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Subject: {ASSM} The Innocent Fugitives Ch15 {Varkel} (MF mbg oral violent)
Date: Tue, 20 Feb 2001 08:10:05 -0500
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The Innocent Fugitives
a Novel by Varkel
Copyright (C) 2001, Varkel



Chapter 15:  Settling In

After three days of failure Arnie and Peter managed to be first 
into the library as the previous class was leaving.  Finding it 
empty, they immediately occupied the desk in the back corner.  
Bobbie entered with Louise and to the grave displeasure of both 
boys sat with her at another desk ten feet away.

"What the hell?" demanded Peter in a fierce whisper.  Arnie shook 
his head, staring forlornly at the girl's back.

The librarian directed loudly, "Line up at the main desk and sign 
for your reference material."

"Wait here!" Peter commanded, jumping up.  With apparent 
indifference he inserted himself into the forming queue just 
behind his object, who looked back over her shoulder and gave him 
a wink before turning to her companion.

Peter leaned close and heard her say, "Louise, I just remembered.  
Arnie's got the book with the quote I need tomorrow.  I'm gonna 
go sweet-talk him into letting me see it before he turns it in.  
Do you mind?"

Louise protested, "But you were gonna help me with the Civil 
War!"

"That's Sherrie's subject, too.  Why don't you ask her this 
time?"

Louise was reluctant but Bobbie was adamant.  When Peter returned 
to the far desk, Bobbie trailed just behind him.

Arnie's face lit.  "You didn't forget!"

"I almost did," Bobbie groused, "it took you so long to get this 
desk again."  She took the middle seat.

"We couldn't help it," Peter defended.

"Don't start anything till I get back," Arnie cried, rushing off 
for his own book.

The noise level was abating.  Opening her book but tilting her 
head close to Peter's, the girl demanded, "Who've you told?"

"Told?"

"About the last time."

"Nobody.  I swear."

"Are you sure?"

He shook his head earnestly.  "Of course I'm sure!  We didn't 
even tell Jerry."

"Jerry?  Oh, the other one that was under the stairs."  She 
smiled smugly.  "I knew you didn't tell."

"You did?"

"Louise would've told me.  I asked her what everyone was saying 
about me."

"Even if we _did_ tell, we wouldn't tell the girls!"

"Somebody would," she retorted positively as Arnie flopped into 
his own seat.  He was giggling under his breath.

"What's funny?" asked Bobbie.

"The old bat.  She wanted to know if Peter and I were doing as 
much for you as you were doing for us."

"Just about," said Peter, grinning, "except the old bat made her 
quit before I could come."

Bobbie declared, "We'll do something better today."

Peter's hand snaked up her skirt.  He grinned and winked at 
Arnie.  "Left 'em off again!"

Arnie moved closer.  His hand joined Peter's.  "You're not as 
wet," he observed.

"I will be," she assured him.  "Go ask the old bat if you can 
borrow the big atlas before your dick gets too hard."

"The atlas?  What do I want with that?"

"Tell her you want to look up some distances.  Tell her you like 
the colors of the countries.  Don't tell her what you want is to 
hide behind it."

"Huh?  Oh."  He withdrew his two fingers, got to his feet and 
sauntered toward the main desk.

"Don't lean over so far," Bobbie warned in a hiss.  "The old bat 
might guess what you're doing."

"I bet I can get my thumb in, too."

With a snap she opened Peter's book for him.  "Look at that 
instead of me, will you?"

The boy raised up a little, turning his face away from her.  He 
took a long breath.  "I still want to fuck you."

"We can't do that here, but I'll show you what we can do."

"What?"

"You'll see.  We gotta wait till they start going to the stacks."

"To the stacks?"

"So nobody will be surprised at an empty seat."

"You're really gonna get under the desk?"

She grinned confidently at him.  "And so will Arnie."

