Drowned Hopes

by Allan Cole

  The lock slid easily aside.

  Thank God it wasn’t painted over, which was typical in these low class neighborhoods.

  The intruder pushed at the glass with gloved fingers and the window slid up with the same ease as the lock. He smiled. Pretty good landlady. She’d even kept the window runner lubricated with bar soap.

  With the window open he could hear the music loud and clear: It was Harry Nilsson’s Reggae song, "Put Da Lime In De Coconut."

  The intruder frowned. Was she here, or wasn’t she? Then he heard Ellen’s voice singing along with the music: "She put da lime in da coconut, Drank dem both up.."

  He hesitated. Okay, she was home? But where, exactly? He pushed his head through the window, looking and listening. And he heard, "… She called the doctor woke ‘em up… Doctor… Ain’t there nothing I can take to relieve this belly ache…"

  But he also heard the sound of splashing water over the music. His eyes went to the partly open bathroom door. The splashing seemed to be timed to the beat of the music. He grinned. She was in the tub, singing along to music that was turned up to nine and her window was unlocked… the dumb bitch.

  The intruder slid through the open window, then turned to shut it behind him. He looked around the room and immediately spotted the painting on the easel. He studied it for a time. It was nearly complete and the portrait of Sam was even more brooding and evil than before.

  "Jesus Christ," the intruder said under his breath. Hate to meet that guy in a dark alley.

  Then he moved to the bathroom door and peered through the small gap. Ellen was happily ensconced in her tub, glass of wine in hand, and singing along at the top of her lungs. Soaking and singing her troubles away. An MP3 player hooked up to with two speakers was set up on a chair next to the tub.

  The intruder thought Ellen looked pretty damned good in the tub. Wet flesh gleaming. Boobs bouncing up and down in the water as she moved to the time of the music. Nice long legs, too, he noted. He tried to see more, but there was a washcloth in the way.

  He felt the warm and familiar stir in his britches of what he like to call his "trouser snake." Rising up to strike.

  The intruder’s hand came forward, almost pushing the door open. The urge was almost overwhelming.

  But then he regained control of himself. First things first, by God.

  Business before pleasure.

  He moved away from the door and crept into Ellen’s bedroom. At first, the intruder kept his search quiet and professional. Sliding open drawers, shuffling through the contents, replacing the drawers.

  But the woman’s sexy singing voice started to really get to him, especially when she apparently hit the repeat button on her player and the same song started played: "Doctor! Ain't der nothin’ I can take… To relieve this belly ache… Doctor! You such a silly woman!"

  Getting angry, and also fixating on the memory of those long legs in the tub and the tantalizing washcloth curtain over what he was certain was a mound of curly gold, he started not really giving a shit.

  Damn but he’d love to relieve that friggin’ belly ache.

  He ripped drawers open, dumping them on the floor. Dragged clothes from the closet. Getting hotter and hotter as that song kept going on – the lime in fucking coconut. Shit, he knew what he was gonna put in her damned coconut before this night was through.

  *****

  In the bathroom, Ellen thought she heard noises in the other room. She reached for the volume control, then hesitated. Why draw attention to herself?

  Instead, she got out of the tub, pulled on a robe and went to the wall that adjoined her bedroom. She placed her an ear against the wall. Her eyes widened when she heard the faint sound of something falling on the floor.

  Her heart went off like a trip hammer. So many things – terrible things – raced through her mind that it was difficult to concentrate on what was happening to her here and now. An intruder was in her house.

  Again.

  The last time it was a robbery. But that had only been Danny, whom she’d seen humiliated and basically unmanned by Sam. She didn’t think the guy in the other room was Danny. Maybe it was the rapist from the other night.

  Maybe it was-

  She stopped herself. Calmed herself. This was bad. Really, really bad. How she behaved in the next few minutes might determine everything that happened in the future. If there was a future.

  Now, cut that out, she demanded of herself. Bottom line – she had nails and goddamned teeth and she could kick and hit and do whatever it took to stop whoever he was. This asshole was not going to get Ellen Berman.

