"What do you want?"
The girl's question was blunt and to the point. It reminded Masters that he had been staring at the girl for almost half a minute without saying anything. He cleared his throat, slightly embarrassed, and not wishing to give a bad impression before he had a chance to completely judge the situation they were facing.
"Uh, my friends and I have been driving all day," he began lamely, warming to the lies as he continued. "I think we must have taken a wrong turn, or something. We seem to be lost, and we're just about out of gas. I wondered if you might have some we could use? We'd be glad to pay you for it."
The girl's face was without expression as she shook her head in a casual negative. "We don't have any gas," she said simply.
Masters' mind raced ahead, anticipating the setback. "Well, uh, maybe your father could tell us where to find some, okay? We really need that gas right now."
Again she shook her head, putting auburn waves of hair in shimmering motion about an angelic face. "I'm all alone here with my sister," she answered unwisely. "But I know there's nobody selling gas within ten miles of here anyhow."
Masters relaxed visibly as he learned that the girl and her unseen sister were alone within the old house. It was a perfect setup, if only they could get inside without serious trouble at the outset. He cast a sidelong glance toward Wilson beside him, motioning with one hand behind his back at the same time, signaling Watson to shut off the engine of their car.
"Listen," Masters said after a long moment, putting on his best smile for the occasion, "We were supposed to be meeting somebody in Savannah about now, and I can see we're not going to make it on time. Would you let me just use your telephone for a minute, to change the appointment? I'll pay all the charges, of course."
The girl thought it over briefly, casting her eyes from one man to the other there on the porch. At last she nodded simply, stepping backward and flipping up the loose latch on the screen door as she did so, motioning for Masters and Wilson to come inside. Masters nodded his thanks, gracing her with another of his charming smiles. As he passed through the doorway, he heard the driver's door of the car close tightly out in the driveway. Watson was joining them in the house.
"The telephone's right over here," the girl said, leading them across a dingy living room toward a smaller kitchen, pointing toward what looked like an antique wall phone to the right of the open kitchen doorway. Masters ignored the phone, intent at the moment on watching the way the girl's tight young ass-cheeks swayed and moved inside the confining fabric of her short, tight skirt.
The screen door slammed noisily and Masters flicked a glance back over his shoulder, confirming that both Wilson and Watson were now inside the house as well. He relaxed further, knowing that the biggest hurdle had been successfully negotiated.
"We won't be needing the phone after all," he said, some of the phony charm dropping from his tone. "And neither will you."
The girl turned back to face him directly the curious, questioning expression on her pretty child's face changing to one of surprise, then horror, as she realized vaguely what was happening. Tom Watson had withdrawn the stubby shotgun from inside his billowing jacket and was holding it casually now in one hand, the twin deadly muzzles pointing somewhere between the girl and the ramshackle stairway which led to the second floor of the old house. He was smiling vaguely.
"Wha… wha… what do you want here?" the girl asked, her voice breaking with fright as she spoke.
"A little shelter and rest," Watson told her, cocking one eyebrow and smiling suggestively at her. "Some comfort and loving care. That's all."
He snickered lowly as the girl began to tremble, glancing fearfully from one of the men to the next, biting gently at her full lower lip to stifle a sob.
Penny Tucker listened to the soft murmur of voices drifting up the stairs as she slipped into fresh clothing. She had hurried upstairs to her bedroom while Melanie moved to answer the knock at the door, and now, as she finished dressing, she made ready to descend the stairs again and see who it was who came calling at that unusual hour of the afternoon.
Penny left her bedroom and moved quietly down the corridor toward the head of the stairs once again, ears cocked and straining to pick out as much as possible of the discussion being conducted below. She moved cautiously, almost on tiptoe, until she caught herself at it and felt foolish for trying to sneak up on visitors in her own home. She shook herself out of the strange mood and walked briskly to the stairs, starting down them at a confident, even pace.
She was halfway down the staircase when she saw the three men and the squat, ugly shotgun leveled at her stomach. She froze there, halfway between floors, frightened eyes darting back and forth from her trembling younger sister to the trio of men who had carried out the armed invasion of their home with such cunning and stealth.
"Come on down here, little lady," one of the men said softly, his voice demanding, authoritative despite the almost jocular tone he employed.
Penny found the speaker with her eyes, noting that it was not the chubby shotgunner, but rather the lean man who stood nearest to Melanie, beside the kitchen doorway.
Penny began to slowly descend the rest of the staircase, finding her courage and her voice long enough to voice the questions which were uppermost on her troubled mind at the moment.
"Who are you? What do you want here?" she asked, fighting to prevent her voice from cracking with tension and fright.
The lean man spoke again, acting as the apparent leader of the little band as he took it upon himself to answer for them all.
"Like I was just telling the little girl here," he began, jerking one thumb in Melanie's general direction, "we need your hospitality for awhile. We need to rest up temporarily, and we can't afford to be disturbed, if you get the drift."
Penny nodded slowly, reaching the bottom of the narrow stairs. She thought she understood their problem, all right. These men were wanted by the law, beyond a doubt, and probably not from around there if she was any judge of clothing and deportment. They were city men, and they reeked of trouble. She and Melanie could do no better than to play along with their wishes, within reason, and hope that they would soon decide it was safe to be on their way once more.
Penny was startled out of her private thoughts by the lean man's voice, and her eyes snapped toward him. She was relieved to find that he had not addressed himself to her, but to the third member of the group, ordering him to take their car and drive it around behind the house, out of sight from the access road in front.
"Now, little lady," the stranger continued, "the first thing we're going to want is some food. The little girl here can take care of that, and Tom here will keep her company." His nod indicated the shotgunner as he continued speaking. "In the meantime, I want you to show me around the house, just to make sure we've got no surprises in store for us."
Penny nodded dumbly, unable to think of any verbal response. She watched as Melanie filed off into the kitchen, casting one last worried glance over her shoulder as the man called Tom followed behind her. The lean man was approaching Penny at the same time, gesturing toward the staircase she had just descended. As he swept his arm wide through the air, Penny was startled to notice the butt of a pistol protruding from his belt beneath the jacket he wore.
Penny turned and began to climb the stairs once again. The man was close behind her, and she could almost imagine that she could feel his eyes following her, lingering over the ripe curve of her tight-clad buttocks like a physical caress. Without turning to face him she could tell that he was literally undressing her with his eyes, and she suddenly felt naked and ashamed there before him.