"Arnie will what?" asked Arnie, dropping the heavy atlas onto the 
desktop with a resounding thud.  The librarian glanced up, 
frowning.  Bobbie laid the book open quickly, pointing to a 
random map.  "Lean close!" she hissed to Peter as Arnie took his 
seat.  All three youths seemed to study the book assiduously for 
several seconds.  Arnie paged through it until it displayed the 
eastern United States.  When the librarian had turned her 
attention elsewhere, Bobbie stood the heavy book up on its angled 
front and back, locating it in the line of sight between herself 
and the distant main desk.

She shrank down behind it and grinned at her companions.  "Now 
let's study a minute or two.  They'll start going to the stacks 
pretty soon."

"I know what I want to study," Arnie declared, hand slipping 
under her skirt to join his friend's.

"Okay, but keep your eyes on the book.  Undo your zipper and pull 
it out so I can study, too."

She sat up a little straighter, looking past the atlas as her 
hand took possession of Arnie's stiff boyhood.  Several students 
were on their feet, moving quietly between desks and the 
bookshelves.  Their teacher and the librarian were engaged in a 
low-voiced conference.

"Peter," she whispered earnestly, "you be the lookout for this 
one.  Hit my shoulder if anybody starts toward us."

"Hit your --"

But her meaning was immediately obvious.  Pushing back her chair 
slightly, she dropped to her knees and crawled under the desk, 
spinning around between Arnie's legs.

Arnie gasped and twitched.  "What the hell are you doing?" he 
whispered fiercely.

Peter craned his neck to one side, glancing back and forth 
between the main desk with its two adults and the drama at his 
feet.  He chuckled.  "Looks like she's sucking you off."

"She -- she --" Arnie stuttered, unable to complete the thought.  
Eyes wide as saucers, his face turned bright red.

"Christ!" muttered Peter.  He slid the heavy atlas sideways to 
block the view of Arnie.  It nearly fell over but he caught and 
steadied it.  The librarian favored them with a cursory glance.  
He leaned toward Arnie with his finger pointing into the book, 
moving his lips as if discussing a subject.  When he glanced up 
again, the librarian had looked away.

"Oh, god, oh, god!" declaimed Arnie.

"Keep it down!" Peter warned.

Arnie stiffened.  His hands trembled on the edge of the desk.  He 
shivered violently, stifling a groan.  In a moment he leaned back 
in his chair, panting as if he had run a short race.

The girl's head appeared.  She hissed at Peter, "Did I get 
anything on my face?" 

"N-no.  Good god!  Am I next?"

"I'm next," Bobbie retorted, eeling herself out from under the 
desk and backing into her chair.  She hitched it closer to the 
desk.

"_You're_ next!" said Peter incredulously.

"Ya.  Me.  Arnie's gonna eat me out, aren't'cha, sweetie?"

The flush had faded and the lad in question had recovered his 
senses.  Almost.  "Wh-what?"

The girl's tune changed.  "Wait a minute.  Glamour Puss is 
looking us over.  Duck down behind the atlas...  Okay.  I'm gonna 
pull it in front of me, now, so look like you've learned 
something."

"God, have I learned something!" Arnie declared.

"What did you do with his come?" demanded Peter.

She sniffed.  "What do you think?  Uh-oh!  Here comes Glamour 
Puss.  Better tuck it in."

The teacher hovered over them.  "What is so fascinating about the 
atlas, Arnie?  All three of you are supposed to be reporting on 
the Civil War."

To the surprised relief of his companions, Arnie fielded the 
question well.  He laid the atlas flat.  "I'm supposed to report 
on the Mississippi campaign.  I was trying to figure out why it 
was worth studying when all the important fighting was on the 
other side of the mountains."

She said archly, "Then I'll expect to see an answer to that 
question in your report."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Be careful how you handle it.  That's a valuable book."

"Oh, yes, ma'am."

She turned away to another desk that might also need prompting.

Peter leered at Arnie.  "And just what'll you put in your 
report?"

"I'll think of something.  Bobbie, did you say you wanted me to 
... to ..."

"Lick me till I come."  She grinned at him.  "You owe me."

"I ..."