  She crept to the door and very slowly and very quietly, closed it and locked it. Then she went to the bathroom window. She opened it, but it was too high to climb out.

  Ellen fetched the wastebasket that sat next to the toilet, upended it, and made it into a stool under the window. She climbed up on the wastebasket, but it was still a long reach, and as she clambered up onto the sill the wastebasket crashed over.

  Immediately, Ellen grabbed for some sort of handhold outside the window, but all her fingertips met was the rough stucco surface of the building. Even so, she dug in, and felt the skin peel off her fingers and she pulled herself out.

  But then she heard the door crash open and she screamed as loud as she could, trying to kick herself through the window.

  Strong hands grabbed her legs and pulled her back inside. She screamed and kicked and flipped over on her belly, trying to crawl out like a kid scrambling back into her hiding place. She screamed again, but then a gloved hand went across her mouth, cutting it off.

  And a strong arm wrapped itself around her waist and she was dragged back into the bathroom, flailing and kicking, but feeling ridiculous and helpless.

  Which instead of discouraging her, made her even madder. She was forced into the bedroom and hurled onto the bed. Legs splaying wide, showing her nakedness, which made her madder still. Ellen used the bounce of the bed to roll over backwards, and never mind the robe going up over her bare ass.

  As she tumbled over, she grabbed up the tableside lamp, raising it like a bludgeon to strike the blurred figure standing across the bed from her.

  But then a familiar voice snapped out: "Hold it right there."

  Even so, she almost didn’t hold it. She almost smashed the son of a bitch in the fucking mouth for what he’d done and what he might do. Get in one good shot and never fucking mind what happened next. At least the asshole would know he’d messed with Ellen Berman.

  But then the guy came into focus and she gasped as she saw who was standing in front of her.

  "Jesus Christ," Sergeant Propp said, "I’m not here to rape anybody."

  Ellen suddenly felt so calm it was almost ethereal. She looked around her destroyed room, then back at Propp – her fear distilled into pure fury.

  "Just what are you here for, Sergeant?" she demanded.

  To her surprise, Propp seemed unaffected. He gave a casual shrug. "Your brother wanted the place checked out," he said. "So I tossed it."

  Ellen’s face showed no reaction. Nothing Harry did surprised her anymore. "Taking a big chance, weren’t you?" she said, emboldened by the sheer effrontery of the whole thing. "No warrant. No cause for one."

  Propp gave another one of his uncaring shrugs. "Oh, if I wanted cause," he said, "I could make one. Just as if I wanted evidence…" He reached into his pocket and pulled out a bag of white powder. "… I could manufacture it."

  He dumped the baggie on the table, completing his demonstration.

  Ellen raised an eyebrow. "Was that your intention?" she asked. "To incriminate me."

  Her attitude was very sophisticated and very cool and the way she primly drew her robe about her and tied it drove Propp nuts with desire to dominate her.

  "Maybe later," he said. "Or maybe I’ll come back when you get this mess cleaned up and we can make some other arrangements…"

  And he gave her his nastiest, you are my bitch, grin. Then he comp
leted the thought: "Private arrangements, if you get my drift."

  Ellen’s temper blew. She hurled the lamp and it smashed into Propp. He staggered back, his hand going to his face.

  "What the fuck?" he cried. "You crazy?"

  He examined his hand. There was blood on it and more blood was dribbling from a wound in his cheek.

  Ellen grabbed another lamp and reared back. Propp jumped away, nearly falling, and pulled his gun.

  "Put it down you dumb bitch," he said. "Before I fucking blow you away."

  Still too angry to really feel fear, Ellen lowered the lamp, but held it ready – like a missile.

  "Okay, I’m leaving now," Propp said. "But I’ll be back. That I guarantee. And you’d better start thinking about what you’ve got that I want, bitch. And you’d better make me want it real bad. Or, I’ll put you in a world of hurt. Hear me? A world of hurt."

  Propp backed out of the room.

