The Tortured Tourists
Chapter 9
C. Eldon Fleming was sitting at a sidewalk table in front of
the approved cafe. Le Cafe Noir did not look like its name. Its
facade was a grayish white, with red trim. The only black thing
around was visible under the nails of the waiter who brought
Fleming his vermouth.
Other than the neglect of his manicure, Maurice as the
waiter had introduced himself could not be faulted. His courtesy
and the speed with which he appeared when required were much
better than the American had found in the hotel dining room. He
wondered how much of the service was due to the "coupons"
Frenchmen vied for. These clever paper incentives were furnished
tourists when they entered the country, and they were to be given
to citizens who met high standards of courtesy and service in
dealings with the visitors.
Fleming listened to the accordionist inside the cafe. He was
playing Julie la Rousse. The American remembered sitting in
sidewalk cafes in 1945> when other tunes were more in vogue. He
looked at his pocket watch. Still almost an hour before he was
due at the bank.
He'd spent all of this morning in planning and preparing for
what was ahead. He unconsciously patted the breast of his jacket,
feeling the papers which he'd put in the inside pocket. A rough
map of the Salon area, pinpointing the farmhouse, a slightly less
rough sketch of the floor plan, with suggested approaches for the
Surete when they closed in, and a brief few paragraphs describing
the situation there.
He didn't pat his hip pocket where he again carried the
Beretta. But he could feel its reassuring hardness as he leaned
back in the chair. What worried him was the probability that he
would be given some kind of search when they picked him up. He
argued with himself that he had lost their original bloodhound
only for a few minutes. He was sure that they also had the hotel
staked out, and that they knew he hadn't had time for any lengthy
conversations.
He'd checked the suite, and knew that it had been searched
thoroughly during the family's absence. He knew that it hadn't
been the Surete, because his.38 DA Special was missing from his
luggage. It had been registered upon entering the country, and
would not have been confiscated. So presumably Gerault and
Company wouldn't expect him to be armed. They knew how much cash
he had on him he seldom carried a lot of cash and the American
Express money orders had been in the hotel suite, so they should
know he couldn't have purchased a pistol in the short time he'd
had after evading their "tail" up to the moment he arrived at the
hotel.
Still, they might want to be certain he hadn't acquired a
knife or something. Yes, he had to expect that he would be
frisked again. He gambled that it would happen after he'd entered
the car. He'd try to slip it into the seat while they went over
him, then get it back before they arrived at the farmhouse.
He ordered shrimp and a green salad, and Maurice brought a
fine bowl of bouillabaisse to start him off. It was the best
version of the famous fish soup which he'd had since his army days
here. He mentally saluted Gerault's taste in restaurants, as he
enjoyed the rest of his meal. He promised to bring the family
here after he'd gotten them out of this mess.
He ate slowly, and after he'd tipped Maurice and paid the
cashier, he returned and gave the waiter one of the prized
coupons. The man's face flowed as he thanked Fleming profusely,
begging him to return.
At the bank, Monsieur Guiyesse took Fleming through the
wooden gate into the plush office area reserved for VIP's.
Guiyesse was a thin, tall man with graying black hair a typical
Man of Distinction. He presented the draft for Fleming to sign,
took it to one of the clerks, and returned to sit with his patron
until the cash was ready.
Fleming slipped the papers from his inside jacket pocket, and
handed them to Guiyesse.
"Wait until after I leave here, then find some way to get
these to the Surete without being followed. It shows exactly
where and how to apprehend the kidnappers who are holding me and
my family."
Guiyesse's eyes narrowed as he accepted the papers, then he
put them in the top drawer of his desk.
"I could telephone them and have them send a man over here to
get them," he suggested.
"No!" Fleming insisted. "They may have someone watching the
bank who might know the man they send. Better if you phone them
and have them pick them up somewhere else after you drop them off
in a safe place. We can't take any chances. The leader of this
gang is very vindictive, and a sadist. He would enjoy the excuse
to torture us more than he has already." Guiyesse nodded
understandingly.
The clerk arrived with the money, and Guiyesse counted it out
into the attache case Fleming had brought with him from the hotel.
The moment the case was latched, the American stood up, shook
hands with the banker, and thanked him.
"We'll be very grateful for your help in delivering those
papers, Monsieur Guiyesse," Fleming said.
"Please call me Henri," said the banker. "I am happy to be
of service."
The taxi which pulled up as Fleming came out of the bank
could very likely be a plant, he knew. But it didn't matter. All
that counted was that he would appear to be following orders. If
he conducted himself properly from here on, and came back with the
money, they would have little to say about the few minutes during
which he'd shaken off his first tracker. After all, he had made
it look very innocent and accidental.