She raised the atlas before her and slid down slightly in her 
chair.  "Go on!"  She tilted her head toward the well of the 
desk.

He rolled his eyes around at Peter, who was staring in 
fascination.

The girl wheedled, "Do it!  I'll put my finger just above where 
you're supposed to lick.  There!  They've both turned their 
backs."

Pushing his own chair further away, Arnie lowered himself under 
the desk and slipped between the girl's wide-spread legs.  Peter 
rested his chin on her shoulder, staring down as the lower half 
of his friend's face disappeared below the hairless bulge of her 
pubic mound.  Arnie stared back at him, tongue visibly rippling 
the flesh above his point of contact, despite the finger lying 
above it.

The girl shook Peter off impatiently, murmuring, "Damn it, we're 
studying the atlas, remember?"

Peter raised up guiltily, but no one seemed interested in their 
little corner.  The dim show below him was not very active, 
though it stimulated his imagination.  He brought his own stiff 
penis back out and worked the foreskin, while holding the other 
hand, whose fingers had recently departed a vagina, under his 
nose.

"Arnie" the girl whispered tightly, "put in another."  In a 
moment she added, "That's it!  Right there!  Do it fast now."  
Peter marveled at how quietly she gave directions.  The two girls 
working together at the nearest desk were whispering to each 
other; certainly they had not heard her.

Bobbie stiffened and shuddered violently.  She sat up quickly, 
though ducking back behind the atlas, and pushed Arnie's head 
away.  "Oh-h-h!" she breathed in a whispery moan.

"Ith the coatht clear?" Arnie lisped from under the desk.

"Yeah," Peter advised.  "Come on out."

The boy rose from beneath the desk, spun and flopped into his 
chair.  His mouth and chin were dripping wet.  After a 
surreptitious look around, he pulled out a shirt tail and bent 
over to wipe his face.

The girl patted his back, but after studying the two adults, now 
attending to other student desks, her attention turned to Peter.  
Her eyebrows rose interrogatively.  "You ready?"

He moved his hand aside to exhibit his erection.  "Oh, yeah!"

First she turned to Arnie and appointed him the lookout.  She 
slid the upright atlas in front of Peter, looked around the large 
room, then slid slowly down and out of her chair once again.  
Peter stared down as the blonde head appeared between his legs.

She fully unzipped his fly and tucked both hands through the 
opening in his shorts to cup his testicles gently.  While she 
stared up into his eyes, her mouth found his knob and closed over 
it.  She tilted her head back, watching him, as more and more of 
him disappeared.  Her lips puckered around the shaft.  Deep in 
her mouth something rough and tingling rasped around the 
sensitive glans.  Her cheeks on both sides collapsed with 
suction.  He felt as if he were about to explode.

"Hist!"

Peter tore his eyes away to looked at his friend, who with hand 
over his mouth whispered, "Here comes the old bat!"

"Ah, ah --" Peter stuttered as the first seminal elements 
dribbled from his penis.  It took all his strength to shove the 
girl's head away from himself in the middle of the first real 
squirt.

"The old bat!" Arnie managed to repeat.  The girl's eyes widened.  
She immediately forced the pulsing penis back into its owner's 
britches and jerked up the zipper.  Snatching a barrette from her 
hair, she came up from beneath the desk, holding the colorful 
fastener aloft just as the adult shadow fell across them.

"Here it is!" Bobbie exclaimed triumphantly in a loud whisper.

Both boys stared at her in horror.  She had a thick white streak 
from upper lip to chin.

"Did you lose something, Bobbie?" asked the librarian, standing 
before their desk.

The girl whirled around, smiling, still holding the barrette 
aloft.  "It fell out of my hair but I found it."

"Well, I'm glad you found it, but what's that on your face?"

"Huh?"  Bobbie's hand flew to her chin.  She looked wide-eyed at 
the results, but only for a moment.  "It's dusty down there."  
Her eyes rose quickly to the woman's.  "I sneezed.  Do you have 
some tissue?"

