Dixie By Torrent LT drained the last of his bottle of Dixie and ordered another. He wore a rumpled seersucker suit and a wide blue and red tie. The other two men at the table were in T-shirts and jeans. "I'd sure like to get a piece of that," LT said, as the waitress walked away, swinging her hips. "That's the finest behind I seen in many a moon." "Forget it," said Roddy. "She's kin to Ogilvie. Just a niece, but that's close enough so he'd take offense if anyone messed with her." LT grimaced. "Well," he said, "I got no interest in gettin' on the wrong side of the old bastard, but I sure would like a piece of her." "Speaking of which," said Beagle, "there's that shipment of pussy comin' in tonight. Yankee pussy." "Yeah," said LT, "but that's strictly business. They been spoken for and paid for." Beagle leaned forward and lowered his voice. "True, but considering what's in store for them, it wouldn't hurt none if we picked out a couple for an evening of fun." Roddy looked puzzled. "What you guys talkin' 'bout? What girls? And what, exactly, is 'in store' for them?" Beagle grinned wickedly. "Roddy, where you been hidin'? LT here is associated with a very big and profitable enterprise. Young ladies from the North, they're lured South - that's the way newspaper stories always put it, 'lured' - they're lured South with promises of exciting and lucrative careers as companions to some of the region's most powerful business executives." "Where you come up with all this shit?" Roddy asked suspiciously. LT, a big, baby-faced man of 40, tilted his chair back at a dangerous angle and said, "Ain't no shit, Roddy. Me and Beagle have gone into business with an entruh-pray-noor from way up in Ohio. Near Cleveland. Name of Mozzarella." "Sounds like some kind of cheese," snorted Roddy. "Yeah," said LT. "It also sounds like some kind of Italian gangster, which is closer to the truth." He pronounced it "eye-talian." "Keep it down," whispered Beagle. LT sat forward in his chair and lowered his voice. "You're right. Folks here in Veniss County mightn't understand doin' business with Italian gangsters. Even ol' Ogilvie, big a crook as he is, would probably disapprove. But I don't much care who puts up the money - Italians, Jews, spics, even niggers - so long as we get some capital into this godforsaken corner of nowhere. And so long as I get a piece of the action. It's the start of a whole new decade, the 1960s, and Mississippi's gonna change whether Ross Barnett wants it to or not." The waitress returned with another beer. "Thank you, honey," LT said. "Jus' keep 'em comin'. And take care of my friends, too." She looked at him with an expression that would have been contempt if she had put a little more energy into it. "Sure, LT," she drawled. "We all know you're a big spender." "You know, that's why so many men end up beatin' the shit out of women," Roddy muttered as she walked away. "Cuz they say things like that. With that kinda tone of voice." "Don't bother me none," said LT, with a bland smile. "Actually, I think she likes me." "Yeah, sure. But let's get back to this Yankee pussy," said Roddy. LT frowned thoughtfully. "What you was talkin' 'bout - beatin' up women - is very relevant to the subject of Yankee pussy and Yankee capital," he said. "Lotta men want to beat up women for one reason or another. Some are just pissed off at their wives or girlfriends. Or their mothers. And some just get a kick out of whippin' a girl's ass. No accountin' for taste." "So what's that got to do with your new business?" asked Roddy. "We gonna make good-lookin' young women available for beatin' and whippin' and general brutality," explained LT. "Now, they got such places up North, too, of course. But down here you'll be able to tie up one of our girls and beat the shit out of her, then go out and walk on the beach, or get out on the golf course, or go for a swim. In other words, we'll be runnin' a sort of S&M spa. You get a genuine Gulf Coast vacation and an afternoon of abusin' a sweet young thing." "And what happens if these sweet young things get so beat up no one wants to look at 'em no more?" "Our clients will sign a contract," said LT. "Messin' with a girl's good looks will cost, say, $500. Cripplin' will cost $1,000. For $5,000 you get to do whatever the fuck you want." "Including killin' ?" Roddy asked, incredulously. LT frowned. "Yeah, I guess so. We ain't thought it all the way through jus' yet." "Jesus Christ," said Roddy, "you all are fuckin' crazy." "Yeah, like a fox. Mr. Mozzarella, he's knows what they hell he's doin'," said LT. "He's a real businessman. If he thinks he can make money at this - and me and Beagle and my other partners can make money, too - then you can bet your bottom dollar we can." "Who are your other partners?" "Well, at the moment, only Mike Cass locally, but we're looking for others to invest and to help us run this operation. You interested?" "Not a chance," said Roddy. "I don't have no interest in doin' business with Italian gangsters or taking girls across state lines for rough stuff, or even for regular fuckin'. There's federal laws on that, you know." LT shrugged. "Don't make no difference to me, Roddy. I was just offering you an opportunity to make some good money. Well, gentlemen, if you'll excuse me, I got places to go and things to do." He pulled out ten one-dollar bills and tossed them on the table. The other two men rose and headed for the door. "See you later," LT called to them. "I gotta take a piss." He walked to the back of the cafe, where a sign over a door said "restrooms." But instead of going to the men's room, he looked around quickly, then slipped through the swinging doors that led into the kitchen. She was leaning against the freezer, smoking a cigarette. "Why you talk to me that way, Deedee?" he asked, in a hurt voice. "Well, Mr. L. T. Moore, how'm I supposed to talk to you when you're here with your buddies? You want them to know what's goin' on between us?" "No, not yet. But you could at least be civil. I'm crazy about you, and I thought you was crazy about me." She snuffed out her cigarette in a cold, greasy hamburger patty in a cracked dish. "For Christ sake, LT. You know I'm crazy about you, too. But we can't jus' announce it to the world - least ways, not til we figure out what to do about my uncle." She moved toward LT, and he embraced her in a bear like hug. "This is the ugliest tie I ever did see," she said, pushing him away and unbuttoning his shirt. She pulled up his undershirt and started kissing his chest. "God, you do drive a man crazy," he said hoarsely. Then she knelt, unzipped his fly and pulled out his prick. "You ever had a blow job in the kitchen?" she asked. "No, but I think I'm about to." She took the head of his prick into her mouth and tickled it with her tongue. Then she slid her lips halfway down his shaft. "Deedee, you're just too goddam good to me," he said. His eyes were closed, and he teetered like he was about to fall. She stood suddenly, leaned across over a wooden table and pulled her dress up behind her. "Pull my panties down and fuck me, LT. Fuck me real hard." He fucked her. He fucked her hard. # # # If LT thought his romance with Deedee was a secret, he was wrong. Beagle had it figured out. Deedee's insults were a ruse. So were LT's lewd remarks. They were in love. But he didn't confide this to Roddy, as they walked away from the cafe. A red-haired man in a dark suit was walking fast to catch up with them. "Hi, Roddy. Hi, Beagle," he said, with a broad grin. He pronounced Beagle's name "bee-oggle." Roddy laughed, but Beagle scowled. He hated that stupid joke. "What's up, Cass?" Roddy said. "Nuthin' but the blue sky and gas prices. What's up with you two?" "I heard you was in business," said Roddy, with a knowing wink. "Big-time gangster business with LT and some dago . . . ." Beagle nudged him hard with his elbow. "You don't talk about this out on the sidewalk, asshole." "Beagle's right," said Cass. "You could get us and yourself in a lot of trouble." "Sorry," said Roddy. They walked on in silence for a while. They passed Woolworth's and came to an abandoned Dairy Freeze. They sat on the concrete benches. "So this is serious?" asked Roddy. "Yeah, it's serious," said Cass. "We're runnin' serious risks to make serious money. Did LT ask you to come in with us?" "Yeah, but I said no. LT's a hell of a man in a fight, but I can't