be a cop."

  Clark tried to digest what the other man had said. He had never thought of the syndicate very often in the past and it had always seemed a myth perpetuated by some individuals for reasons he could never fathom. "I can't work," Clark said. "It'll be impossible for me to work until the man is caught. I won't be able to think about anything else until he's caught. I've been on a leave of absence. I wanted to extend my leave of absence but the company where I work balked on it, so I'm taking my accumulated weeks of vacation. I want to do more than just sit around and wait for the man to be captured. Is there any way I can help with the investigation ... any way ... anything?"

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  "Clark? Can I talk to you?"

  He had been cutting the grass, the electric mower humming softly. He had noticed a car moving down the street but had paid no attention to it.

  It was Beatrice. He turned off the mower, walked slowly to the sidewalk. She had parked directly in front of his house and when he neared the car, he saw the bags of groceries on the rear seat. He stopped when he reached the center of the sidewalk, remaining several feet from her car. "We shouldn't talk to each other. Someone might tell Paul. Any of the neighbors might tell Paul and he'll think I was trying to make you again."

  "Clark, I ..."

  "Did you tell him we had already made love?"

  "Clark ... "

  "I was stupid. We didn't have the time. Sorry about that. But we might have gotten away with it if you hadn't ó"

  "Clark, I couldn't help it. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

  "I'm sorry too. But all's well that ends well, isn't it?"

  "Clark ... I don't know what to say. I'm so sorry ... I wish there was some way I could ó"

  "Some way you could make amends. I'll tell you how. Paul's working now, isn't he? So ... come on, let me fuck you and that'll make amends."

  Her face reddened. "I wanted to explain ... When you came to the house that night ... after I called you about the fuses ... I didn't plan for it to happen, Clark. And I know you didn't plan it. It seemed to be something ...

  "

  "It was something, all right!"

  She closed her eyes, breathed deeply. He wondered if he could make her angry. He wasn't having much luck so far. She continued, "It seemed to be something that neither of us could stop. A lot of things all working together as if fate wanted us to be together ... just that one time. I wanted to tell you that night, Clark, afterwards ... " Her voice had lowered almost to a whisper. "It was something that shouldn't have happened. It shouldn't have happened but it did."

  He stepped closer to her car. "I want it to happen again, Beatrice."

  "No. Don't you see? It was different then. I knew you were having trouble with Alma. She told me about it. And I knew Alma was away for the weekend. I knew you must be lonely. I was lonely because Paul had ó" She stopped as he reached the side of her car, leaned down, their faces inches apart.

  "It can happen again, Beatrice. It can be as good as that first time. I know it can."

  Her face twisted suddenly. Tears spilled from her eyes but she made no sound of crying. "It can't happen again. Don't you understand? Alma is dead!"

  He had leaned against the car. He felt it moving beneath his hands and stepped backward. He watched as the car moved the short distance to the neighboring driveway, turned into it, and parked beside the house. Beatrice hurried into the house.

  He went to the mower. He turned it on and listened to the electric hum, then turned it off. He went into the house to the bottle and somewhere near the last drops of whiskey he found what he wanted: Nothing. A Nothing that obliterated the knowledge Beatrice must have planned the blown fuse incident that first brought them together ó she must have wanted him and planned the way to get him despite her denial. A nothing that obliterated the knowledge she no longer wanted him as a lover ó because Alma was dead ó because there was something in her that kept her from wanting a dead woman's man. A nothing that obliterated the knowledge he still wanted Beatrice ...

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  "What's wrong, honey?"

  Sid Weinman turned toward the shadowy form of his wife. "Nothing."

  "It's something. You've been tossing and turning all night. And keeping me awake." She turned on the light above the bed without warning.

  He blinked rapidly. "I'll sleep on the couch," he offered.

  "You will not. We'll sit here and smoke a cigarette and talk about what's bothering you. We'll either sit here all night talking about it or we'll figure out whatever it is that's bothering you. Get the cigarettes."

  He went to the bureau and returned with the pack of cigarettes, matches, ashtray. She folded his pillow and placed it against the headboard so he could sit there comfortably. After he lit their cigarettes, she said, "What is it?"

  "The Vaughn case."

  "You haven't found the man yet?"

  "No. And there's a lot of things about the case that are hard to understand."

  "But you've
had cases harder than the Vaughn case."

  "I know." He inhaled deeply on the cigarette. "It's more than the case. It's Vaughn himself."

  "You told me he wanted to pay you for working on the case, but you didn't tell me what answer you gave him. What did you tell him?"