"Yes, of course."  The woman's hand rose out of a pocket.  Bobbie 
reached for the tissue but the librarian avoided her, pressing it 
herself against the girl's face, swabbing off the pearly liquid.  
Back into the woman's pocket went the soiled tissue.  Bobbie 
stared at the pocket, but even her resourceful mind could imagine 
no way to recover that evidence.

The woman's hand rose again and clasped the girl's forehead.  
"Are you feeling well?  You look a little flushed."

"Oh, yes, ma'am.  Maybe from bending over?"

"And has Peter bent over, too?"

Peter stared wordlessly, his own faint flush deepening.

"Yes, ma'am," the girl answered glibly.  "He was helping me look 
but he gave up."

The woman came around the desk and felt Peter's forehead also.  
"Hmm.  Are you all right, Peter?"

"I'm fine," he mumbled, not meeting her eyes.

The woman turned a penetrating stare from him to the girl to 
Arnie.  "How about you, Arnie?  I thought I saw you choking a 
little bit ago."

Arnie looked away.  "No, ma'am.  I'm fine."

"That's good.  I'm pleased everyone is feeling fine.  But just to 
be safe, Bobbie, bring your book and sit over here with Sarah 
Collins, please.  Are you finished with the atlas, Arnie?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Bobbie followed the book-bearing woman to the indicated desk.  As 
they parted the librarian whispered, "You need to carry a 
handkerchief, Bobbie.  That's the purpose of the side pocket in 
your skirt."

"Yes, ma'am."


* * *


"Nat, you're our biology instructor.  Tell me what you make of 
this odor?"

The woman, Myrtle Cloud, librarian and cafeteria dietician in 
this forever underfunded institution, had barged into his office 
and thrust a piece of ... trash? used tissue? -- under his nose.  
He wanted to snarl at her, a fortyish spinster with barely enough 
sex appeal in her buxom frame to move a hermit six feet off a 
rock ledge, but the habit of his own 45 years was too strong.

"Ammonia?" he guessed after taking a sniff.

"Oh, yeah," she agreed, bright eyed.  "And what else?"

"Peanuts?" he hazarded after another sniff.

"Very good, Herr Professor!  And as a biologist, to what would 
you say a combination of ammonia and nut odors add up?"

He stared at her, his almost-sneer fading into fascination.  "You 
can't mean --"

"Ah, but I do, Oh Great Scientist!"

"Let me see it."  He took the tissue from her, still moist, and 
held it almost in contact with his nose.  "Good god!  Where in 
the world did you get this, Miss Cloud?"

"_Will_ you please call me Myrtle?"

"All right, Myrtle.  Where?"

"I wiped it off a girl's chin not two hours ago.  Quite a 
significant quantity, it was.  She said she had just sneezed."

"Sneezed?"  He sniffed again and shook his head.  "This is not 
nose phlegm."

The woman's eyes danced.  "I think that depends on what you count 
as noses."

He frowned and shook his head more firmly.  "This came from no 
one's nose."

"Well, it was very close to her nose.  In fact it was strung from 
her upper lip to the point of her chin.  The blob on her chin was 
large enough for some of it to drip on her tunic."

He stared at her.  "Was she coming out of a boys' washroom?"

The woman smiled mysteriously.  "Guess again."

"Myrtle ..." he began warningly.

"No, M'sieur le Docteur, you'll never guess.  She was coming out, 
as you put it, from under a desk.  In the back corner of the 
library.  With two boys sitting at it."

"What?"

She chuckled.  "They had been sitting together: a girl and two 
boys.  Pretty unusual in itself, enough for me to keep an eye on 
them.  Every time I looked over there, one or the other was 
blushing.  With boys and girl together, that part is not 
unreasonable, would you say?  Then one or the other was missing.  
Up and down in the stacks, I thought.  Until I heard one of them 
choking.  I went to investigate.  Just as I arrived the girl 
popped out from the desk well, waving a barrette she claimed to 
have lost, with a whitish substance all over her mouth and chin, 
odorless at the time.