see him beatin' up women." "You're right, but he ain't the one who'll be beatin' 'em up," Cass said. Then he turned to Beagle and said, "Where's the girls?" "They supposed to arrive around 6:30 at Toop's. You comin' with me to meet 'em?" "No," said Cass. "I gotta go down to a little town name of Cypress Grove, near Gulfport. Seems Mozzarella ain't the only one with ideas about the coast. Some wop from New Orleans, name of Turco, is trying to move in. Me and LT's gonna make some inquiries. Might be some fightin', in which case we'll call you." "LT's going, too?" Beagle asked. He tried to mask his disappointment. "Yeah," said Cass. "Which leaves you all by your lonesome with a whole shipment of Yankee poontang. Some guys get all the breaks." He got up and stretched. "Don't eat all the pussy, Beagle," he said. "Leave some for LT and me." He walked away with Beagle staring daggers at his back. "You okay?" Roddy asked. "You look pissed off." "I am pissed off," Beagle snapped. "That mother-fucker is turnin' into LT's right-hand man. All I hear from LT these days is 'Let Cass handle this,' 'Check with Cass,' 'Let's hear what Mike thinks.'" Roddy was about to kid Beagle about being jealous but reconsidered. Beagle appeared in no mood for kidding. # # # The six women who climbed out of the church bus onto the gravel parking lot of Toop's Tourist Cabins were about to pay for Beagle's foul mood. "Hello, ladies," he said quietly, as they looked around with exhaustion and disgust. "Not another night in a flea-bag motel," said one of the women, a well built brunette in a pullover white blouse and tan shorts. "When in the hell are we going to get to that Gulf Coast resort we were promised?" Mac, the driver, a beefy man who clearly was as tired of being with the women as they were with him, snarled, "Don't ask me. Ask him." He jerked his thumb toward Beagle. "Okay, mister," the woman said to Beagle. "What's the deal? We've been riding this goddam bus for four days. We haven't spent the night in a clean bed since we left home. Who chooses lodgings for your outfit, the Department of Corrections?" "Interesting you should put it that way," said Beagle. "Cuz in fact we're runnin' a sort of Department of Corrections." Without warning, he reached out, grabbed the woman's face and shoved her backward, into the front fender of the bus. She bounced off and landed in the gravel. She tried to get up, but he kicked her hard in the side. The other women were shouting and two of them charged him. He sidestepped the first and brought down the second with a well placed punch to the jaw. The driver grabbed two others and slammed their heads together. As they fell to the ground, he tackled the last woman. The whole fracas had lasted less than 10 seconds. Six women lay in the gravel, groaning and sobbing. Beagle said loudly, "Well, I guess you've figured out by now that you're not going to be taking dictation and dick from big-shot business executives deep in the heart of Dixie. But if you behave yourselves, you might just end up in a halfway decent hotel close enough to the Gulf to hear the surf." A thin, dark man in a dark suit and a big, red-faced woman emerged from the office of the tourist cabins and joined Beagle. "Hi, Toop. Hi, Mealia," Beagle said. "This is the shipment: six Yankee sluts who need a bit of discipline. Think you two and Mac can handle 'em?" Mealia grunted, a sign that Beagle, her half-brother, knew to be an assent. Mealia didn't talk much. Toop said, "Where you goin'? I thought you was going to help us break 'em in, so to speak." "I won't be far off. I'm going to pick me out one and take her with me. I'm in a mood, and I need to blow off a little steam." Mealia glanced at him sharply. "I'll take that one," Beagle said, pointing to a slender girl with big frightened eyes. "She looks like just what I need tonight." He grabbed the girl's arm and dragged her toward his car. "Please," she said in a trembling voice. "Please don't hurt me." Her brown hair was in a pony tail. He grabbed it and jerked her head back. He slipped his other hand around her waist and pulled her against him. He looked down on her, his face inches from hers. "Oh, but I am going to hurt you, honey. I'm going to hurt you so bad you may end up being of no use at all to us. But I need to do it, and you're the prettiest, most delicate flower in this bouquet, which means you're the perfect victim." He pushed her against the car, then punched her in the stomach. She fell to the ground, curled up in pain. Mealia joined him. "He'll be pissed," she said. "Fuck LT," Beagle hissed. "We'll just say this one ran away. Besides, LT's such a big shot these days, he probably won't even notice some of the merchandise is missin'." The girl on the ground was trying to get up. Mealia helped her to her feet and looked into her eyes. "You're in for a real bad night," she said. She stroked the girl's cheek, then she turned to Beagle and added, "Save some for me." # # # LT and Cass got to Cypress Grove just before a squall came in from the Gulf. They checked into the Cytherea Hotel, a ramshackle, three-story building with a veranda on three sides and balconies on the third floor facing the Gulf. A clerk, a bellman and a maid - the entire staff at the moment - were busy closing storm shutters. "Jesus H. Christ," said LT, as he and Cass stood in the little parlor that served as a lobby. "Feels like the whole damn place is about to fall down or blow away." He slammed a big hand down on the bell on the counter. "Where the hell y'all gone?" he yelled. The clerk, a frazzled looking man of 50, hurried down the stairs. "I'm comin', I'm comin'. Hold your horses." "We need a room," LT said. "Your best room, with a view of the Gulf. And we need it for a week." The clerk, bent over the register, glanced up at LT. "A hundred dollars up front, or give me a credit card," he said. LT dug into his coat pocket and pulled out a roll of twenties. He peeled off ten of them. "Here's $200," he said. "Let me know when that runs out." "Your luggage?" the clerk asked. "It's in the car. Now, I'm gonna need a phone. Got a lot of long distance calls to make. And I want a bottle of bourbon - good bourbon, not that shit they brew back in the piney woods." "And ladies to entertain us," Cass reminded him. The clerk frowned. "We ain't runnin' a whorehouse here," he said. "What's more, this is a dry county." LT gazed at him as if he were a species of insect he'd never seen before. "Like I said, we want a bottle of good bourbon. And like my friend said, we want women. If you can't provide both, we'll take our business elsewhere." The clerk knew that, when it came to hotels, there was no "elsewhere" in Cypress Grove, but he also was nervous about this big man and his big wad of bills. There were rumors about the Mob moving in. "I'll see what I can do," he said. # # # That evening, LT and Cass sat in their room, listening to the wind and the rattling shutters and drinking bourbon from paper cups. At least, LT was drinking. Cass nursed a single drink long after LT had belted down three of them. LT picked up the phone and dialed long distance. "Veniss City," he told the operator. "Name of Deedee Brandon." He gave the operator Deedee's number, then repeated it. "Yeah, well, there's a big storm here. I can hardly hear you, either." There was a pause, and LT gestured to Cass to put an ice cube in his cup and refill it. "Honey," he said suddenly. "Honey, it's me. Me and Mike's in Cypress Grove, and I jus' started thinkin' 'bout you." He was quiet for a moment, then he growled, "Son of a bitch. Did he hurt you? You sure?" His face grew red. "Okay, I'm gonna call Beagle and get him to pick you up and drive you down here. No, listen, you come down with him. And I swear when I get back to Veniss, I'm gonna beat the shit out of that uncle of yours. I don't give a fuck if he does own the goddam bank." Then he began to calm down and talk in a soft voice. Cass knew when he wasn't needed. He went downstairs and out onto the veranda. The wind was still strong, but the rain had let up and the setting sun was visible in the narrow gap between the Gulf and the squall line. It was the kind of weather Cass loved. # # # Beagle brought his sister along for the ride. He wanted Mealia as a sort of chaperone. He didn't trust himself alone with Deedee. He didn't want LT to get any ideas. And he was afraid of Deedee's sexiness. She had never given the slightest hint she was interested in him, but he suspected that he and she couldn't be alone in a car for very long before one or the other did something that could lead to trouble. Now, she was in the back seat, humming and looking out the window. Beagle glanced at her from time to time in the rearview mirror. She really was a knockout. Mealia turned on the radio. The car filled with twangy country music. "Turn that shit off," Beagle said. "No," said Deedee. "Jus' change the station. Try 940. It's got rock-'n-roll." Suddenly, Sam Cooke was singing "You Send Me." His voice was sweet and happy. "Nigger music," muttered Beagle. "Figures you'd like that shit, seein' how your boyfriend is part nigger." Deedee leaned forward and said angrily, "That's a lie. LT's as white as you are. You're supposed to be his friend. Why would you talk like that?" "Yeah, well, you know what 'LT' stands for, don't you? 