“No. I want to marry you, unsullied according to your code.”
“But I—” She could not continue. How could she tell him she might be bound for a week of disgusting sex with a criminal lout, pretending she liked it, when she had told Darius no? He thought she was pure. “All the same, I think—”
“No.”
If she won the game, and got the key without having to pay, and he used it and it didn’t work, then the dream would be gone and it would be foolish to have sex with him. If she lost, she would have no pretense of being the kind of girl he wanted. Now was the only time.
“Darius, I told you no before, but now I tell you yes. Please—”
“No. I will not have you sully yourself by your code for me. I will marry you in honor.”
She had never expected this. It wasn’t that she was eager for sex; that was far from the case. It was fraught with liabilities the sex-ed teachers hardly imagined. But if she had it with anyone, she wanted it to be him. If she had to have it with someone else, she wanted it first with Darius. But he, with his incomplete understanding of the situation, would not hear of it. If she told him the full truth, he would probably forbid her to recover the key that way.
They were, in their fashion, having a lovers’ quarrel. It was not nearly as delightful as she had thought such a thing would be.
She thought of trying to seduce him, of sleeping naked with him. But she realized that this would only demean her in his eyes, and she didn’t want that.
How she wished she could believe in his reality!
TUESDAY after school, modestly garbed, she sought Biff’s car in the parking lot. Students she knew were runners stood casually here and there, making sure there were no authorities. That protected her as well as him, because both wanted to deal in private.
“You have it?”
He lifted a gray disk that exactly fitted the description Darius had given.
“May I see it?”
He handed it to her. She turned it over. There, in tiny etching, was the coding Darius had described. She had not told anyone of this. It was genuine.
She handed it back. “This is it.”
“In,” he said. “Down.”
She walked around the car and got in. She ducked down so that she was not visible from outside. He drove cautiously out, and around the block, checking for pursuit. Satisfied there was none, he drove to his club house across town.
“Up,” he said, and she sat normally in the front seat. “How come a clean chick like you wants a damn slug so much?”
She was prepared. “There’s a man. He said I could have what I wanted if I got it for him. He doesn’t really want it; he just thought I couldn’t get it. So I’m getting it.”
Biff did not seem to believe her, but was satisfied that she did want it. Few people in his business cared to give their real reasons.
They arrived at the club house. They entered. Inside were four men. She had expected disreputable types, but these were clean-cut. They were also older, in their thirties and forties. No juvenile thugs, these; they were the real thing.
“Before we deal,” Biff said. “This never happened. No one was here.”
“Yes. You too. No one talks. You win, no one knows how I paid. Not like those four rapists.”
Biff nodded. “No one talks. It’s private.” There was, as she had reflected before, a certain honor in such transactions. No one wanted the police to get wind of either drug operations or juvenile sex. The police wouldn’t get rid of either, they would only complicate things for all parties.
“And no welshing,” she said. “I win, you give me the slug and take me back near where I live. No rape.”
Biff smiled. “If you win to the satisfaction of my friends, no problem. I settle my deals.”
“You win, you have me smiling for a week,” she said, making sure they were agreed. “Nights only; I can’t skip more school. No drugs, no bondage, no hurting. No marking.”
“Kid, I like you,” Biff said. “Agreed. Now, what’s your game?”
Colene nerved herself. Then she began removing her clothes. “You, me, naked. Endurance. The one who fills most cups without falling wins.”
Biff smiled. “Naked endurance? Chick, I know you ain’t thinking what I’m thinking!”
“For sure,” she agreed, removing her shoes and socks. “Naked to prove there’s no cheating. No hidden tubes or things. We stand separate. Each has a bucket, or whatever. Several cups, maybe. No one touches either of us. We get no help.”
“We got buckets,” Biff said. He gestured, and one of the men left the room, returning in a moment with two plastic buckets. He set one before each of them.
Colene continued to strip. She had her shirt off, and removed her bra. She was doing something she had dreamed of: a strip tease before strange men who were honor-bound not to touch her or to tell. She could see that all of them were now fascinated, and not just because of her increasing nudity; they wondered just what she was up to.
“I can do that,” Biff said. He removed his own shirt. Colene started on her lower half, pulling down her skirt.
“Knives. Good ones. Sharp and clean.”
“I got a blade,” Biff said. A handle appeared in his hand, and from it suddenly snapped a wicked narrow four-inch blade. It was obvious that he knew how to use it.
“I need one too,” Colene said. She turned to one of the spectators. “May I borrow yours?”
The man was surely a killer, but he looked startled. Then he reached into his jacket and brought out an old-fashioned barber’s shaving knife. He unfolded it. The blade was a good inch longer than Biff’s, but it wasn’t the same kind of weapon. It was a slicer, not a stabber. The kind used to slit throats. She felt a chill, now realizing that nature of his business. He was an enforcer, a contract man. He extended it to her, holding it by the blade.
Colene smiled most sweetly, though there was a layer of the ice of fear coating her heart. “Thank you, sir,” she said, taking the handle. “I will return it to you soon.”
Now they were twice as curious as before. “Kid, I got to tell you, if you figure to knife-fight Biff—” the owner of the razor started.
“Not exactly,” Colene said. Holding the razor carefully so as not to cut herself, she tucked her fingers into her panties and slid them down. Now she was all the way naked, and the eyes of all five men were locked onto her body. What a fantasy she was playing out, for real! She turned in place, all the way around, so that they could see everything. She was really pleased that they liked it; this did wonders for her self-esteem, in its macabre fashion.
Biff had meanwhile stripped to his jock, but here he hesitated. She knew why: her little show was giving him an erection, and he didn’t want to bare it unless sex really was part of the game.
“You can wear that,” she told him. “I’m satisfied there’s nothing in there.”
Biff scowled, but one of the men chuckled.
“All right, what’s your game?” Biff demanded.
Then she dropped her bombshell. “Just this: who can bleed the most before falling. You know, like a knockout, count to ten, you’re out. The one left standing wins.”
“Bleed?” Biff asked, dismayed.
“I’ll cut my arm, you cut yours. We bleed into our buckets. The men measure the blood. If I faint at two pints and you’re still standing, and you’ve bled two and a half pints, you win.”
“That’s no game!” Biff protested.
“It’s my game,” she said evenly. “It’s as good a game as knife-fighting, only we bleed ourselves. Isn’t it fair?” She looked at the other men.