"I noticed something else, Nat, but attached no importance to it 
at the moment.  One of the boys, the one she claimed had helped 
her look for the barrette, had a wet streak on the front of his 
uniform pants."

"Who was the boy with the wet pants?"

"Peter Scort."

"Uh-oh.  A paying customer!"

"I know it.  So's the girl.  She's the new one, Bobbie Smith."

The man stared at her thoughtfully.  "Who else have you told 
about this?"

"No one.  Yet."

"Why tell me?"

She leered.  "You _are_ our expert on biology!"

"Well, okay.  But it's not conclusive, and in a day or two that 
odor will be gone, even if you keep the tissue."

"My dear Mr. Hawkins, do you think I should keep it under my 
hat?"

"The tissue, Myrtle?  Oh.  You mean your conclusions.  I think it 
would be wise at this time.  But watch out for those two.  Who 
was the other boy?"

"Arnold Schwarzchild."

"Ah, a charity case!  If necessary you can discipline him."

"He's a lot prettier than Peter.  I wonder that she didn't offer 
_him_ her favors."

He sniffed.  "Who knows why girls choose this one and not that 
one."

"Yes, who?"  She whirled and departed his office as abruptly as 
she had arrived.

He sat thinking over the incident.  His eyes widened when it 
occurred to him to wonder how Myrtle Cloud, the self-avowed 
spinster, could so accurately identify the odor of seminal fluid.


* * *


"Where in the hell have you been?"

Paul looked up slowly as he closed the door.  Clearly he was 
expecting the question, perhaps even the tone.

"Business," he said laconically, hanging his hat and coat on the 
coat tree.

"But it's midnight," Jenny pointed out, moderating her attack.  
She was standing in the bedroom doorway, dressed in nightgown and 
slippers.

"So it is."

"I called your office.  No one answered.  I thought Clio was 
supposed to be there whenever you were."

"I wasn't in the office."  He stood in front of her and smiled 
owlishly.  "The man of the house is home from work.  Does he get 
a kiss and a little grab-ass?"

Her eyes widened.  "Work, my foot!  You've been drinking!"

"Three or four snorts," he admitted.  "You have to play along at 
these big business affairs."  He grinned and his arm pulled her 
against him.  "Nice titties, Jenny.  God, I love your titties.  
Did I ever tell you how much I love your titties?"

She sniffed his shoulder and tore herself away.  "Cologne!  
You've been with a woman."  Her eyes were hugely accusing.

He frowned.  "Now, Jenny!  Don't talk to me about women.  I'm 
with women all the time.  As to that, how many old men did you 
service today?"

"That's _work_, you bastard!"

"Work?"  He grinned.  "Well, yeah, that's what I've been telling 
you.  I've been at work."

She withdrew further from him.  Her eyes narrowed.  "They come to 
you, Paul.  You don't have to leave your office.  Just what and 
who did you teach tonight?"

Instead of answering her, he asked, "Is Bobbie here?"

"Oh, yes, in her bed asleep.  _She_ hasn't been pretending to 
work!"

"How enviable!  Excuse me.  I'm tired and sleepy and a little bit 
drunk.  I'm going to bed."  He lurched past her into the bedroom.

She said quietly, between her teeth, "Why, you son of a bitch!"  
The muscles of her chin set in hard lines.  Stopping only to put 
her door key into a nightgown pocket, she whirled out of the 
apartment.


* * *


Tom was at the edge of sleep when he heard his door creak open.  
He raised himself up on an elbow to inspect the intruder in the 
dim light filtering through his shades from the outside street 
lamp.  It was Jenny clad in a nightgown.

"Don't trip on anything," he called out to her softly.

It was a warning to no avail.  With a clang Jenny tripped over 
his waste can and fell onto the bed.  When it ceased to bounce, 
she admitted with a giggle, "This was my goal anyway.  It _is_ 
what you want, isn't it, Tom?"

"Oh, god, is it ever!"

She removed her gown and got quickly under the covers to escape 
the chill air   Their naked bodies embraced while their lips and 
tongues entwined in a passionate kiss.