When he was again in the hotel, he talked to the desk clerk.
"Do you have a paper cutter in your office that I could use
in my room for a while?" he asked. "You mean scissors?" queried
the clerk.
"No. A cutter for working with a small stack of paper.
Something to cut several thicknesses at once."
"Ah, yes. I believe there is one in the manager's office.
I'll send up a boy with it."
"No. I'll take it with me, now. And wrap it before you
bring it out of the office. This is a very private matter, and I
wouldn't want any of the other members of your staff to know about
it."
The clerk looked at him curiously, then disappeared into the
manager's office. In a few minutes he came out with a newspaper-
wrapped bundle. Fleming thanked him, then went up to his suite,
where he phoned down, requesting that all the newspapers available
be sent up to him. Today's and for the previous two days,
including the American editions.
The stack which a bellboy brought up later was much larger
than Fleming had expected, and more than he required. He busied
himself cutting packs of newsprint into the exact size of the
banknotes.
Then he opened the attache case and laboriously duplicated
the packets of money. He placed a genuine banknote on top and
bottom of each phony pack. When he'd completed the project,
anyone looking inside the case would believe it to contain exactly
what it looked like: a hell of a lot of money.
He took the loose bills which had piled up on the bed, and
put them into one of the travel cases which were a part of his
wife's luggage, then shoved it under the bed.
He took the remnants and scraps of newspaper into the
bathroom and tore the larger pieces until they could be flushed
down the big drain. After he'd erased all the evidence of his
trickery, he rewrapped the paper cutters went back down to the
desk, and returned it to the clerk, who carried it back into the
office.
Fleming then went into the boutique in the lobby and
pretended to browse for a while, after which he went back up to
his room.
He was thinking about the timing of the events to come, as he
undressed and got into bed. If he could get to sleep this early,
he'd be up very early, refreshed, and able to think fast when the
time came. What bothered him was whether the Surete would do as
he asked, and wait until he'd been taken back to the farmhouse
before closing in. He wanted to be there with the family, in case
of anything unforeseen.
He dreaded the first moments following his return. If
Gerault looked at the money packets closely, there would be
trouble. But he hoped that he could convince the Frenchman that
he wasn't trying to be cheap and greedy. He just wanted the
payoff to be on his own terms.
If Gerault would let the others go back to the hotel suite,
then phone him, Fleming would remain at the farmhouse under
captivity as hostage, and when he was convinced that Ann and the
kids were safe and could not be recaptured, then he would tell
Gerault where to get the money. He planned to wait until Ann
phoned him from the hotel suite, make sure from her that they were
safe, then have her get the money from the suitcase under the bed,
and have a bellhop or other messenger deliver it to wherever
Gerault wanted it.
He tossed for quite a while, and was just getting drowsy
enough to sleep when his phone rang. It was Gerault's voice that
greeted him.
"The schedule has changed. Bring the money down and get into
the taxi which is waiting for you in front of your hotel."
"But, I'm in bed! It will take me a while to get dressed."
"You have five minutes. Hurry!" There was a click as the
Frenchman hung up. Fleming started to worry. Things were bad,
this way. The Surete~ would not come to the rescue until late in
the morning! He'd better be able to convince Gerault about the
phony money!
When he came out of the hotel, a taxi pulled up from the rank
and opened its door. He got in; the driver pulled out into
traffic without asking the destination, so Fleming sat there
quietly, expecting to be driven to the garage where he'd been
dropped.
But within ten or twelve blocks, the cab parked at the curb.
The Citroen limousine pulled up beside it, and Gerault got out and
paid the taxi driver. Fleming was hustled into the car, and they
drove off. Yvette was again driving, and the sadist was seated
beside the American, who wondered why he wasn't being blindfolded.
When they were well on the road to Salon, he turned and
looked at Gerault, noting the tight corners of the Frenchman's
mouth, and the way his eyes were narrowly slitted, even though
very little light entered the darkly tinted windows. "No
blindfold?" Fleming finally asked.
"Of what use would it be to a man who can map the route we
take and diagram the house to which we go?" The Frenchman's voice
was hard and sharp, and it made a warning bell ring in Fleming's
mind. "I beg your pardon?" he asked.
"You heard me quite well, Monsieur Fleming Let us not play
any more games with each other. You have tried to enlist the aid
of the Surete, and you have failed. You have attempted to double
cross me and you have failed. Let us see if you have the money."
He pulled the attache case onto his lap and opened it, then stared
down at the packets for a moment before he closed the case.