'Light Tan,'" he said sneeringly. "Don't be such an asshole, Beagle," Deedee shot back. "The 'L' stands for Leo. I don't know about the 'T,' but LT is as fair as a red-headed baby's behind, and you know it." They fell silent. On the radio, Sam Cooke was succeeded by Fats Domino. His delivery was flat and slightly nasal: "You used to be my honey/Till you spent all my money/No use for you to cry/I'll see you bye and bye/Cause I'm walkin' to New Orleans." # # # When they arrived at the Cytherea, it was barely dawn, but LT was already up - and in an expansive mood. He had been waiting on the veranda, and he hurried down the steps when the car pulled to a stop. He enveloped Deedee in a massive hug, then put his arm around Beagle's shoulders. "My best girl and my best friend," he said. "It don't get any better than this." Then he realized Beagle's sister had been left out of his effusive welcome. "And Mealia, the sweetheart of Veniss High." She scowled at him. "So what's happenin'?" asked Beagle. "What about the competition?" "The competition," said LT with a broad smile, "is wiped out - at least temporarily. Got a call from a friend in the sheriff's office. Seems a car full of Turco's hoods went off Highway 90 last night, jus' outside Pass Christian. All five of 'em's in the hospital. Me and Mike never had to lift a finger." They went into the hotel and LT banged impatiently on the bell. The clerk, who had been sleeping in a chair only a few feet away, awoke with a start. "We need two more rooms," LT said. He looked at Beagle. "I figure you and Mike can share one, and Mealia can have one for herself." "Sure," said Beagle. "So Deedee . . . ." "Will sleep at my side," said LT with a big grin. "Assumin' we get any sleep at all." # # # Actually, they did sleep together, early that afternoon - but only after a morning of lovemaking. Deedee did things to him and for him that no woman had ever done before. She loved his big dick, his big chest, his big belly. She loved that he was big all over. She knelt between his legs as he lay on his back in bed, and she cradled his testicles in her hands. "What big beauties," she cooed. "What big balls full of delicious sperm." She leaned down and licked his scrotum. His dick, flaccid after two ejaculations, began to stir again. "Come on, honey," he said, in mock complaint. "You gonna wear the little fella out." "He ain't little, and he ain't as tired as you think," she said softly. She took the head of his prick in her mouth and massaged it with her tongue, even as she gently stroked his balls. Soon he was hard again. He carried her out on the balcony and fucked her from behind while she leaned on the railing and watched the surf come in. # # # That night, LT rented the VFW hall and gave a party for the local establishment: the Harmony County sheriff, county commissioners, the mayor of Cypress Grove, a banker from Gulfport and two men from New Orleans who, like Mozzarella, had reasons for wanting to keep Turco away from this stretch of the Gulf Coast. Bourbon and beer flowed freely. LT prided himself on being a good host. After everyone he wanted there had arrived, LT called for quiet. "I ain't gonna give a long speech," he said. Someone called out, "Thank God." LT laughed. "I just want to say a few words. About the future. About opportunity. One day, there's gonna be solid dee-velopment all the way from New Orleans to Mobile. Gulfport and Biloxi gonna be big resorts. Even sleepy little places like Bay St. Louis and Waveland and Pass Christian, they gonna thrive. All we need is better roads, a lot more air-conditioning - and the right kind of politicians." There was scattered laughter. "You know what I'm talking about," continued LT. "The kind that don't make life too hard for gamblin' and whorehouses. I mean, those of you that have to get elected, you can say whatever you need to, to all them churchgoing voters. Just as long as you don't actually do anything that's bad for business. All I'm askin' is that we work together, for the common good." "Fuckin' A," someone yelled. "Okay. The sermon's over. Get back to partyin'," LT said. There was scattered applause. Cass stood at the bar, drinking ginger ale. Beagle joined him. "What you think, Mike, we makin' progress here?" he asked. "Yeah, I guess so. LT says the sheriff's in his pocket. The mayor could be a problem. His son is a prick. He's the one in the loud shirt over there. Wants a piece of the action, without puttin' anything on the table." "Yeah, that could be a problem. Whatcha drinkin', Mike?" "Nuthin', you know me. I don't handle liquor so good." "Come on, we got reason to celebrate. Here, let me get you a real drink," Beagle said. He gestured to the bartender. "Bourbon. Make it a double." "Shit, Beagle, you're gonna put me out for the night." They drank at the bar for a while, then LT came over with the sheriff. "Bill, these are my associates, Mike Cass and Beagle Bojanus. You'll be seein' a lot of 'em. They gonna be my eyes and ears down here. You got a problem with the way things are goin' on this project, you talk to Mike." He put a beefy hand on Cass's shoulder. "Or Beagle," he added, almost as an afterthought. But Mike didn't look like the man to talk to at the moment. He was already getting glassy-eyed, and he had a goofy grin. LT and the sheriff walked away, and Beagle took an empty glass from Cass's hand. "How 'bout another one?" he asked. "No, no more. I'm gettin' shit-faced." "Aw, come on," said Beagle. Beagle headed for the bar, and LT came up to Mike with another guest, the young man with the loud shirt. "Mike, this is Alvin Pike. He's the mayor's son, and he'll be workin' with us on the building. He's a general contractor." Just then, LT caught sight of a state senator who had walked in. "Bobby Joe," he called out. He walked away and left Cass with the mayor's son. "Quite a boss you've got there," said Pike. "Quite a talker." "Yeah, he's a hell of a man, a man of vision," Mike said. His speech was slurred. "What makes you peckerwoods think you know anything about business?" Pike asked. He asked it with an innocent smile. Cass frowned. "What'd you say?" "You heard what I said. What makes you peckerwoods think you can come in here and start an operation that is illegal and backed by a bunch of Yankee wops? Your boss can't tell the difference between Dale Carnegie and the Cosa Nostra." Cass grabbed a handful of the young man's loud shirt and cocked his fist, but Pike caught him with a punch to the stomach. Cass bent over, retching. "You peckerwoods can't hold your liquor, either," Pike said quietly. The noisy conversations in the hall had stopped. Cass straightened up suddenly and slammed his fist into Pike's face. Then both men were on the floor, wrestling. "Jesus H. Mother-fuckin' Christ," LT bellowed. "What the hell is goin' on?" Beagle, who had returned from the bar, handed the drink to a bystander and helped Cass to his feet. LT gave a hand to Pike. "Sorry, boss," said Cass. "He called me a peckerwood. Called all of us peckerwoods. Said we . . . ." "Your flunky's drunk," Pike said. "Drunk and belligerent." "Okay, okay," said LT. "Let's all of us cool off. Beagle, you take Cass out for some fresh air." LT set about repairing the damage. It wasn't going to be easy. The mayor wanted an apology from Cass. And he wanted Cass fired. LT tried to soothe them, but he could see that his big chance to seal a deal for Mozzarella was slipping away. "Okay," LT told the