"Do you mind if I keep you awake?" she asked playfully, enfolding 
his rigid cock with her hand.

"God, Jenny, just the nearness of you has me about to come."

"Are you really that close?" she cooed.  "Then you'll have to do 
it more than once because I'm expecting a good fuck tonight."

She rolled atop Tom and wriggled herself onto his cock.

"There," she whispered with her lips on his, "squirt when you're 
ready.  I'll get my own pleasure soon enough."

Tom gasped in joyous relief at the feel of her flesh solidly on 
him, the impatient cock embedded securely in her tightness, her 
lips on his.  He ran his hands over her shoulders and back as she 
moved slightly on his member, urging him to come.  He felt it 
approach and decided not to tighten his sphincter at its ecstatic 
arrival.  He relaxed totally and spewed for a few exquisite 
seconds.

"There," Jenny whispered when she knew he was finished.  "You 
must feel much more at peace now."

"I'm in heaven."

"You're in me, although you're beginning to wilt."

"I'm wilting in heaven, Jenny.  Are nurses usually so merciful?"

"It wasn't entirely an act of mercy.  I selfishly want what 
you'll soon give me."  She rolled off his body to lie beside him.

"And what might that be?" he asked coyly.

"The vigor of a younger man who will fuck me until my mind is 
absolutely blank.  Can you do that?"

"I promise not to disappoint you, Jenny.  I'll be your fuck 
slave."

"Yes, we'll do it often.  Have you ever licked on a woman?"

"Just once."

"I'll teach you how I like it," she said in a husky voice and 
pushed gently on Tom's head.

Tom relished the smell and mess of Jenny's leaking cunt.  He 
carefully followed the instructions that she gasped out and 
shortly set her screaming.  At the peak of her orgasm her thighs 
were like a vice on his head, then they relaxed and she sighed 
deeply.

"Are you hard again, Tom?" she asked in a woozy voice.  "Do you 
need me to suck on you?"

He laughed.  "Darn it, Jenny, you shouldn't make telling the 
truth so tough!"

"It's hard again, then?"

"As a rock."

He raised his body between her slender thighs, revisiting that 
magic warm tightness, but this time he knew he could last.  They 
kissed desperately and coupled with increasing passion for minute 
after minute.  Her noises were uncontrolled and continual, spiked 
by shrieks on three occasions.  Eventually she lay limp beneath 
him, half conscious, utterly sated.  He slowed his thrusting to 
savor the tightness on his organ, the rarity of this sublime 
event in his life, to reward himself with the unmatched pleasure.  
He whimpered when he came, amusing the woman, though she fell 
asleep almost immediately when he rolled off her.

They awoke in the middle of the night to make love once again

"Won't you be missed upstairs?" he murmured into the face of the 
woman in his arms, as they basked in the afterglow of their 
orgasms.

"Are you trying to get rid of me, Thomas?  I was hoping for a 
dawn fuck.  They're often the best."

"No, Jenny!  Do you have any idea how I've wanted you?"

She snickered.  "I think I guessed it pretty well."

"I'd stay in bed with you for a month."

"Just a month?  Men can be so cruel."

Tom tickled her padded ribs, feeling the full breasts bounce 
under his palms.  She responded unbearably against his knees.  
They played together for several minutes, laughing uproariously.  
Then they quieted.

"Oh, Tom!  Frolicking with you makes me feel like a teenager 
again.  It's the way I used to play with my brother."

"Then it worked," he suggested.

"What worked?"

"Did I blank your mind?"

"Yes, you did, you sweetheart.  For a while.  But that bastard 
..."

"Who?"

"I'm sorry.  I'm thinking of Paul."

He surmised that he owed her presence in his bed to something 
other than his own charming personality, but he found that he 
didn't care.  If Jenny had come to him to hide from a bank 
robbery, it was all the same.  He knew he would welcome her with 
a stiff erection whatever her reason for needing him.

"By now Bobbie is in Paul's bed," Jenny said musingly.  "A lot of 
good it'll do her.  He was pretty looped when he came in."