"At least in this you have not failed. It is the only thing
which has saved you and your family from a number of unpleasant
experiences. Now, scoot forward in your seat, while I see if you
have brought with you anything we do not want you to have in your
possession."
Fleming put his hands behind him as if to push himself
forward. He pulled the Beretta from his pocket, and almost
decided to use it there and then. But Gerault's silenced gun was
aimed at him. He tucked the Beretta behind the seat cushion and
scooted forward. The Frenchman used his free hand to feel and pat
around for a few moments, then he leaned back and kept the gun
aimed at Fleming.
"Pull out your pockets, one by one, while I see what you
have." Fleming obeyed, and when he had exhibited the contents of
every one of his pockets, including the lining itself, the
Frenchman lowered the pistol slightly. "Bien. Sit back in your
seat and relax.
They drove on, and Fleming studied the countryside,
remembering the times he had driven through it in a jeep or truck.
He wished that his reflexes were as fast now as they had been in
those days. And that he had been sharp enough to guess that
Gerault might have recruited someone at the bank, for it had to be
that which had tipped him off. Whoever it was undoubtedly had
followed Guiyesse and grabbed the papers before the Surete picked
them up. It was a hell of a note!
His only hope now was that Guiyesse might have studied them
before he dropped them off. And that the Surete, having missed
the pickup, would check back with the banker and get enough
information to find the place.
When they pulled up in front of the farmhouse, Gerault forced
him out of the car before he could manage to get the Beretta back
into his pocket. He barely had time to shove it down far enough
behind the cushion to hide it from the Frenchman, who stayed
inside until Fleming was clear of the car.
The hidden gun had been his last hope to turn the tables by
himself. If the Surete didn't come through, the Flemings could be
tortured to death!
Damn! Damn! Why the hell did I fool with that phony money?
I only wanted to get Tommy and the girls out of there before the
shooting started between Gerault and the Surete#. Now, it looks
like I've killed us all!
All the way down to the cellar, Fleming was sweating cold
drops which beaded on his brow and upper lip. It would be only a
matter of time before the newsprint "banknotes" would be
discovered.
When the family was again alone in their dungeon, he
confessed to the faulty planning and warned them of what might
happen. He couldn't let them have any false hopes, and he was so
disgusted with himself for having come a cropper, that he wanted
them to hate him for it as he was hating himself. "Exactly where
is the gun, Dad?" asked Tommy.
"What difference?" Fleming countered. "We can't reach it
from here!"
"Mother gave me a hairpin they missed when they frisked us.
I've been practicing, and I can open every one of my cuffs
excepting the one on my right wrist. I lock them all up again,
each time, just so I won't get caught at it before I'm completely
loose."
"I'll be damned!" said Fleming. "Listen. Keep working on
that stubborn one until you get it. If we can get one of us
loose, and he can get out of here, we'll have it made."
"I know! I know! It's just that I can't seem to do as well
when I'm working with my left hand. But I'll keep after it, all
right!"
"Okay. Well, you all should know, anyway. Just in case.
The gun is exactly like the 7.65 Beretta I have at home. You've
all had training in how to use it. It's tucked between the seat
and seat-back of the car out front the rear seat, of course.
There's a round in the chamber, and the safety's on. If any one
of Us manages to get to it, remember this: Besides the round in
the chamber, there are only four others in the clip. So make your
shots count if you have to use it on these bastards."
"I'd hate to think of Le Boeuf getting hurt or killed,
Daddy," Darla interjected.
"what are you talking about?" said Fleming. He was shocked
to hear her defend the Moroccan. "Isn't he the sonovabitch that
raped you first?"
"Yes, Daddy, but he was acting under orders. Gerault has
something on him, and if he doesn't cooperate, Gerault will turn
him in. He's really the only one of the bunch who has any
compassion at all. And he's really a lot more intelligent and
humane than you might guess from the way he acts."
"Darla, honey, you're inclined to romanticize a little too
easily, you know. But even if you're one-hundred percent correct
in your opinion of the Moroccan, we can't take chances. All of
our lives es depend on getting the upper hand with these people."
"Yes, Daddy, but he's promised to help us all he can. He
doesn't dare do anything that Gerault might discover and use as an
excuse to turn him over to the police. But in any other way, I
really believe that he'll honestly try to help us. He just can't
refuse a direct order from Gerault if he's likely to be found
out."
"What if Gerault orders him to kill us?"
"Oh, Daddy! You don't think they'll go that far, do you?"
"Honey, we are very likely to be skating right now on thinner
ice than ever before in our lives and I hope we can get lucky
enough to get out of it somehow!"
