24 Hours

“You’re living in a dream world. Ten to one, he’d have gotten one tonight on the coast, if this thing hadn’t come up. Hell, a weekend away from the old lady? Even one who looks like you do… a man needs a little variety.”

“That’s your wife with Will right now?”

“That’s right.”

Every time Hickey confided another detail, Karen became more convinced that he didn’t intend to let her live through this ordeal.

“What’s going on in that little head of yours?” he asked. “Trying to think your way out of the box?”

“Your wife doesn’t see anything wrong with kidnapping?”

“She doesn’t see anything wrong with anything I do. And if she does, she keeps quiet about it. Get the picture?”

“I think so.”

He took another slug of Wild Turkey. “We need some music. You got a stereo in that TV cabinet?”

Karen walked over and switched on the CD player. “What do you want to hear?”

“Something with a steady beat. You need a good beat for a lap dance. Not too fast, but not too slow either.”

With a growing sense of unreality, she scanned the CD rack. Will collected everything from classic rock to country and New Age. There was music here that made her feel sexy, but she didn’t want to taint it by being raped to its accompaniment. At a loss, she finally chose a Best of the 80s compilation. The first song was “Every Breath You Take” by the Police. The bass and drums began to pulse sinuously from speakers Will had mounted in the ceiling. When she turned, Hickey was nodding to the beat.

“That’s it,” he said. “Yeah. Come over here.”

She took a step closer to the ottoman.

“Dance.”

She would have laughed, were the situation not so desperate. It was like the old Westerns her father had loved so much, where the black-hatted gunfighter said the same line to the frightened homesteader.

“I said dance,” Hickey repeated.

Karen began to sway to the music, but she felt awkward. She had never been a good dancer. Will claimed she was, but she knew she lacked the effortless grace of some girls she had known growing up. Longlimbed creatures who, through some physical alchemy, absorbed sound waves and transformed that energy into purely sensual motion.

“Closer,” Hickey said.

Karen danced nearer the chair, but jerked back as Hickey’s hand reached toward her.

“It’s just money,” he said.

He was telling the truth. In his hand was a folded one-dollar bill.

“Come over here.”

She danced closer, and he stuffed the bill into the front pocket of her jeans.

“That means you gotta take something off,” he said, as though explaining the rules of a game.

She hesitated, then slowly unbuttoned her blouse until it hung from her shoulders.

“Shake it off.”

She did. Goose bumps raced across her back and shoulders.

“Those aren’t half bad,” Hickey said, staring at her bra.

Karen focused on the wall and kept swaying to the music, but her mind was spinning. How fast could the Wild Turkey dull his senses? How long could she distract him from what he really wanted?

“Lean over,” he ordered.

She bent slightly at the waist, and he rose up and stuffed a dollar bill into her bra.

“You know what that means, babe.”

She unsnapped her jeans, but Hickey shook his head. “The bra. The bra next.”

She almost stopped dancing. Part of her-the part that took no nonsense from anyone, man or woman-wanted to scream, If you’re going to rape me, just get it over with! But a wiser part of her knew that would be a mistake. Anything could happen between now and the moment he actually forced himself on her. Miracles could happen. Her bra hooked in front. Dancing a little more enthusiastically, she reached up and undid the catch, then threaded her fingers under the shoulder straps and slid off the cups with exaggerated sensuality.

“That’s better,” Hickey intoned. “Jesus, you look good. For a mother, I mean. You ought to get some implants, though.”

I don’t want any damn implants! she screamed silently. But she let the music penetrate further into her, and gave more of herself to it.

“Yeah,” he encouraged, holding up another bill. A five this time. She danced closer, close enough for him to slide the five into her pocket, but he shook his head.

“Lean over. And don’t use your hands.”

It took her a moment to figure out what he wanted, but it was simple enough. She bent over and used her upper arms to bring her breasts together, creating a soft niche for Hickey to stuff his five-dollar bill into. He immediately made use of it.

“Now the jeans.”