"Did you have a fight?"

"No, not a fight."  She sighed.  "But Paul and I will have a chat 
after Bobbie leaves for school."

"She's in his bed?  You don't mean ...  But she's just a little 
girl."  Tom's protest did not interfere with fondling a handful 
of tit

"She's a lovely little devil, Tom, with a very determined use for 
boys and men.  She may be still a child, physically, though a 
pretty one, but she's been fucking for years.  She knows all 
about it.  Don't let down your guard, or she'll get to you, too."

"I can't imagine having sex with her.  Where would I begin?"

"Don't even think about it!"

"You know she's been in here once or twice to propose it."

"And what did you think of her?"

"I'm not attracted to her that way.  _This_ is what I like!"

"That's not all you like.  Let me turn around and get on top.  
Are you up to a 69?"

He shivered with delight.


* * *


"What the hell?"  The young man stared wide-eyed at the peculiar 
face in his rear-view mirror.

"Don't get excited," advised the deep, masculine voice.  "It's 
amazing how well a car body muffles noises from its interior.  
This .357 can blow your brains all over that sun visor without 
anyone out there noticing.  Now when that light turns green, 
proceed to the next one and take a right."

"Who are you?  How the hell did you get in my car?"

"Some people call me Slim.  But you're right: it's a good idea to 
verify identities.  You are Peter DiGrazia, right?"

"What if I am?"

"Nephew to Bernardo DiGrazia, otherwise known as Bernie Nails?"

"That's no secret."

"Right.  Okay, get in the right-hand lane."

"I know how to turn right at the corner.  Slim, do you have any 
idea what you're messing with here?"

The man in the back seat chuckled.  "Yeah, I think so.  You're 
the nephew of the man who has cornered the market for private 
guards and ritzy call girls on the South Side.  I don't care 
about any of that.  I'm not here to bother your uncle's business, 
nor even to bother you really, if you'll tell me what I want to 
know."

"What's that?"

"You've got a little driving to do before that comes up.  Proceed 
along here till we get to Olivart.  In the meantime why don't we 
both just relax?"

"What happens when we get to _Olivart_?"

Little Pete heard humor in his passenger's voice.  "Interesting 
how you emphasized the street name.  This car wouldn't be bugged, 
would it?"

"Bugged?  Nobody would bug _my_ car!  You never did tell me how 
you managed to get in it."

"That's true, I didn't."  Slim raised his voice.  "What I will 
tell you is, if anybody meets us at Olivart, your sun visor gets 
a new decoration first off."

Little Pete studied the other man's reflection as much as traffic 
permitted.  "What have you done to your face?"

"Grease pencil."

"Wow!  Are you, like, on a mission?"

The man chuckled.  "You might say that, a fact finder.  Tell you 
what: let's forget Olivart.  Turn this way at the next 
intersection."

Little Pete watched the hand signal and said, "Left?"

"Yeah, left," Slim agreed dryly.  After the turn, he asked, 
"What're those bright lights on the right?"

"Perdue Station.  You don't know this area, do you?"

"I know bus stations.  Pull on past to the edge of the lights and 
park."

When the car had nosed into a parking space, Slim looked 
carefully around in all directions.  They were at the edge of the 
parking lot, beside the brick wall of a business.  Across a sea 
of cars was the brilliantly lit bus platform, at which two buses 
were boarding or discharging passengers.  Behind them was another 
row of cars and a dark street.

"All right, let's make this fast.  I'm trying to find these two 
people."  Crossing the revolver in his right hand, Slim held up 
two photographs with his left.  "Tell me where they are."

Little Pete hardly glanced at the exhibits.  "Never saw them 
before."

Slim shook his head sorrowfully.  "Peter, if you stick with that 
story, your life is going to be a lot shorter than you expected."  
He whipped the weapon over the seat back, pointing down.  Red 
light flashed and an absolutely stunning sound smote their ears.  
The discharge power of a handgun in a closed car cannot be 
imagined by anyone who has never heard it.