mayor, "Cass is out. I'll send him back to Veniss. I'm sorry about all this. He's a good man, a reliable man. Jus' can't drink worth a shit." Beagle, who had come back in, alone, joined in. "I told Mike to be careful. He didn't mean no trouble, but like you said, he jus' can't drink." ### Back on the veranda at the Cytherea, Deedee sat in a rocking chair and pouted. She didn't understand why LT had left her at the hotel. Was he ashamed to show her off in front of his friends and the locals he was trying to impress? It couldn't be to protect her from rumor. Hell, she had pretty much destroyed whatever reputation she had by coming down to Cypress Grove to be with him. Her relationship with LT certainly was no longer a secret to Beagle, Mealia and Mike. Or to her uncle, since she had called him right after LT phoned from Cypress Grove. She had told Ogilvie where she was going and with whom - and he could fuck himself if he didn't like it. He was an occasionally violent man, but he was scared of LT. Her thoughts were interrupted by Mealia. "Hi, okay if I join you?" "Sure," Deedee lied. They sat next to each other, rocking in silence. Finally, Deedee said, "You mus' know what they're doin' tonight? LT don't talk business to me. What's this all about?" Mealia looked at her with a curious gaze. "You don't know what they're up to?" "No. I mean, I know it's some kind of business, but I don't know nothin' 'bout the details." Mealia explained the "details." As she spoke, Deedee's eyes got wider and wider. Finally, she couldn't contain herself. "LT wouldn't hurt a woman, unless he accidentally rolled over on one in bed and squashed her. Deliberately hurtin' women is not his style." "I didn't say LT would do the hurtin'," said Mealia. "But he's in the business of gettin' women for men who'll pay to hurt 'em." "But why bring women down from the North. Ain't there hookers enough down here for whatever a man's got in mind?" Mealia allowed herself a small smile. "You're pretty innocent, ain't you? They want girls who are far from home, who don't have friends and family 'round here to get upset and curious." "Why would any woman agree to come here and get hurt?" "They don't know 'bout the hurtin' part. They think they're jus' gonna party with these men - you know, fuckin' and BJ's." Mealia paused, then added, "Though there's some women who ain't opposed to a little hurtin', if it's a reasonable amount." Deedee frowned. "Who would want to be hurt - even a 'reasonable amount'?" Mealia smiled again, a small, mysterious smile. "You never been spanked or roughed up?" "Of course, I have. My uncle roughed me up just before we came down here." "And you never got pleasure out of it?" "Absolutely not," Deedee said emphatically. "Well, maybe you jus' ain't been handled properly." They fell quiet again for a while. Then Deedee said softly, "Actually, there was one time I was rasslin' with another girl at school. She was bigger and stronger, and she got me face down. She sat on my shoulders, and a friend of hers started beatin' my behind with a willow switch. And I felt . . . . I can't explain it." "You liked it?" Deedee blushed. "Yeah, I guess you could say I liked it.." Mealia said, "The men won't be back for hours. Let's go up to my room." "What for?" Deedee asked warily. "I want to teach you somethin' - somethin' you're gonna remember and appreciate for a long, long time." They went up to Mealia's room, and she took control of Deedee in a way she had never been controlled before. Mealia's demeanor changed completely. She was no longer the ugly, awkward outsider. Her voice had an authority Deedee had never heard before. When she ordered Deedee to strip, Deedee discovered she couldn't disobey. And when she tied Deedee's wrists behind her and pulled the rope up and looped it twice around her neck, she didn't protest. Mealia pushed her face down onto the bed. Her pelvis rested on the wooden footboard, and her feet were spread apart on the floor. This left her naked behind defenseless. Mealia took a short leather strap from a drawer. "What you gonna . . . ." Deedee started to ask, but Mealia said, "Shut up! You speak only when I give you permission." Then, without more ado, she smacked Deedee's ass with the strap. The sound startled Deedee even more than the sting. Four more quick blows landed. "No," Deedee cried, "please quit. It hurts." Whack, whack, whack. Welts appeared on Deedee's behind, and tears filled her eyes. But something else happened as well. She felt her pussy getting wet. Whack, whack, whack. With the last blow, the end of the strap landed on Deedee's exposed pussy, and she screamed louder than before. Mealia examined the leather tip. It was wet. She sniffed it. "Let me go," Deedee pleaded. "I mean it. I've had enough." "Shut up," Mealia commanded. She picked up Deedee's panties - black lace with a heart on the crotch, a gift from LT - balled them up and stuffed them in Deedee's mouth. Then she resumed whipping. When Deedee tried to stand, Mealia pushed her back onto the bed. Mealia was as strong as a man. Deedee felt powerless when she handled her. By now all resistance had ended. In fact, Deedee's ass began to rise to meet the blows. Her eyes were half shut, and she was moaning softly. Finally, her body trembled uncontrollably. She was having an orgasm. Mealia knelt and licked her pussy. Within seconds, her body was wracked by new spasms of ecstasy. Mealia rose, grabbed the rope and pulled Deedee off the bed. She spun her around so they faced one another. "I told you you'd appreciate it," Mealia whispered. "Did you?" Tears streamed down her cheeks, but Deedee nodded her assent. Mealia put her lips next to Deedee's ear. "You're mine, little slut. Nothin' LT nor any other man will ever do to you will give you what I can give you." # # # LT returned from the VFW hall in a lousy mood. The whole deal had nearly gone down the toilet because Mike Cass couldn't hold his liquor. The sheriff was solid, and so were the county commissioners. The mayor was back on board too, but his son was still sulking and could be a problem. He'd be looking for some way to sabotage the project. It was urgent to get Cass out of town, but he didn't even know where Cass was. He had disappeared right after the fracas. LT unlocked the hotel room door and entered quietly. It was past midnight, and he didn't want to awaken Deedee. She was turning into a real sex machine, and he just wasn't up to it tonight. She lay naked and uncovered, face down on the bed. That was odd. She got cold easily, and usually slept under a light blanket, even in summer. In the moonlight from the window, she looked like a sleeping goddess. The roundness of her behind was irresistible. He leaned forward and kissed it gently. She stirred and made an unintelligible sound. Funny, he thought, in the moonlight it almost looked like she had bug bites or welts on her ass. Then he got under the covers, rolled over and went to sleep. [To be continued.]
Part II The phone jangled, and Beagle sat up slowly and shook the cobwebs out of his head. He had pulled down the shades when he got back to his room, but sunlight now was creeping in around the edges. The phone rang again, and he picked up the receiver. It was Cass. "Beagle, how much trouble am I in?" Beagle paused, composed his thoughts and said, "He's pretty pissed, Mike. I mean, he's so pissed I think you're fired." "Shit." Cass's voice was filled with anguish. After a moment, he said, "Can I fix it up?" "I don't think so, Mike. Where are you?" "Over in Gulfport. There's a girl I know here - you remember her, Binky; used to be a stripper in Pensacola." "Oh, yeah," said Beagle. "I remember her." "So I'm in deep shit." "Yeah, pretty deep." Beagle's tone was sympathetic. He was thinking hard. "What's the phone number there?" He found a pencil and wrote it on a piece of yellowed hotel stationery. "I'll see what I can do at this end," he said. "And I'll call you back this afternoon." He paused. "No, don't come 'round here right now. Seein' you might jus' set him off. I'll call you." He hung up, got out of bed and raised the shades. The sunlight hurt his eyes. He pulled the shades back down and lit a cigarette. This could be a real interesting day. # # # They gathered together in the dining room downstairs for breakfast: LT, Deedee, Beagle and Mealia. Everyone was quiet. Even the usually voluble LT was lost in