A Time of Predators

He led them across the wet shallow ditch and up the winding drive through the trees. The house, as they came up under its dark bulk, proved to be an old, rambling, two-story frame building from a more leisured era of California’s history. They-stopped at the foot of the wooden steps leading to the porch where Paula had stood shortly before.

“When I ring the bell, stay out of sight. She’ll open up, I’ll ask directions. If she doesn’t recognize me, we just leave. If she does, we go in, all except Heavy. He stays on the porch and watches in case Debbie gives the signal that someone’s coming.”

At the head of the wooden stairs, Rick peered through the foot-square glass panels in the heavy oak door. His heart pounded wildly. Paula’s back was to him as she moved slowly down the row of bookshelves in the far wall of the living room. To her left were broad oak stairs; between the stairs and the bookshelves was a passageway leading to the rear of the house.

The graceful line of her neck, partially hidden by her shimmering blond hair, flowed into the line of her back and flank and finally the taut curve of her thigh as she moved indolently along. For a giddy moment Rick thought she was being openly sensual, aware of his scrutiny; then he realized that it was just her natural grace. Her brown legs were bare under a flaring peasant skirt of some brocaded material, and he could see the taut straps of her brassiere through her cotton blouse.

Rick jabbed the bell. It was so simple, suddenly: just do what he had fought against all along. He ducked back as she turned, so she wouldn’t see his face through the glass.

Paula opened the door with a false briskness and the words, “Sally, I was hoping you’d drop by and...” She stopped at sight of the pale, handsome, boyish face just level with her own. “Oh, I’m sorry, I thought you were someone... else...”

Their eyes met and locked, as they had in Brewer Street the week before. Rick saw sudden recognition dawn in the piercing blue eyes. He took a short step forward and drove his right fist into her stomach. Her lungs emptied with a pneumatic whoosh that flecked spittle against his cheek, her eyes rolled up, and she crumpled. He caught her as she went down, grappling awkwardly at her dead weight.

“Champ!” he yelped. “Quick! Help me hold her, for Christ sake!”

Champ went by him, got an arm around her from behind, and they quickly shuffled her out of the doorway. Now Julio also was inside, pulling the door shut, while Heavy remained on the porch. Rick was very aware of Paula’s warm, heavy weight; his excitement was heightened rather than lessened by the beginnings of fine lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth.

“Have you got her okay?” he panted.

“Yeah.”

Champ’s heavy forearm, encircling Paula and pressing up under her breasts, had burst the top buttons of her blouse. Rick couldn’t keep his eyes from the deep cleavage above her bra. Champ held her full weight easily, with only one arm, without apparent strain.

“Just hold her for a second,” said Rick.

He crossed to the hallway, found an open door just to the right, and stuck his head inside. There was a rheostat control rather than a switch for the overhead light, set so the room was almost dark but not quite. Rick could see more bookshelves, a flimsy-looking straight-backed chair like the one his ma had next to the piano, a couch, a small three-legged stool covered with a bright woven slipcover, and a side table bearing an ornate lamp and an electric clock. An oblong rag rug covered the center of the floor.

“Bring her in here, Champ,” he called unevenly. He was going to do it. Do it, do it, do it kept echoing in his mind. He probably would have done it even if she hadn’t recognized him.

Paula was gasping, still not conscious enough to be struggling, but Champ dragged her across the living room one-armed so he could hold a hand over her mouth to muffle possible outcries.

“Dump her on the couch,” said Rick. “It doesn’t matter if she yells — I don’t think anyone can hear her in here anyway.”

“But... what are you gonna do, Rick?”

All pretense of sophistication left him as he stared at the limp, sprawled woman on the couch. He was engulfed by adolescent fancies about this voluptuous woman laid out like a feast before him.

“I’m going to screw her.” His voice creaked on the verb as if it wanted to break into a higher register, and he felt blood shoot to his cheeks. Then he herded Champ to the door and shoved him from the room, ignoring the big man’s hungry stare as realization dawned.

In the gloom, Rick turned back toward the woman. Should he wait until she was fully awake? Or just take her now? Would she fight him? If he waited, maybe she would help him. Undress herself slowly, tantalizingly. Hell, in bull sessions the older guys always said that older women always were hot for it, no matter what they said.