"Oh, god, my leg!" Little Pete was trying to say.  Even he could 
not hear his voice.  He clutched his right leg a few inches above 
the knee with both hands, one over the small hole in the top, the 
other feeling the huge destruction in the bottom.  The wound was 
numb with shock, but a foretaste of the agony to come lurked 
near.  The hand on the bottom was immediately full of blood.

As his ears began at least to ring, he turned a horrified face 
over his shoulder and screamed, "All right, I saw them, I saw 
them!"

"I was sure you had," Slim agreed, necessarily shouting also.  "I 
heard she sucked your dick" -- he angled the pistol to the left -- 
"which is the next thing to go.  Now where are they?"

"_I_ don't know," the young man declared, eyes huge.  "I haven't 
seen them since that first day.  They're doing something special 
for Uncle Bernie."

Slim studied him through narrow, suspicious eyes.  He made a 
point of letting down the revolver's hammer, then recocking it.

"I swear I don't know where they are!"

"What kind of special work?"

"The chick's a nurse.  She's balling Bernie's really old guys."

"What's the man doing?"

"Training more nurses.  God, my leg hurts!"

"That'll heal.  Where does he do this training, in your main 
building on the North Side?"

"No.  He's got a little office near the university, I think not 
far from where they --"

"What was that?"  Slim snapped erect, scanning right and left.  
"Shit!" he exclaimed as a shadow flitted between two cars further 
up the row.

He took a half second to blow Little Pete's brains all over his 
sun visor, as promised, before snapping open the right rear door 
and dropping to the ground.  He slammed the door above him and 
worked his way under and past the adjacent car before getting to 
his feet in a crouch.  By this time his ears were beginning to 
ring again.  He heard running feet and dimly a voice, "That was 
another shot.  Watch out!"

A suited man with a drawn gun ran past the end of the car within 
six feet of Slim, who immediately leapt to his feet to dash 
across the space behind the runner.  From the corner of his eye, 
as he left the cover of the cars, he saw a second man running 
after the first.  A red ball flashed from the middle of that 
figure.  Slim felt a sharp sting on his shoulder simultaneously 
with the crash in his ears.  His return fire was reflexive but 
perhaps accurate enough.  The man dropped like a stone.  Slim 
ducked, now between another pair of cars, and whipped around the 
end of the closest.  Crouching and zig-zagging among the parked 
cars, he reached the dark open street without further mishap.  A 
garbage truck was picking up speed from the corner traffic light.  
Sprinting beside it, he grabbed the rider's bar and swung himself 
aboard.

Sproing!  A slice of paint peeled off the truck body just above 
his head, coincident with the crash of a distant shot.  He made 
himself small as he could but heard no other shot.  The truck 
turned at the next corner and he dared to believe he might 
actually get safely away.

Holding on with one hand, he felt of his shoulder with the other.  
The hand came away wet.  Under the next streetlight it glowed 
red.


* * *


"Hello."

"Paul, is that you?"

"Yeah.  Oh, hi, Corley!  What's up?"

"No good, I'm afraid.  Little Pete got it tonight."

"Little --  You don't mean Bernie's nephew!"

"I'm afraid I do.  And then the killer shot his way clear from 
Petey's bodyguards.  They're a couple of sad sacks right now, you 
can bet!"

"I guess so!  Good god, Corley!  I don't know what to say.  Tell 
Bernie that Jenny and I are really sorry to --"

"Don't worry about that.  Between you and me and the street 
corner, Bernie won't miss Little Pete.  But you and Jenny do have 
something to worry about."

"I ... I'm sorry to hear that.  Wh-what is it?"

"The killer was torturing Little Pete for information about you 
two."

"He ... he _what_?  Who'd want to know about us?"

"That's a good question.  At least, who'd want to know enough to 
snuff Little Pete over it?  Why don't you and Jenny lay low for a 
couple days while _we_ ask it?"



NEXT:  Chapter 16: Basement Adventures
Varangian:  ludmax11@hotmail.com
Kellis:     kellis@dhp.com

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reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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