thought. Deedee seemed depressed and wouldn't look anyone in the eye. She slipped a cushion onto her chair before sitting. "You okay?" LT asked. "I jus' need my coffee," she mumbled. "How'd it go last night?" Mealia asked. "Pretty good, I guess," said LT. "Wouldn't you say it went okay, Beagle?" "Sure, LT." They fell silent again. Finally, Mealia said, "You sure don't sound like everything went okay." LT munched on a slice of toast, washed it down with a gulp of coffee, and said, "Well, there was one problem. Mike Cass got drunk and picked a fight with the mayor's son. It was a stupid thing to do. I had to fire him." "You fired Mike?" Deedee asked. It was the first time since she got up that she'd shown any spark of life. "Yeah, I didn't want to, but I had no choice. It was either fire him or lose the mayor. And if we lose the mayor, the whole deal blows up." "That's too bad," Deedee said sadly. "I like Mike. And I know he really looks up to you." "Yeah, well, he shouldn't have got drunk." LT was peeved, and it showed. In fact, any feeling LT had immediately showed up in his face. He's an open book, Beagle thought. "I feel bad about it, too," Beagle said. "I wish I had told him to quit the booze. Deedee's right. He really admires you, LT." He paused, then added, "And I know he really likes you, too, Deedee." # # # After breakfast, Beagle followed Mealia to her room. "We need to talk," he said. She let him in. The room was a mess. Mealia always had been a slob. He sat in a wicker chair and felt a lump beneath him. He slid forward, turned and picked up Deedee's balled up panties. He held them up and gave them a shake. "You gettin' awfully sexy these days," he said to his sister with a sly grin. Her face got even redder than usual. "Give 'em here," she said. "Whose are they?" he asked. "None of your business." He sniffed them. "Don't smell like you, sis. And there's only one other woman in this hotel, besides the maid." He sniffed them again. "Yeah, this here reeks of Deedee." "Give 'em to me," Mealia demanded. "No, I think I may find a use for them, sis. Maybe I'll keep 'em in my pocket, so I can give myself a little pick-me-up from time to time. Like smellin' salts when a person's feelin' faint. And speakin' of feelin' faint, how rough were you with her last night?" "You're such a prick," Mealia said. He got up to leave. "What'd you come in here to talk about?" Mealia asked. "I was gonna ask how you thought LT and Deedee was gettin' along. But I don't need to know anymore. The past don't matter. I think I know exactly how they'll be gettin' along from now on." # # # "It's the damnedest thing," LT said, slowly twisting his bottle of Dr. Pepper back and forth between his hands. "She's got these red welts all over her behind, but she won't talk 'bout 'em. And she seems all confused and sad. I ain't never seen her like this before." "Maybe you got cooties in your room," Beagle said, letting out a stream of cigarette smoke. "No, these ain't bug bites. Looks more like she's been hit - you know, like when someone whips you with a switch." "Y'all into that kind of thing?" Beagle asked, raising his eyebrows. "Not me," LT said. "I'm old-fashioned when it comes to lovemakin' - jus' fuckin' and blow-jobs and maybe a bit of pussy-lickin' on special occasions." He grinned in spite of himself. "What about you, Beag?" he asked. "I guess I'm pretty much like you, LT. I'm not really into kinky stuff. . . . Well, not ordinarily, anyhow." "What d'you mean, 'not ordinarily'?" "Well, a few months ago me and Mike went to a whorehouse in Biloxi, and things got kinda strange." "How so?" LT seemed keenly interested. "Well, Mike asked for a girl who liked rough stuff. That's the way he put it - 'rough stuff.' And the madam, she said she had a girl who was willing to put up with a little roughness. Spanking and such." "Really?" LT asked, wide-eyed. "Mike asked for that?" "Sure enough," Beagle said. Then he fell silent. "Well," said LT. "What the hell happened?" "Aw, I shouldn't be tellin' you this, LT. It's kinda private, and it's not really fair to Mike." "Tell me what happened, for God's sake," LT said loudly. "Okay, okay. Jus' keep it down." They were sitting in a cafe in what passed for a downtown in Cypress Grove. "Well," said Beagle. "He took out this leather whip he was carrying. It was coiled up inside his shirt. He took it out and whipped the shit out of her." LT whistled. "Beat her with a whip?" "Yeah, and it kinda upset me. I mean, it was the same sort of thing we're goin' into business to do, but this was a Southern white girl, not some Yankee slut." "I never would have thought it," LT said softly. "Yeah, me neither," said Beagle. "After all, it's not like Mike needs to go beatin' up whores if he's lookin' for sex. He's never had trouble gettin' women. He was real popular in high school. In fact, I think he dated Deedee. Yeah, I'm pretty sure he did." "He never told me that," LT said, his face darkening. "Well, no reason why he should. It was probably no big thing for either of them. I'm not even sure Mike would remember." "You don't forget a girl like Deedee," LT said menacingly. "Sure, you're right. She's special," Beagle said quickly. "It's just that he had so many girls. Anyway, I'm sure it wasn't nothin' but a little high school fling." The waitress, a thin young black woman, came up to their table and asked if they wanted anything else. "Yeah," said LT. "I think it's time to switch to beer. Bring me a Dixie." "We don't serve no beer," the waitress said. LT looked at her coldly. "Sure, you got beer. You go back in the kitchen and tell whoever runs this place that LT Moore and his right-hand-man are out front and they want a couple bottles of Dixie. Tell him that, and see what happens. And if he ain't heard of LT Moore, tell him to call Sheriff Berkey and ask about me." "Okay," the waitress said sulkily as she walked away, "but I know we ain't got no beer." "Jesus H. Fuckin' Christ," LT sighed. "It's one goddam aggravation after another. Now, where were we?" "I don't recall," Beagle said. "Oh, yeah, it was about Mike and Deedee." "You think they ever did it?" LT asked, staring into Beagle's eyes. Beagle looked away. "Why you put me on the spot like this, LT? It was a long time ago and they was jus' teen-agers. What difference does it make?" "I want to know what you think, dammit," LT shouted. "Okay, okay. Calm down. What I think is that, yeah, they probably did it. I mean, it was probably just a blow job or a quick fuck in the back seat of a car at the drive-in. But shit, that doesn't mean they was in love, much less that they're still -" Here he paused. "They're still what?" LT grabbed his arm. "Christ, LT, that hurts. Relax, will you?" LT released him. "Okay, I'm relaxed. I'm calm. What I want to know is do you think there's still anything between Mike and Deedee? Any love interest? Any carryin' on?" "No, I don't," Beagle said. "And that's the honest to God truth. I think whatever was between them is over and done with. Besides, I'm not even sure Deedee ever enjoyed that kind of rough stuff." LT stood up so suddenly that his chair fell over backward. "What you mean? You sayin' he used to beat her?" "No, that's not what I'm sayin'. Sit down, for Christ sake." LT picked up his chair and sat. He leaned across the table until his face was close to Beagle's. "Then what are you sayin', Beagle? Think very carefully before you talk, you son-of-a-bitch. What are you gettin' at?" Beagle wore a pained expression, as if he was struggling within himself. "Look, LT, I don't want to cause no trouble. I don't want to upset you. I don't want to hurt Deedee or Mike." "Get to the goddamn point," LT bellowed. Two men who had been finishing a late breakfast at another table got up, shook their heads disapprovingly and left. "What I heard is that Deedee found Mike powerful appealin'. And when she got to know him . . . . when he introduced her, so to speak, to some of his kinky stuff, she got real excited." "And that happened back in high school?" LT asked. "No, this was sometime after high school." "How long after?" LT demanded. Beagle was silent for what seemed like a long time. Finally, he said, "Til you and Deedee took up together. About three months ago." LT looked like he had been hit between the eyes with a two-by-four. "I gotta talk to her," he said, more to himself than to Beagle. "I gotta talk to her." "Before