"Well, the worst thing that Gerault can be holding over his
head is murder right? He wouldn't commit one murder just to keep
from being turned in for another, would he?"
"Of course, he would! He'd have to! Whatever Gerault has on
him even murder is unknown to the authorities at present. If he
had to kill us on Gerault's orders, that could be presumed to be
without the knowledge of the authorities, too. What he really has
to fear is Gerault's telling on him. And that will happen,
supposedly, the moment he refuses to do anything Gerault orders
including our mass murders!"
"I think he'd kill Gerault, first!" said Darla. "I really
do!"
"Well, honey, we can't take chances. The only thing we can
do is plan to overcome them, no matter how we do it. If Le Boeuf
goes along with our takeover if we are lucky enough to make it
then he'll be spared. But if he resists us, we'll have to fight
him in any way we can. It's survival, honey. Surely you can see
that."
"I guess so," said Darla, feeling strangely sad about this
discussion which might lead to the kindly Moroccan's death.
They ceased any further discussion as the stairway door
opened. Gerault descended slowly, and as he entered the circle of
light provided by the naked bulb in the center of the arena, they
saw the black look he wore on his face. "It seems that we have
need of the services of Madame Fleming," he announced. He moved
to where Ann was chained, and unlocked her shackles. He led her
up the stairs as the others looked at each other and then followed
the departing pair with anxious eyes.
Ann was taken to the living room, where the sofa bed was
opened and ready for occupants. She looked at it, then studied
the dark face of Gerault.
"Your husband has seen fit to play a dangerous game," he
said. "I have examined the ransom he brought from Marseilles, and
it seems to be somewhat less than the agreed amount." He was
looking at her with mocking eyes, and the arch of his brows made
her think of the prototype of all the Mephistopheles characters
she had seen or imagined in the role.
"We shall now begin a very interesting series of adventures.
You are honored to be the first member of your family to
inaugurate this series. Take off your clothes and get on the
bed!"
Ann slowly removed her clothes, wondering what was going to
happen to her, now. When she had removed all but her bra and
panties, she hesitated, wondering again what she was in for.
Gerault stepped toward her, and tore the brassiere from her,
making the straps cut her shoulders and arms, cruelly.
Then his hands were under the band of her panties, and he
gave the elastic a mighty jerk downward, pulling them from the
area of her blonde-feathered genitals, and off her thighs.
Another jerk, and he had them down past her calves, at her ankles.
She stepped out of them, and her eyes were wide as he moved her
rudely back onto the bed Then he was spreading her legs, and his
mouth found her opening blossom of flesh, as it split asunder.
He's eating me. I hope it ends these! What can he have
planned? Oh! he certainly knows how to get at the heart of a
cunt! He's licking and slurping at my little erection as though
he's going to devour it! Oh-h-h! That tongue! It's pushing
right into my hot pussy! What's he doing, now? Oh-h-h-h! He's
biting at my cant lips with his teeth! Oh-h-h! It hurts so good!
This is torture, all right, but 1 think l can stand it, of I can
just hold on!
Then she felt the lips and tongue depart, and her hungry
flesh lay there, exposed and throbbing with her need. Suddenly
she felt the entrance of a hard intruder, as Gerault's rigid
member penetrated her passage.
He's fucking me, now. I can stand that. Be Boeuf gave me
one of Darla's pills this morning, and I can take whatever he
dishes out. In fact, I think it feels good!
Then the meaty invader was pounding at her, and she felt the
slap of his hairy bag on her buttocks and anus as he plunged
repeatedly into her depths. She began to groan as the frictional
contact of his loins rubbed her sensitivities excitedly. Then he
was moving faster, and she felt his mouth on her breast. He
sucked and nibbled at the delicate bud which formed excitedly
under his teasing mouth. She felt herself going, and the
thrilling plunge into oblivion was an ecstatic pleasure, until he
started to bite her. As she felt the shuddering tremors start to
spread from the center of her being, his teeth clamped down on her
tender nipple, and she felt pain such as she'd never known before.
Then he was grabbing her buttocks with his pinching hands,
clawing his nails into her soft flesh until she wanted to die from
the agony. Her scream started deep in her throat, and rolled out
loudly onto the afternoon air.
He reached up with one hand and grabbed her by the throat,
cutting off her sounds at the source. But the teeth didn't let
up. They bit deeply into the sensitive flesh of the spongy
nipple, and the shock traveled through her like an electric
current.
Then he was speeding up his movements still more, and she
felt the beginnings of his pulsing end.
