Read Online 1 - Artscape: Ike Schwartz Mystery 1 by Frederick Ramsay - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Frederick Ramsay
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assault and repair the damage, all the while pleading, cajoling, and insisting he stop. But as fast as she got one part of her dress repaired, Jack’s hands found another target and she would feel her blouse being unbuttoned and her bra unsnapped. When she would try to redo that, the hands went to work somewhere else.
Jack’s body had her pinned against the door and his weight was pressing her down on the seat.
“Damn it, stop.” No hope. He wasn’t going to stop. She felt the elastic go somewhere, she guessed she knew where, and heard the thin cotton fabric tear. “That’s it,” she thought, as she twisted back and forth trying to get a purchase, a foothold—anything to get her back into a position where she’d have some room to maneuver or open the door and get out.
She felt her skirt being pulled up around her hips. Why am I doing this, she wondered. Why not give in and get it over with? For one thing, she did not want to be date-raped, and by God, she was not going to have some arrogant, oversexed adolescent push her around.
“If I want to get laid, I’ll decide when and where.” This last comment she delivered aloud, and to make sure she had her assailant’s attention, bit his ear—hard.
The counterattack had not been expected, nor the initial resistance. Jack Trask, like most pampered athletes, expected easy conquests, and he found Jennifer’s reluctance to keep his uninterrupted string intact annoying.
The stabbing pain on his ear caused him to rear back and raise his fist, ready to strike.
As he jerked back, Jennifer realized just how near to his goal Jack was. She was aware of his raised arm, but in the split second his weight lifted from her hips, she twisted, drew on what strength she had left, and sent her right knee to his groin.
Light, bright as noon, flooded the car. In that moment Jennifer saw it all. She sprawled across the seat, practically naked, blouse pushed back, underwear in a shambles. In a brief, irrational moment the words to a Tom Lehrer song her father used to play on an old vinyl record came to her… revealing for all of the others to see, just what it was that endeared you to me . Jack screamed in pain as the shock of her knee rocketed to his brain.
“Nicely done, honey. Before he recovers, give him a quick poke in both eyes with your fingers. That will keep him out for at least another fifteen minutes.”
The voice was male and accented, but Jennifer could not see anyone. The light shone in her eyes. She shoved Jack away, scrabbled to the side of the seat, and attempted to put her clothes back in order.
“What the hell we got here?” Another voice. There were two of them, maybe more, Jennifer thought.
“Okay, lady, you too, sport. Put your duds on and get out.”
Jennifer did not know whether to laugh or cry. Now what? She did as she was told and managed to pull her clothes into some sort of order. She got out of the car. Jack still moaned in pain.
“I guess I hit him pretty hard,” Jennifer said to the voices.
“I guess you did, honey. Okay, sport, suck it up and get out.”
She saw a burly arm emerge from the shadows, grab Jack by his collar, and drag him from the car.
“Walk,” commanded the first voice, “that way,” and the light described an arc pointing the way to the parking lot and the bunker.
As Jennifer walked, she felt what was left of her underpants slide down her right leg. She let them fall and kicked them away as they reached her ankle. She was aware of voices, other voices, four voices, discussing her. She wondered who they were. Her first thought—she and Jack had gotten mixed up with a motorcycle gang. The thought terrified her. But now, with the realization that there were only four, she decided she’d been wrong. Besides, she would have heard the roar of the motors. Even Jack’s heavy breathing wouldn’t have drowned that out.
“Bring them over here,” one voice said, and they were steered toward the bunker. “Sit.”
She
Jack’s body had her pinned against the door and his weight was pressing her down on the seat.
“Damn it, stop.” No hope. He wasn’t going to stop. She felt the elastic go somewhere, she guessed she knew where, and heard the thin cotton fabric tear. “That’s it,” she thought, as she twisted back and forth trying to get a purchase, a foothold—anything to get her back into a position where she’d have some room to maneuver or open the door and get out.
She felt her skirt being pulled up around her hips. Why am I doing this, she wondered. Why not give in and get it over with? For one thing, she did not want to be date-raped, and by God, she was not going to have some arrogant, oversexed adolescent push her around.
“If I want to get laid, I’ll decide when and where.” This last comment she delivered aloud, and to make sure she had her assailant’s attention, bit his ear—hard.
The counterattack had not been expected, nor the initial resistance. Jack Trask, like most pampered athletes, expected easy conquests, and he found Jennifer’s reluctance to keep his uninterrupted string intact annoying.
The stabbing pain on his ear caused him to rear back and raise his fist, ready to strike.
As he jerked back, Jennifer realized just how near to his goal Jack was. She was aware of his raised arm, but in the split second his weight lifted from her hips, she twisted, drew on what strength she had left, and sent her right knee to his groin.
Light, bright as noon, flooded the car. In that moment Jennifer saw it all. She sprawled across the seat, practically naked, blouse pushed back, underwear in a shambles. In a brief, irrational moment the words to a Tom Lehrer song her father used to play on an old vinyl record came to her… revealing for all of the others to see, just what it was that endeared you to me . Jack screamed in pain as the shock of her knee rocketed to his brain.
“Nicely done, honey. Before he recovers, give him a quick poke in both eyes with your fingers. That will keep him out for at least another fifteen minutes.”
The voice was male and accented, but Jennifer could not see anyone. The light shone in her eyes. She shoved Jack away, scrabbled to the side of the seat, and attempted to put her clothes back in order.
“What the hell we got here?” Another voice. There were two of them, maybe more, Jennifer thought.
“Okay, lady, you too, sport. Put your duds on and get out.”
Jennifer did not know whether to laugh or cry. Now what? She did as she was told and managed to pull her clothes into some sort of order. She got out of the car. Jack still moaned in pain.
“I guess I hit him pretty hard,” Jennifer said to the voices.
“I guess you did, honey. Okay, sport, suck it up and get out.”
She saw a burly arm emerge from the shadows, grab Jack by his collar, and drag him from the car.
“Walk,” commanded the first voice, “that way,” and the light described an arc pointing the way to the parking lot and the bunker.
As Jennifer walked, she felt what was left of her underpants slide down her right leg. She let them fall and kicked them away as they reached her ankle. She was aware of voices, other voices, four voices, discussing her. She wondered who they were. Her first thought—she and Jack had gotten mixed up with a motorcycle gang. The thought terrified her. But now, with the realization that there were only four, she decided she’d been wrong. Besides, she would have heard the roar of the motors. Even Jack’s heavy breathing wouldn’t have drowned that out.
“Bring them over here,” one voice said, and they were steered toward the bunker. “Sit.”
She
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