His dick dripped sperm in her face. Alice was fantastic! Nick Adams felt meek and mild as she sucked and rubbed and squished her fanny against his digging fingers. He didn't leave her mouth until his dick drooped all limp and loose as a week-old enchilada.
"Ohhhhh wonderful!" she gasped, sensing a new and different kind of orgasm. Even her juicy pussy was convulsed with this stirring thrill. She fucked and fucked and fucked until her body collapsed in a heap and she fell back sweaty and exhausted.
She groaned as Adams removed his dick and started rubbing her cunt once more. It seemed an eternity since she had run away from her father. The meet was tomorrow but so what. There was a national swim meet every fucking year. And what was so great about swimming anyway. She turned to Adams whose hulking body was flopped against the front seat, twisted up like a run-over dog in the road and she said, "I need a place to stay."
Adams crooked his neck and stared down his sweating body along his flat belly and the matted thatch of pubic hair into Alice's blue eyes. She couldn't stay at his house, not even in the garage. His father had wired the Goddamn place in case burglars broke in to steal tools from his workshop. And sneaking her into the house was out of the question. So she couldn't stay with him. And he felt like a heel if he left her out in the freezing night air, considering how good she had been to him. Then suddenly, as he lay there, and as Alice toyed with his spermy pubic hair, Adams got an idea. And he knew it would work.
"You know the coach," he began. "I bet he'd put you up. He'd have to. I mean the last thing in the world he wants if for you to lose."
Alice was crestfallen, but there was no stopping Adams, not after he had fired up the convertible and was roaring off for Bert Anderson's house.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
When Buck Dilly woke up the room was pitch-dark and his head throbbed like an open wound. He groaned and rolled over, hitting his head on the broken chair leg, and yelped with pain. The room spun crazily before his eyes. The bedroom light cast a garish glow in the small bedroom. The bed covers were pulled back and his daughter's clothes were thrown about.
"My head," Buck moaned. He put his hand over a rising knot at the back of his skull and staggered painfully to the bathroom. From the medicine cabinet he grabbed the bottle of rubbing alcohol and poured it full strength on his head. "Holy shit!" he screamed as little threads of pain shot down through his scalp.
He put the bottle down and looked in the mirror. His face looked like hell. Two deep trenches cut diagonal lines across his cheeks, making his nose pop out like an oversized strawberry. The deep furled brows hid his black eyes. Dilly was forty-seven years old and he looked twice that now.
Slowly his memory returned. In a few hours the booze would wear off and he would remember this terrible moment. But right that instant he was mad crazy mad. His eyes refused to focus. He felt as if his head were sliced down the middle and then was slammed back together in a not-quite perfect fit. He had to get moving, thought Buck. He had to find the girl.
In a few minutes he was dressed and stumbling out the door. He had been knocked out for about an hour. There were no cops around so his daughter had not reported him. He stepped out into the chilly night air and balled his fists, the knuckles straining. He took a few shots from the whiskey flask and felt lightning explode at the back of his head. He cursed Alice for bopping him one.
"That cunt," he said, getting into the car. Somewhere out in the night was his daughter. The buses didn't run and unless she got lucky hitch-hiking, Alice was roaming around. And if she were still in town, he would find her. "The stupid cunt," he snorted taking a hit of tequila. "I'll teach the broad a thing or two."
It was close to three in the morning, when the car drove by the hamburger stand. Algernon, hoping now that the owner would come by and fire him was frustrated. It was three hours past closing time, and still the owner had not come by. Maybe he wouldn't come by, a possibility that depressed him. He was all pumped up to lose his job. Tomorrow he might not be so brave. His hopes brightened when the headlights across the street came swerving towards him. Rosebud, thought Algernon, but when the blue sedan roared into the driveway, he hopes for an unemployment check faded quickly.
Algernon stuck his head out the window and said to the driver, "Sorry, bub. We're closed." He gave a painful smile and a effeminate wave of his hand. The driver didn't look amused. He got out of the car and strode to the pick-up window.
"If you're closed, why are all the lights on?" he asked.
"It's private," replied Algernon, then pointed to the closed sign on the window. Next to it was a small notice giving the restaurant hours. "Sorry I can't help you."
It was then that Buck Dilly reached through the window and grabbed the counter boy by the neck. He shook him like a farmer shakes a goose. He pulled his wallet out for the startled young man and shoved his daughter's picture before his bug eyes.
"This girl was walking around here tonight," said Dilly. "You're the only place that's open. Now tell me where is she?"
He tightened his fingers gradually until Algernon's tongue was hanging down around his chin and then he let go. The color returned to Algernon's pimply cheeks. He remembered the girl all right. She had ordered the hamburgers and then left with Nick Adams leaving Algernon, literally, holding the bag.
"Who are you?" Algernon asked.
"I'm the son-of-a-bitch that's going to kill you unless I get an answer right this moment!" shouted Dilly. He drew himself up, his chest getting bigger and bigger until it seemed to Algernon that this crazy bastard standing in front of the counter might just be loco enough to jump through the window. In which case Algernon was dead. He knew that and because he was scared shitless, he told Dilly about the girl and Nick Adams.
"Here's the bag she left," Algernon answered weakly. "I didn't touch it."
Dilly grabbed it and balled the contents into a mush ball and threw it on the ground. "Thanks kid," he said cooly, releasing his grip. Algernon fell quietly to the floor as Dilly got back into his car and gunned the engine.
Nick Adams, he thought. From his memory came a weak, pulsating signal. It was hard to make out because of the booze and the slug on his head. Years ago, before his mind had been rotted by alcohol he had sold a small cottage-like house designed by himself to a man named Nick Adams. As Dilly remembered him, Adams was a red faced, beer drinking shrimper who had fallen into a wad of money and on impulse had bought the house. The guy was much too old to match the description that the pimply faced kid had given him. But, but maybe he had a son. "Fuck it," said Dilly wrenching the steering wheel. It was past three in the morning, but he'd pay the bastard a visit anyway. At least it was a lead. He went looking for a telephone book.
While Dilly was screeching car tires, Alice stood trembling on the front steps of Bert Anderson's expansive home. It was a beautiful place and only after seeing the house, and the lovely well tended front lawn did she remember that Bert's family had been quite wealthy. She rang the doorbell twice. The lights were on in the backroom, Alice felt foolish standing on his doorstep in the middle of the night looking for a place to stay.
Nick had told her not to worry, that the coach would be more than willing to bed down his star swimmer. Especially, once he knew the facts about her father and why she could not go home. More importantly, Bert would take her in so that she would do well in the nationals.
"I don't think he's getting up," she said.