He's coming in me, and I hurt so much that I can't come with
him! God! He's a beast! I'm hanging high and dry, and I'm about
to lose out while he fills my helpless cunt with his hot old
cream. He's a bastard worse than I imagined! And I thought
Frenchmen were great lovers. Oh-h-h! Fuck me some more, and stop
that biting!
But she was out of luck. Gerault was only out to relieve his
animal lusts, and to make her miserable. She was furnishing the
first payment on what he felt Fleming owed him for the double-
cross!
Then Gerault was grabbing her buttocks tightly, pulling her
to him, as he pumped his heated fluid into her in spasms. The
flow was filling her, and she realized it, but she was dying for a
release of her own. Then he rolled off her, and she felt the wet
trail his member left across her thighs.
She looked up as his weight was lifted from her, and he got
to his feet, and disappeared from her sight. She could see in the
wall-mirror the results of his attack. Her left breast was
streaked with blood, and the nipple was still bleeding slightly.
The streak of white, stringy semen that trailed across her thigh
from the pinkly wet slit of her opening was also visible.
She reached down and wiped it off, then smeared it onto the
bed-linen in a far corner remote from her head. As she looked up
to see what was going on, the gigantic figure of Le Boeuf filled
her field of ... vision.
He was stripped for action, and the hugeness of his member
was all she could see. It was stretched to full length and seemed
to be throbbing and pulsing as it stood there, extended from the
blackness of his loins. Its own darkness seemed to threaten her,
and yet she felt no real fear. It seemed large, but her hungry
passage was unfulfilled, and anything that would fill her needs
would gratify her, now.
Then heavy, large hands were grasping her buttocks, and she
was rolled over onto her belly. The same large hands pulled at
her soft skin, around the stomach area, and her butt rose in the
air, until she felt the firm cheeks spread by searching fingers.
She turned her head, and looked into the wall-mirror. She
could see the giant Moroccan poised over her, and his hands
separating the cheeks of her ass. Then one of his handy
disappeared under her, and she felt the fingers probing at her
flowing crotch.
He's dipping his hand into my cunt, but only for the juice,
she thought. What's he doing? Then she felt the wetness on the
tight circle of her virgin anus. My God! Even Chuck hasn't
fucked me there! My ass is too tight! That horrendous cock of
his will split me in half!
Then she felt the head of his weapon press at the tight ring
of her anus. Its heat and hardness seemed to tolerate no
resistance. She felt her burning tissues part as the stiff
invader pressed at the tender ring of flesh. A monstrously
swelling sensation began to spread through her as his bulk slowly
forced its way past the tight, puckered exit he was using as an
entrance.
The aching pain of it was unbelievable. The force of the
huge, meaty invader violated her with steady, brutal pressure.
She was being spread open where she had never before been touched.
"Stop! Please stop! I can't stretch there like this! Fuck
me right! You're killing me! Oh-h-h!" She was gasping with the
agony of her fullness. Then she started to pass out. As her
muscles automatically relaxed, the pain lessened, and she started
to come to before completely losing consciousness. This made her
tighten up her muscles, again, and the pain increased.
Oh! I've got to relax. It helps to relax, but I can't! Oh,
God! There's no use begging. They're going to hurt us as much as
they cant Ooh-h-h! He's fingering me. That helps. The way he's
digging around in my sloppy cunt, helps take my mind off the pain.
Oh! Not enough, thought. God! That hurts! He's pumping at me,
now. It burns so! His finger's in my cant so deep, too. Oh!
It's like being fucked with two pricks at once! If he wasn't so
big it might feel good. Oh, if he only weren't so god awful big!
Le Boeuf was thrusting at her hard, and she could feel the wet
slap of his giant sac against her parted cheeks as he banged
against her. It felt as if he must have torn up everything inside
her. Then his arm, which was around her lower belly, shifted as
he changed the position of his hand. In addition to the long
finger which was sunk deep into her passage, another finger or
thumb now was splashing in the soup of her flowing flesh to
massage her throbbing bud. It felt so good that she started to
move her hips. She was on her knees, and as she reacted to his
stimulating fingers, the movement also gave added impetus to his
unorthodox penetration.
Suddenly his size within her seemed to increase. It swelled
and pulsed deep in her bowels.
He's coming in my ass. That hot cream is gooding my guts.
It's like being fucked by a stud horse! Oh-h-h! I'm coming, too!
Then a red, shimmering curtain closed her off from the
outside world as the big, black organ pumped its load into her
body. Her flesh seemed to separate from her mind, melting into
blobs of wet, hot, red meat that gleamed fluorescently in the
blackness of space.
In a series of colorful explosions, she lost consciousness.