you do that, LT, you need to think this through. What good will it do to talk to her? She'll just deny it. She'll say Mike don't mean nothin' to her. That's only natural. And so will Mike. They don't want to hurt you. Besides, what happened before you and Deedee took up with one another ain't technically any of your business. I mean, so long as they ain't still at it, you can't claim no wrong." "And how in the fuck am I to know whether they're 'still at it'?" "I don't know," Beagle said. His voice was filled with sadness. "I wish I had just kept my mouth shut. I don't know how you can know for sure what's goin' on." "I'm goin' out for a walk on the beach," LT said. "You're right. I gotta think this through. I'll see you later at the hotel." "Sure, LT. You go ahead. I'll pay the bill here." LT walked away, his shoulders slumped. When the screen door swung shut, Beagle gestured to the waitress. "How much?" he asked. "Dollar and a quarter," she said. Then she added, "I checked. We don't have no beer." Beagle smiled. "Dollar and a quarter don't seem much of a price for destroyin' a man's soul," he said. The waitress frowned. "I don't know what you talkin' 'bout, Mister." He gave her two dollars. "Keep the change, honey," he said. "I'm feelin' generous today." # # # From a pay phone at a gas station near the hotel, Beagle called the number Cass had given him. A woman answered. "Mike there?" he asked. "He's sleepin'," the woman said. "Is this Binky?" "Yeah, who's this?" "This is Mike's friend Beagle. Tell him I need to talk to him. Wake him up. He won't mind." "You sure?" she asked. "I promise he'll be glad you did." A few seconds later Mike's sleepy voice asked, "Yeah, Beagle, what's up?" "Get over to the hotel as quick as you can. I think I know how we can patch this thing up. LT is a sucker for Deedee. He'll do jus' about anything to please her. If we can get her to talk to him about your situation, I think we can fix it." "Thanks, Beagle," Cass said, his voice filled with relief. "You're a real friend. I'll be there in no time - 20 minutes tops." Beagle hung up and walked jauntily to the hotel. A stiff breeze was blowing in from the Gulf, carrying a tang of salt and the cries of gulls. Far in the distance, he could see LT, at the water's edge. Mealia was sitting on the veranda. "You seen Deedee?" he asked. "I think she's still up in her room," Mealia said. "What you up to, Beagle?" "You ever been in the bumper cars over at Pontchartrain Beach? Imagine if the bumper cars was locomotives. That's what I'm up to, sis." He went into the Cytherea and raced up the stairs, two at a time. # # # LT wasn't much of a walker, but he trudged through the sand with grim determination. His despair had quickly been transformed into anger, and the anger frightened him. He wanted to work it off. At the moment, walking was the only safe way to do so. Now he was headed back to the hotel, head down, brow furrowed, deep in thought. What did he really know about Mike and Deedee? Nothing but what Beagle had told him, and Beagle himself said he didn't have anything definite. They probably dated in high school. They may have had something going after high school. It was all surmise and suspicion. But then there were the welts on Deedee's behind. When he had asked her about them, she had blushed and turned away from him. She wouldn't talk about them. And whipping women's behinds was something that turned Mike on. Beagle had seen it with his own eyes. But Beagle could be lying. Naw, why would he lie? He liked Mike. So the story about Mike at the whorehouse had to be true. And the welts on Deedee's ass were a fact. Put two and two together and what do you get? Perversion, that's what - kinky shit between his buddy and his girlfriend. Kinky stuff that she must like. Going on while his back was turned. Going on last night, while he was at the VFW hall making his sales pitch. Mike must have come back to the hotel, still sort of drunk. He sees Deedee sitting on the veranda. They talk. He makes a suggestion. She smiles seductively. They go up to the room, and then . . . . "Jesus H. Fuckin' Christ!" LT yelled, startling half a dozen terns into flight. He looked around to get his bearings. The hotel was barely a hundred yards away. Two people were on the veranda. He couldn't tell from this distance who they were. But he was pretty sure one was a man and the other was a women. He walked faster. # # # "I don't know if it'll do any good, but I'll try," Deedee said. "He doesn't like me inquirin' into his business." "I'm not askin' you to get him to talk business," Mike said. "I'm askin' you to talk to him about how me and him have been friends for a long time. I'm askin' you to ask him to give me another chance." A voice came from the screen door a few feet from them. It was Beagle, who had been standing in the lobby, by the door. "Mike, you better hightail it out of here," he said. "I see LT comin' and he's walkin' like a man who's really pissed." "Why should I run away?" Mike asked. "I want to face him like a man. I want to tell him I'm sorry and ask him to forgive me." "I'm tellin' you," Beagle said urgently, "You better get the fuck out of here, fast." Mike sighed, then walked down the steps of the veranda and looked to his left. The figure in the distance was still small, but he could tell it was LT. He turned and walked briskly in the other direction. Deedee came to the top of the steps and leaned against a wooden column. She was confused. Beagle had urged her to talk with Mike, but now he had told Mike to go away. Why not let Mike and LT work this out together? She didn't want to get in the middle. She liked Mike, but who was she to tell LT who to hire and fire? LT reached the foot of the steps, paused and tried to catch his breath. "Was that Mike jus' left here?" he finally asked. "Yeah, honey, he . . . ." Deedee hesitated. LT was coming up the steps fast and his face was twisted with rage. She backed away, but his open-handed blow still caught her on the side of the head. She tumbled backward into the clapboard wall and fell to the floor. He knelt and continued slapping her. Deedee's screams brought Mealia out from the kitchen, where she had been talking with the cook. She rushed past Beagle and out on the veranda. "LT, what the hell you doin'?" she cried. She tried to grab his raised right hand, but he pushed her away and continued pummeling Deedee. "Beagle," Mealia called. "Come out here and stop him. Please, for God's sake." Beagle stepped out and said, "Lay off her, LT. You jus' gonna get yourself into trouble. Let her alone. Let's go for a walk and do some talkin'." LT paused. He was still on his knees. Deedee was curled up next to him, her hands pressed against the sides of her head. "I done enough walkin' today, Beagle. I done enough thinkin' and talkin' too." "A person can't never do enough thinkin'," said Beagle. "Lack of thinkin' is what gets you into trouble." He walked over to LT and squatted beside him. "Let her go back up to her room and compose herself," he said. "Mealia'll take care of her. Let's you and me go somewhere and figure out what to do next." LT got unsteadily to his feet. His fit of rage had suddenly passed, and he looked dazed. Deedee was sobbing softly. He looked down at her and said, "You okay, honey?" Mealia helped Deedee to sit up, and took her in her arms. "Go away, LT. Go away, and let her go upstairs and rest. You done put her through hell." LT walked down the steps. Beagle was at his side, with one hand on his shoulder. LT felt old and tired. He wanted to go somewhere, far from everyone, and sleep. Sleep forever. No more pain. No more jealousy. No more voices. But one voice wouldn't stop. It was Beagle's. He was saying something about "tangerine poof." "I gotta sit down," LT said. "I feel like I'm gonna keel over." He sat on a concrete barrier at the edge of the beach road. "I jus' hate to tell you this," Beagle was saying. "But I saw Deedee hand it to him, and he put it in his pocket. Least ways, I think I saw it. Anyway, if he has it, that would be tangible proof. That would end all this uncertainty." "He put what in his pocket?" LT asked, his face full of confusion. "Well, it looked like black lace panties," Beagle said. "With a big red heart where - well, you know , over where a girl's pussy would be." "Black lace panties? With a big red heart? Oh, Beagle, oh, oh, oh. She's done