"What are you doing?" she cried. "What have you done?"
"Nothing, senorita," the Mexican said gently. "Nothing, anyway, as yet."
CHAPTER SEVEN
Not even casting a glance at her to make sure she was securely fastened, Casanova stretched Fran out the same way.
Renee felt even more frightened as she realized that the straps were already attached to the bed, just shoved under the thin mattress. All he had to do was pull them out and fasten them around her wrists. As if he did this sort of thing all the time.
"What is it you're doing to us?" Renee asked shakily, scared, sick, ashamed of what she'd just done with this man who had assumed the proportions of a beast.
The man turned back to her. He was still naked. Without his fancy shirt and expensive black charro jacket he had lost some of his attractiveness. His ribs stuck through and he was pigeon-chested. His face had taken on a foxy, mean cast.
"Do? Me? I will do nothing. It is you who will do everything. Everything I say."
"You can't get away with it. Our families know we're down here. They'll send the police looking for us," Renee lied desperately.
"Tch, tch, senorita! Your friend, she told me everything. That you two are here alone. And you told no one you would come to a filthy place like Tijuana."
He nodded wisely and smiled. "Si, maybe when you don't go to school in two weeks, maybe they look for you. Maybe in Los Angeles, no? That is where your friend say you are supposed to be. In Los Angeles with her relatives. Los Angeles, she is a big town, no?"
Renee's heart sank. Hopelessly she nodded her head.
"You see! Besides," he was pulling on his clothes and talking, "in two weeks you won't be here no more. You be somewhere else."
Panic clamped down on Renee. Her chest was being squeezed in a giant vise that tightened and tightened until she could scream. "What do you mean?" she whispered.
The Mexican grinned wickedly. He took a hypodermic from his jacket and sat down beside Renee. Slowly he squeezed the plunger. A needle jet of clear fluid shot into the air.
Pushing her buttocks with his hand he half turned Renee.
"What are you doing?" she asked, really scared now. She felt the sharp bite of the needle in her rear, saw the syringe come away empty.
"What have you done?" she screamed at him. "What have you done?"
"I am, what you say, trainer? No? Yes, that is what I am."
The Mexican seemed to be fading away in the distance as he talked, twirling further and further away. The lights were so bright. So much color. And his voice echoed so in the corridor.
"I train putas, little one, and then I sell them." He smiled and held the needle toward her and she shrank away from it because it was huge, at least as big as his head.
"Do not be afraid, chica. He is your friend." The Mexicans voice faded in and out and Renee had to strain to hear what he was saying. "He and I, we will tame you. Then I will train you myself. Do not be afraid. We will not hurt you… you… me… worth… mucho… dinero… to…" and the words faded into nothing.
The Mexican saw Renee was no longer listening. Turning, he refilled the needle and plunged it into Fran's buttock.
He emptied it, then gently patted the smooth flank before standing and going to the door.
Renee struggled to swim out of the depths. She was plunging down. It was all she could do to bring herself up, to poise on the edge of surfacing.
All her will went into the effort. She knew she was sweating. She knew her body was knotted with the effort that was a leaden deadness inside of her. But she couldn't stop struggling. For a moment she conquered her weakness. "What kind of man are you?" she gasped. "Who are you?"
He paused at the door and looked back, his face and body grotesquely out of perspective. "Me? I am Manuel. If you need me, you call for me. My friend?" he patted his pocket. "He is Mr. Heroin. You will call for him, too, I think."
Manuel winked and in slow floated out of the room while Renee sank into a nightmare of light and color.
Renee didn't know how much later it was when she finally came back to reality. The light was grayer, dimmer. It felt like weeks had passed. Her mouth tasted of cotton and ether.
"Headache?"
She gasped and looked up. Fran was twisted over staring at her, her eyes huge over sharp cheekbones like the face of a starving child.
"I've been waiting for you to wake up."
"How long?"
Fran grimaced. "Who can tell in this hole? I'm not sure I even know what time is anymore."
"So you know about everybody!"
Fran nodded and her face crumpled. "I can really pick them, can't I!" She twisted her face uncontrollably. As much from pain at her weakness as the horror of their situation. Renee was close to hysteria herself, she didn't need a diagram to tell her what Fran was going through.
"Snap out of it, Fran!" The way she hissed the words, they were a slap to the older woman's face. A jolt from the real world.
Fran stifled her sobs.
"We've got to get out of here, Fran. Do you hear me, Fran? We've got to get out of here!"
Wordlessly, Fran nodded her head.
"You've got to help."
"I'll do what I can, but I'm terrified, Renee. Honey, I'm really scared clear through. I don't think… I can't help much. I'm too afraid."
"It's all right, Fran," Renee soothed. "Relax and you'll feel better after a while. After a while everything will be better."
"Will it, Renee? Really?"
Renee nodded and felt sick again. She knew she was lying to both of them. It would never get any better now. But could she say it?
CHAPTER EIGHT
It was morning before Manuel came again. Renee had lain wire tense all night, waiting. She couldn't sleep – or turn off her thinking. Fran was awake, too. But it had helped neither woman to do any talking during the long night.
Manuel entered as silently as he had previously to stand, staring down at them. Renee squirmed. She was overly conscious of her nakedness.
He unfastened her hand and foot. "Come!" Silently, he led her out the door into a dingy corridor that was, if possible, even more grimy than the room they occupied.
All the while Renee looked for an escape route. She summoned all her will, as she had done fighting the heroin, watching for a chance to escape. But the corridor was a dull, featureless gray without windows or open doorways. At the end, Manuel pushed open a door and waved her in the cubicle beyond.
It was a bathroom.
The feeling that filled Renee was almost that of pleasure. Until that moment, she hadn't realized how desperately she was holding herself in. The sight of the toilet was blessed relief and she hurried to squat on it.
Manuel came and stood in front of her. She gasped. Renee hadn't even considered the possibility that he would follow her into this tiny room. She thought he was still outside waiting for her.
He moved so close she was forced to spread her knees open around his legs. But she couldn't stop her bladder from relieving itself and at the same time she felt the thick jet of pee steaming from her body. The relief was overwhelming.
"You like, huh?"
Renee looked up and shrank from Manuel's gaze. He was fumbling with his pants and finally he got his cock out, holding it fat and limp in his hand only inches from her face.
The girl licked her dark, red lips. She didn't want to be tempted. But the sight of that fat slug only a tongue's length away started the alarm bells of her passion ringing.
He held it out to her.
Desperately she clamped her mouth shut, closed her eyes, and shook her head no.
"It's all right," Manuel said soothingly. "You no want, I not angry."
Renee opened her eyes wonderingly. Manuel was smiling as he aimed his hose and the thick, yellow stream of hot urine shot out to strike her breasts.