CHAPTER SEVEN
Grace had known what it was like to be "scared," had even experienced a bad "fright" now and then, but never before had she felt terror so strong that it paralyzed not only the mind but the body as well. This morning, when Andy had called demanding his money, she was forced to lower her voice so that Judi working in the other part of the office could not hear her. "I'm sorry, Andy," she said. "It's terribly embarrassing, but I don't have any money. I'll pay you someday, though, I promise."
"Mrs. Hope," Andy had said, "I told you I want my money this afternoon." There had been a click on the line, then Andy had hung up before she could say anything else.
It was at that moment that Grace began to get worried. The worry graduated into fright, but the terror had begun only when Grace went out for lunch and two burly men were waiting alongside a black Oldsmobile for her. One with a squashed nose had said, "Mrs. Hope?"
Her heart began hammering. For a moment she was sure they were police who had come to arrest her for bad checks. "Ye… yes," she stammered, "I'm Mrs. Hope."
Squashed nose had nodded his head toward the back seat. "Get in."
"But I… but I…"
"Get in!" The words were like a barbed whip.
Still thinking they were police Grace woodenly slipped in the back seat, resigned to the fact that she was being taken to jail. She was thrown back as the vehicle abruptly accelerated. "Where… where are you taking me?"
The driver, who looked as if he had once been a not too successful wrestler, glanced up in the rear view mirror and answered, "Andy wants to see you."
There was something about the way he said it that made Grace's blood run cold.
The men drove rapidly and silently across town, and left the boulevard to wind up a small road leading to the Skyline area. Grace's terror fed on itself, so much so that she had to be helped from the car when they finally pulled up before what appeared to be a deserted estate with crumbling roof and weed overgrown yard, hidden by thick trees from the road.
Each man took an arm and led her up the stairs to the front door. At the doorway, both men stopped as a beautiful looking giant German Shepherd bared his fangs and growled in warning.
From inside the house, Grace heard Andy's voice saying, "It's all right, Samson. Let her in."
The men let go of Grace's arms, and turned to go back to the car.
"Come in, Mrs. Hope." With legs trembling uncontrollably, Grace did as she was ordered. Compared to the bright sunlight outside, it was almost dark in here. The dog followed her across the room: she jumped once as it nuzzled the back of her nylon dress, pressing his nose in at the junction of her legs. When her eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, she saw Andy for the first time sitting behind a huge desk, and recognized him as the little jockey who seemed to be a constant companion of Ricky Karl.
"Sit down, Mrs. Hope." He nodded toward the small milk stool in front on his desk. When she hesitated, he added, "I think you'd better know right from the start that unless you do exactly what I tell you to do, you're not going to leave here alive."
Grace sat down where he instructed; she had to, her legs would no longer support her terror-ridden body. The dog came around and sat on its haunches beside her; its long red tongue hanging out of the corner of its mouth, its almost human gaze never leaving her face. Grace hastily averted her eyes when she saw the pink shiny penis slip out of the dog's abdomen and begin to grow.
It was impossible to face Andy's evaluative stare. He seemed to be a judge looking at a condemned prisoner, trying to determine life imprisonment or the gas chamber.
Grace knew now what a bird with a broken wing must feel like as it sees a snake slithering toward it. This was the epitome of the primeval terror. But if she thought she had been frightened before, it was nothing compared to the horror which was to come within seconds. Andy threw over about a dozen 8 x 10 inch glossy photographs. "Look at them," he said, ominously.
She reached out with her right hand, but it was shaking so badly she had to use both hands. For a moment the scene in the photograph didn't register, then when she realized her eyes really weren't playing tricks on her, she almost fainted. The photograph showed a nude young woman, dead – very dead in the most horrible way. Where her vagina had once been was now only a huge black cavity. Her nose obviously had been broken, teeth were sharded, and in a final humiliation her throat had been cut. "Oh… my God!" Grace moaned, feeling that she was about to vomit.
Andy said, "That was Dorajane Dunlop. She owed us $710 which she refused to pay. Just so you'll know how she died, the boys all fucked her silly for four days. Then, we gave her to one of my men who don't like to fuck women – don't like women period; hates 'em. He knocked out all her teeth, broke her nose. Then he strapped her spread-eagled to the end of a table and used a blow torch to burn out her snatch. You know, during that time she only passed out once and then just for a second or two, the pain kept bringing her back to full consciousness. She screamed for two days and two nights until one of my other boys took pity on her and cut her throat."
Grace dropped the photographs to the floor and jumped to her feet, glancing frantically around for a way out of this horror dungeon. The German Shepherd stood growling in warning.
"He can kill you, Mrs. Hope. I've seen him kill men twice your size. Sit down. Pick up the rest of the pictures. I want you to see them all. Every one of them."
Grace was not aware she had obeyed instructions, but she did sit down on the stool and her hands began leafing through the pictures. Some part of her mind shut off all images however. All she knew for sure was that each photograph was of a person who had died under some of the most horrible circumstances imaginable. There were men and women alike there… all victims of unbelievable sadism and brutality.
When she finished looking at the photographs, Andy said, "These welshers tried to do the same thing you're trying to do – get out of paying us money. One of them owed us two hundred and fifty bucks. Another one, the blonde-haired guy you saw who was about twenty-three, he owed us twenty-eight hundred bucks. That's the most that any of those jokers owed us – twenty-eight hundred – until you came along. Now you owe us thirty-one, Mrs. Hope. And we want it. Now, today. Or else."
She must make him see that she wasn't trying to avoid payment of the debt. She must! "Andy," she pled, "I want to pay. All I need is a little time."
"You've got until six o'clock. That's time enough."
"As God is my witness, I…"
"God is a lousy credit reference, Mrs. Hope," Andy said, then stood in dismissal. "Six o'clock." The interview obviously was concluded.
Grace got to her feet and walked blindly toward the door. She stopped but did not turn around when he added, "Oh… and Mrs. Hope, don't try to go to the cops about this. I got a couple of guys on my payroll who work downtown… as cops… and I'll know who you talked to, when you talked to them, and what you said. When that happens, you're dead… and you'll go out in a way that'll make these other welshers look like they died happily in their sleep."
She stood there, head bowed, waiting for dismissal. After a moment it came, "You can go now. We'll see you at six."
She really wasn't aware of the journey back down the hill or across town to her office, but she did not fail to note the brazenness of Andy's henchmen – their utter unconcern for the law – by dropping her off right in front of Austin Motor Sales.
Grace walked from their car to the door. She glanced up automatically toward the clock and saw that it had been exactly one hour, to the minute, since she left.
Judi returned from her own lunch twenty minutes late, giggling and wise-cracking with Bill Hill. She took one look at Grace's face and sobered. "Jeez, honey. What's wrong?" She sucked in her breath and bit her lower lip as her eyes widened in alarm, "Has something happened to Stan?"