  Ellen stared at the empty doorway, listening to heavy footsteps retreating. The sound of the front door opening, then slamming shut.

  She drew in a long shuddering breath – fighting back the mountain that would crush her and turn her into jelly. She swiped at her eyes, angry at the moisture gathering there.

  "This time you don’t break, Ellen," she said.

  *****

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  THE TWO MEN watched with more than mere prurient interest as Harry Berman fucked a woman who was definitely not his wife.

  To make the picture divorce court complete, the men were peering through the window of a fancy yacht named the Freebooter, which was berthed at one of the best slips Paradise Cove had to offer.

  Raucous music played on Harry’s super expensive stereo and while the two men watched, Harry and the girl paused in their love-making to knock back a couple of shooters. Then, to make matters even more felonious, Harry offered the girl a mirror containing several lines of what appeared to be an illicit white powder.

  The girl, who had a body that would make the editors of Penthouse weep, snorted two of them and Harry shorted two of his own. Then dived back into those pulchritudinous charms. Fortunately for Harry, the men watching didn’t have his wife’s interests at heart.

  Sam and Danny looked at each other, much impressed with what they had seen.

  "I like his style, you know?" Sam said to Danny. "We’ve been following him all damned day and he is an honest to friggin’ God, ‘Take No Prisoners’ kind of guy if I’ve ever seen one. We’ve watched him fuck more people – one by one – than the average Joe can do in a lifetime. And now he’s playing around the world with the kind of pussy that makes you know there really is a God."

  He turned to Danny. "Enough messing about," he said. "I’ve made up my mind. Let’s do this deal."

  Danny had no argument. The two men quietly retreated across the dock, then went to the parking lot where they’d left the Mustang.

  Which is when Danny asked, "You got any of that money left we took off the bitch? My old lady’s all over my ass for the rent money, man."

  Sam gave him a look. "No can do," he said. "I paid out another five bills to Ellen today. We’d best keep the rest of her dough for expenses on this gig."

  "Expenses?" Danny wanted to know. "What expenses?"

  Sam was in a good mood and didn’t slap him. He just said, "Don’t push it, Danny boy. I’m stressed out as it is with all I’ve got on my mind."

  Danny wisely didn’t push it.

  *****

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  ELLEN DECIDED THAT it was time to quit screwing around and get the hell out of Dodge.

  She packed one small bag and one large purse and fled to Fort Lauderdale Airport. Next stop, by God Paris.

  Just down from Air France’s main ticket desk, she stopped at a bank of pay phones to complete her arrangements. She fed the prepaid card into the phone’s slot and punched many buttons. She waited, then waited some more.

  The machine burped and a mechanical voice told her to do the whole thing again and so she did. Finally, the damned thing rang with that peculiar ring foreign phones have. Somebody answered. It was a man. Ellen came up straight.

  "Hello, Andre, is that you?" she said. With that question in her voice that everybody has when they are scared spitless and know very well who is on the phone. "It’s me… Ellen," she said. Knowing damned well that Andre knew who the hell belonged to that voice.

  She listened as Andre talked, glancing at her watch and grimacing. "I’m sorry," she said. "I thought it’d be morning there." She laughed nervously. "I mean, like eight o’clock morning, not four o’clock morning," she said.

  Ellen lapsed into silence to do penance and hear more cranky words cross international lines.

  Then she said, "I’m calling because I was thinking of visiting Paris." She glanced at the Air France ticket counter. "You know how artists are, darling," she said. "We get these sudden… you know… whims."

  More listening was required. And more glances at the Air France booth and the clock above it.

  "The thing is, Andre," she said, "the air fare won’t leave much left over for a hotel room. And I thought maybe –" She stopped, cut off by a voluble Andre. She listened patiently, nodding here and there.

  "Yeah, I realize that it’s kind of sudden," she finally said when there was a break. "And believe me there are reasons. For being so sudden, I mean. I’ll tell you all about it when –"

  Andre cut in and Ellen stubbornly bulled through. "Damn it, Andre," she said. "It is important that I get the hell out of here right now. I mean like right this very minute."