give him the panties I gave her. Oh, my God, I'll kill 'em both. I'll kill 'em both, then I'll kill myself." "Don't talk crazy, LT. I ain't sure what I saw. You can't kill 'em without havin' some proof in your hand." "But how we gonna get the proof, Beagle? I don't even know where Beagle's stayin'." "I do. He called me up. He's stayin' with some whore just outside Gulfport. I don't know her address, but I got her phone number." "What good does that do?" LT said. "You think if I call him up, he's gonna bring the panties to me and say, 'By the way, boss, your sweetie pie gave me these'?" "No, but if I find out where she lives, we could bust in and surprise them. We could search the place." LT rose. "You find out. Find out where she lives. Then we'll see what we do. Meanwhile, I gotta figure out about Deedee. How can I go back and be with her? How can I trus' myself not to strangle her the very next time I see that pretty, lyin' face?" "You jus' gotta get control of yourself," Beagle said. "Go back to the hotel, and apologize. Say you been under a lot of strain, and you're real sorry what happened. Don't do anything crazy." He patted LT on the back. "Let me do all the work here. Let me find out what I can find out. If we get tangible proof, then I swear to God, I'll help you kill 'em." # # # The doorbell at Binky's apartment had an eight-note chime more suitable for a 14-room mansion than what confronted Beagle when she opened the door. "Hi," he said. "I'm Beagle. You know, Mike's friend." She looked puzzled. "Mike's not here right now. In fact, I thought he said he was going to meet you." "Yeah, that's right. We did get together, and he wanted me to come over and tell you he'll be comin' in late tonight." Her face fell. "Oh, we were supposed to go out to dinner. A seafood restaurant in Biloxi. It's my . . . ." "Your birthday. Yeah, Mike told me. He said he's real sorry, but he's gotta meet with his boss . . . . well, his ex-boss. LT Moore." Her face brightened. "Is LT gonna forgive him?" "I think so," said Beagle. "I'm workin' on it. Anyway, Mike'll be late, so he asked me to give this to you and to tell you to please wait up for him. He said, 'Tell her to wear 'em, and a great big smile.' That's the way he put it." He handed her a gift-wrapped box. "What are they?" she asked. "I dunno. He didn't tell me. Anyway, I suspect it's somethin' kinda intimate, so I'll let you open it in private. He should be here around 10." She smiled. Kinda pretty, Beagle thought. Curly brown hair, nice, compact body. Looks like a good fuck. "See ya," she said. "Yeah, see ya." He whistled as he walked out to the car. # # # A mile and a half away, Mike Cass lay face down in a gravel side road. Half an hour earlier, Beagle had hit him on the back of the head with a tire iron, then hit him three times more. He had pulled out his switchblade knife to finish him off, but decided against it. "Leave that to LT," he had said to himself, before setting out to meet Binky. # # # At 9:15, LT came downstairs and gave his room key to the clerk. "Out for a night on the town?" the clerk asked, with a sly smile. "Yeah," LT said grimly. "A night on the town." Outside, in the dark, LT saw an orange speck of light. It was Beagle's cigarette. "You ready?" LT asked. "I'm ready," Beagle said. They walked in silence to the car. Upstairs, from a balcony, Deedee looked down. She hugged herself and trembled. It wasn't just the night air. She felt death was approaching, like a skeletal horseman riding across the waves. # # # The plan was simple. Beagle would ring the doorbell. When Binky opened the door, they would rush in, subdue her, tape her mouth shut, and search the apartment. Ding-dong, ding-dong - pause - ding-dong, ding-dong. The door opened a crack. "Mike?" she said. Beagle pushed the door open, knocking her backward into a chair. She toppled over it and landed on the floor. He was on her in a second. He punched her full in the face as she tried to get up, and followed it up with a kick in the belly. LT pulled him away from her. "Not so rough," he said. "We may need her help to find 'em." "Yeah, you're right. Try the bedroom. I'll go through this room." LT disappeared into the bedroom. Seconds later, Beagle heard furniture being overturned. He reached down, grabbed Binky by the throat and pulled her upright. Her eyelids fluttered and she tried to speak, but his grip turned her words into desperate gurgles. "Hope you're wearing Mike's little present, honey," he whispered. Then he called out, "Come here, LT. I got a surprise for you." LT came to the doorway, filling it with his massiveness. "I'll hold her, and you pull down her shorts," Beagle said. He slipped a forearm across her throat and pulled her hard against him. LT approached, puzzled. "What the hell you talkin' 'bout, Beagle?" "She jus' told me where they are. Go ahead. Pull down her shorts." LT slipped his hands between her belly and the waist of her shorts and yanked. The fabric ripped apart, and LT found himself looking down on a pair of black lace panties. A big red heart covered her crotch. He didn't think. He didn't plan. He didn't even feel. He acted. A huge fist slammed into her gut, and she doubled up, despite Beagle's efforts to hold her upright. The next blow landed on the back of her downturned head. Beagle let her fall to the floor. LT flipped her onto her back and pulled off what was left of her shorts. The red heart was now fully visible, mocking him, mocking everything he had ever yearned for. He punched her in the crotch, then pounded her defenseless belly. After half a minute, he stopped. He was sobbing and trying to catch his breath. "I think she's dead," Beagle said. His voice was flat, betraying no emotion and not even much interest. LT finally calmed down enough to speak. "She's not the one who ought to be dead," he gasped. "You're right about that, pal," said Beagle. "So who's next?" "Mike. I gotta find Mike. Find him and kill him." "Yeah, well, I think I know where we can find him. I sorta got started on him this afternoon." They drove along Ricketts Road for a little over a mile, then Beagle turned onto an unmarked gravel trail. After a few hundred yards, he pulled to a stop. "Damn," he said. "I left the son of a bitch right here." He got out and looked down at the patch of road illuminated by the headlights. There was blood on the gravel, but Cass was nowhere to be seen. "He's tougher than I thought," Beagle said. "Oh well, we'll find him. He wasn't on the road between here and the whore's place, so maybe he's headed into Gulfport." "To hell with him," LT said quietly. "I got other business to attend to. Let's get back to the hotel." # # # Deedee couldn't rest. She couldn't even sit down. She wandered back and forth, from her room on the third floor to Mealia's on the second, then downstairs to the lobby, and back up again. "I've lost him, lost everything," she said forlornly. "Lost, lost, lost." Mealia followed her, growing increasingly worried. "Deedee, you ain't lost nothing," she said. "LT, he'll get over this. It's jus' some kind of craziness come over him." Deedee wasn't listening. A dreamy sort of trance had come over her. "Willow," she said. "They whipped me with a willow switch. They whipped me into destined-for-hell perversion. All because of a willow switch. All because it tingled between my legs, and I liked it." She sounded as if her mind had wandered far away. "Destined for hell for a willow switch." "You're talkin' crazy, Deedee. You're scarin' me." They were on the third-story balcony now, and in the moonlight Mealia saw a car pull up below. Beagle and LT got out. "We gotta get out of here, Deedee. LT's back, and Lord knows what he'll do." The front screen door squeaked open, then slammed shut. "Deedee, please. We gotta get out of here." But it was too late. Mealia heard LT's heavy steps on the stairway. There was only one way up and down, and LT now blocked it. "Stay here," Mealia whispered. She went out into the hallway just as LT reached the top of the stairs. "She's not here, LT," she said. "She went for a walk on the beach." LT pushed her aside, went into the room and locked the door. Deedee stood in the French window that opened onto the balcony. She leaned against the frame, and her eyes were closed. LT walked over to her, slowly, like a very tired man just come home from a hard day at the office. "Where are your