  Then she curbed herself in. She didn’t want to beg, for crying out loud. But she was ready too. Damn but she wanted to cry and sob and beg Andre to protect her. No, no, Ellen, she warned herself. You must keep it together at all costs.

  While Ellen talked with her former lover, just down from the phone bank a young man was looking her way. He was a Sam wannabe, a child of opportunity. And from the whole airport crowd he’d picked out Ellen as the one most vulnerable. He couldn’t hear what she was saying on the phone, but he only had to watch her face and look at the single bag at her side and the fat purse over her arm, to know that this was a very vulnerable target indeed.

  Ellen said, "Anyway… I was hoping that since we parted friends – well, we are, aren’t we? Friends, I mean? Anyway, as my friend I was hoping that maybe you could put me up for a little while. No strings attached. You’d just be helping out an old… you know… friend."

  The young opportunist moved closer to Ellen, picking up phones as he went along, pretending to punch buttons and make calls. Now he was close enough to hear the anxiety in her voice. He looked at the baggage, then the purse, then Ellen.

  A small mental voice told him to wait. He picked up a phone and pretended to talk into it, while he listened in to Ellen’s conversation.

  "Oh, I see," Ellen was saying, her voice strained. "You don’t think your fiancé would understand."

  She bit her lip, thinking that was certainly a quick romance. The guy had leaped directly from her bed into pledges of matrimony with another woman. This was not good for a girl’s ego.

  She gritted her teeth. She was not to be fucked with, was her new mantra.

  "Okay, Andre," she said as pleasantly and carefree as she could. "No hard feelings. Have a nice life."

  She hung up the phone.

  Ellen took several very deep breaths, getting her head screwed on straight again. Never mind Andre. Concentrate on here and now. She fed the prepaid into the slot again and punched out a number. Waited for the pickup and then:

  "Ruth? This is Ellen. Is Sam there?" She listened, her face registering disappointment. "That’s okay," she finally said[. "I just wanted his advice about something."

  Then she added, to ease the green monster of jealousy – "A police matter kind of something, Ruth. I don’t want to screw up like I did before."

  Ruth had some things to say, but from the young thug’s
point of view they were inconsequential.

  The phrase "police matter" had gotten his attention, but after glancing around the immediate vicinity it was apparent that cops were not of imminent concern.

  Ellen said, "No, there’s no message, Ruth. Too late for that now. Sorry to bother you… Night."

  She hung up. Ellen stood there for a few moments, eyes shut, thinking.

  The young opportunist watched her, getting more and more certain that this was his target.

  Her eyes came open and he quickly turned his head away. His former mentor, an older boy he’d been forced to pleasure in Juvie had told him to never look directly at a mark. That they could sense you.

  Not noticing the young thug a few booths down, Ellen looked around the airport at all the international signs. She bit her lip in frustration – she could be anywhere in the world in a matter of hours. Away from Sgt. Propp. Away from her brother. And, yes, away from her mother too.

  She opened her big purse and checked inside. Pulled out a manila envelope like the one Danny’s money came in. Reached inside and pulled out a thin bundle of bills.

  Shook her head. Way short, Ellen.

  She shoved the money back inside.

  Ellen laughed at herself and said, "So much for a life as an international fugitive."

  Decision made – a thousand other previous decisions tossed aside – Ellen picked up her suitcase and headed for the exit.

  The young opportunist fell in place behind her, visions of envelopes full of money dancing in his head.

  *****

  Outside, Ellen was confronted with several lanes of traffic and scores of confusing signs. She spotted what she thought was a sign directing her to the cab stand and tottered over to it on high heels.

  The heels made her supremely angry at herself. Why hadn’t she put on some regular traveling flats, for crying out loud? The only thing she could think of for an excuse was some sort of subconscious bullshit involving threatening men like Sergeant Bill Propp.

  Did she want to be eye level with danger, was that it? Jesus, Ellen. Get a grip. She tottered onward, leaning forward with a definite don’t screw with me attitude.