panties, Deedee?" he said. "Where are the black lace panties I gave you, with the heart to cover your pussy?" "I don't know, LT," she said in a small, childish voice. "I noticed just today they were missin'." "Yeah, well I saw them jus' an hour or so ago. On a whore in Gulfport. Mike Cass's whore." Deedee looked at him in puzzlement. She seemed to have trouble getting her eyes to focus. "Mike Cass," she said. "What would Mike be doin' with my panties?" LT suddenly grabbed her shoulders. "Yeah, Deedee, that's what I was wonderin', too," he said in a low, hoarse whisper. "I was wonderin' how Mike ended up with your panties. How somethin' I gave to you ended up on his whore in Gulfport. And I was wonderin' about those welts on your ass, Deedee." He jerked her toward the bed. She was like a rag doll in his hands. "You gonna kill me, LT?" she asked. For the first time, she sounded frightened. "Yeah, Deedee, I'm gonna kill you. I don't know if you pray anymore, but if you do, now's the time for a prayer." He pushed her backward onto the bed. She didn't resist. He towered over her. His hands were trembling, but his voice had become strangely calm. "Pray, Deedee. Pray to God to forgive your sins." "My sins?" she said. "What sins? Lovin' you too much. Runnin' away from my home to be with you? Actin' like a tramp for you?" He picked up a pillow and began kneading it with his big hands. "Don't kill me, LT. They'll hang you for it, and even if they don't hang you, you'll never forgive yourself." There was a knock at the door, and Mealia called out, "LT, let me in. Don't hurt her, LT. She never done anything but good for you." Slowly, LT lowered the pillow onto Deedee's face. She had closed her eyes and seemed resigned to death. But when he leaned heavily on the pillow, she began to struggle. She kicked and clawed and squirmed. After a minute, the struggling subsided. By the time the door was forced open, she lay completely still. A sheriff's deputy with a drawn pistol told LT to back away from the bed. Mealia rushed to Deedee and pulled away the pillow. Deedee's face had taken on a purplish hue, and her eyes had rolled back in her head. "You stupid bastard," Mealia screamed. "You killed her. You killed the woman who loved you." Beagle stood just outside the room, in the hall. LT spotted him and cried out, "I done it. I killed her. I squeezed the breath out of her, so she couldn't tell another lie." A captain from the sheriff's office entered the room. "Turn around and put your hands behind you," he shouted. LT did as he was ordered. The captain tried to snap a set of handcuffs on LT's wrists. "I can barely get the damn things to close," he said. "Yeah, he's a big son of a bitch," said the deputy. Suddenly, as the captain struggled with the cuffs, LT rushed through the French window, out onto the balcony and crashed through the railing. He didn't utter a sound as he fell, but there was a loud thump when he bounced off the roof of the veranda and then a duller thud as he hit the pavement. The officers, Mealia and Beagle crowded out on the balcony and looked down. LT lay sprawled, face down. In the light from a lamp on the veranda, they could see blood pooling around his massive head. Mealia turned to Beagle. "You got what you wanted," she hissed. Beagle retreated from the balcony. She repeated, "You got what you wanted. You tricked the poor, dumb son of a bitch into killin' her, and now he's dead, too. And where's Mike Cass? How'd you get rid of him?" "Shut up, woman," Beagle snarled. "You don't know what you're talkin' about." She kept moving forward, and Beagle kept retreating, all the way down the stairs to the lobby. The officers followed, wondering what this big, ugly woman was driving at. They heard a car pull up outside and the sounds of men talking. One of the voices said, "Holy shit! Isn't this the guy who was supposed to be setting up this operation?" The screen door opened and two men came in. One was a heavyset man in his mid-thirties, the other twenty years older, with the stern, worn face of a Roman general - or an Italian gangster. "Who are you?" the deputy asked. "I'm Silvio Mozzarella," the older man answered. "And this is my driver, Tony Capoletto. What happened here?" The deputy was about to tell him it was none of his business, but the captain jumped in. "Sheriff Berkey said you might be coming down," he said. "I'm sorry, you arrived at a real bad time." Mozzarella repeated his question: "What happened here?" "Murder-suicide," said the captain. "The man outside on the ground killed his girlfriend, then jumped off the balcony. To his death, I guess. We ain't been outside yet to check." "No need," said Mozzarella. "He's dead." "Well, now we got to figure out who he is, and who the girl is and . . . ." "He's Leo Tolliver Moore," said Mozzarella. "He was a business associate of mine. A very promising young man." "And the woman?" "I don't know," said Mozzarella. "I do," said Mealia. "Her name was Deedee Brandon. She was from north of here, up in Veniss." "And do you know what led to all this?" the captain asked. "Yeah," said Mealia. "I know pretty much what led to it." She turned and looked straight at Beagle. "My brother Beagle set it up. He told LT a pack of lies about Deedee and turned him into a madman." "Shut up, Mealia," Beagle yelled. "Quit makin' up all this shit." "So you're Beagle," said Mozzarella. "Mr. Moore told me about you. Said you were one of his most trusted lieutenants." "Trusted?" Mealia said with a harsh laugh. "Yeah, he was trusted all right. LT trusted him so much that he's dead and so is the woman he was crazy about." "What are you saying?" Mozzarella asked. "Explain it to me." As she started to explain, Beagle lunged at her and stuck a knife into her side. Mealia groaned, staggered to the stairway and collapsed. The deputy grabbed Beagle, and the captain punched him in the face. But Beagle was stronger than they expected. He kicked the captain in the balls and wrestled free of the deputy. It was Tony who brought the battle to an abrupt halt. He had slipped on a set of brass knuckles, and when Beagle turned to flee, he landed a crushing blow to his jaw. Beagle's knees buckled, and he fell face forward to the floor. Outside, a siren approached, then another and another. Within seconds, two more cars from sheriff's department and an ambulance were outside, their red lights giving a hellish glow to the scene in front of the hotel. A deputy helped a man with a bandaged head get out of one of the cars. It was Mike Cass. "Too many badges," Tony said. "We better get out of here, boss." "Yeah, I guess you're right. This cracker tragedy is beyond me." A deputy stopped their big black Cadillac as Tony was pulling away, but his commanding officer called out to let them pass. "Where to?" Tony asked. "Back to the New Orleans airport?" "No, let's drive along this coast that Mr. Moore was so excited about." They drove along Highway 90, headed east toward Biloxi and Pascagoula. It was past midnight, but a full moon was out and they could see the bungalows and occasional tourist courts strung along the highway. They slowed as they passed the Edgewater Gulf Hotel, huge and white in the moonlight. "It's kinda nice down here, ain't it?" Tony said. "Yeah, I could get used to it. Especially in winter. But I have a feeling that one big storm could blow it all away. They had a bad one in '47." "They name hurricanes after women, don't they?" Tony asked. "Yeah. I'm not sure it's fair. Women can do a lot of damage. My first wife certainly did. But then you run into a son of a bitch like this guy Beagle, and you have to wonder. What woman could possibly be worse?" "Ain't that the truth," Tony said with a grunt. Mozzarella looked out at the Gulf. The surf was rolling in, unmindful of the little drama at the Cytherea Hotel. He wanted to achieve that kind of detachment. "Killing should be reserved for business," he said softly. "Never in anger." "Right, boss," answered Tony. "I'll try to remember that next time Camille blows up at me." But you won't remember, Mozzarella said to himself. You're too much like the unfortunate Mr. Moore. Controlling one's passions requires years of training and the discipline of a monk. Controlling one's wife - "Impossible," said Mozzarella, in a voice so soft it might have been no more than a thought. THE END
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