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Authors: John D. MacDonald
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the Starlight Club. Before Chip fired him.
Now she knew she was being Bad. It made her feel a little bit sick. She knew she should stop. She didn’t know how to stop. Mark was weird. He scared her. And she was most frightened of what he was trying to get her to do. Frightened because she sensed he was going to make her do it.
She stood for a moment on the blue rug, thinking of Mark’s soft, persuasive voice and his odd eyes and how he could hurt her so suddenly and unexpectedly with his hard fists. Pete had seen the marks and she had told him she had fallen. It was like long ago, hiding the marks Daddy had made from the other kids.
She shivered and went into the bathroom and ran water into the tub, using the perfumed bubble-bath crystals liberally. She tied her dark hair up out of the way, and stepped into water as hot as she could stand, soaked herself in the froth of perfumed suds. After she had selected and put on a black-and-white pinstriped blouse and a white fleece skirt, fixed her hair and made up her face, she found that she had lost her feeling of hunger. It had been the same way the last few times she had seenMark. Her stomach just seemed to close up. She had a cup of hot coffee and then wandered aimlessly through the house, waiting until it was time to go, pausing to look out the windows, move an ash tray, straighten a framed print, feeling tension rising until it was like a sickness.
She left at two-thirty and drove south on 71. She was a hesitant, nervous driver. Pete had taught her to drive. A little more than eight miles south of the interchange she passed the Ace Cabins, over on the left. A quarter mile beyond was a place where she could make a U turn. A fast truck scared her. She swung around and drove slowly back toward the Ace Cabins. She made certain she had not been followed. She swung into the narrow rough road that ran behind the cabins and drove to the last cabin in the row, turned in and parked on the far side of it, out of sight of the highway. Mark’s narrow face appeared in the window, looking out at her, coldly, without welcome. She got out of the car, went quickly to the door and let herself in, her heart thumping.
FOUR
At a few minutes past four on that sultry Friday afternoon, Mark Brodey sat in Buddha pose on the narrow rumpled cot and watched Sylvia putting her clothes back on. She moved with a tired listlessness and her eyes were red and puffy.
The instrument of my revenge, he thought. He liked the sound of that. Fix those goddamn Droveks good. Five long years I worked for that stinking Drovek tribe. Five years. Now bouncing one of their wives isn’t enough. Not half enough.
When Sylvia had started the habit of coming into the Starlight Club for a few drinks before dinner, he had gone out of his way to be nice to her. Kid around a little with her. Make her laugh. Good policy. One of the wives of the management. You never could tell when you mightneed a friend. No idea of trying to get to her. None at all. Just innocent-like. Sexy-looking little dish, but you could tell she wasn’t on the make either. Just lonesome. No harm in it at all.
And that’s the way things were when the roof fell in. Five years working for that outfit. Two years as head bartender. With them ever since they opened the Starlight Club, ever since they had the liquor license. It wasn’t as if what he had been taking was going to break them. It had taken him quite a while to figure out how to beat the register. There was one behind the bar. He was smart enough not to try to bring anybody else in on it. You could always work something that way. The deal was always to find a way to work your own system, all by yourself. You had to make out a check for each customer, leave it in front of the customer, and take it away only when you stuck it in the machine to print the amount of the next round on it. The checks were in serial sequence. At the end of the night your cash in the box had to even out with the check
Now she knew she was being Bad. It made her feel a little bit sick. She knew she should stop. She didn’t know how to stop. Mark was weird. He scared her. And she was most frightened of what he was trying to get her to do. Frightened because she sensed he was going to make her do it.
She stood for a moment on the blue rug, thinking of Mark’s soft, persuasive voice and his odd eyes and how he could hurt her so suddenly and unexpectedly with his hard fists. Pete had seen the marks and she had told him she had fallen. It was like long ago, hiding the marks Daddy had made from the other kids.
She shivered and went into the bathroom and ran water into the tub, using the perfumed bubble-bath crystals liberally. She tied her dark hair up out of the way, and stepped into water as hot as she could stand, soaked herself in the froth of perfumed suds. After she had selected and put on a black-and-white pinstriped blouse and a white fleece skirt, fixed her hair and made up her face, she found that she had lost her feeling of hunger. It had been the same way the last few times she had seenMark. Her stomach just seemed to close up. She had a cup of hot coffee and then wandered aimlessly through the house, waiting until it was time to go, pausing to look out the windows, move an ash tray, straighten a framed print, feeling tension rising until it was like a sickness.
She left at two-thirty and drove south on 71. She was a hesitant, nervous driver. Pete had taught her to drive. A little more than eight miles south of the interchange she passed the Ace Cabins, over on the left. A quarter mile beyond was a place where she could make a U turn. A fast truck scared her. She swung around and drove slowly back toward the Ace Cabins. She made certain she had not been followed. She swung into the narrow rough road that ran behind the cabins and drove to the last cabin in the row, turned in and parked on the far side of it, out of sight of the highway. Mark’s narrow face appeared in the window, looking out at her, coldly, without welcome. She got out of the car, went quickly to the door and let herself in, her heart thumping.
FOUR
At a few minutes past four on that sultry Friday afternoon, Mark Brodey sat in Buddha pose on the narrow rumpled cot and watched Sylvia putting her clothes back on. She moved with a tired listlessness and her eyes were red and puffy.
The instrument of my revenge, he thought. He liked the sound of that. Fix those goddamn Droveks good. Five long years I worked for that stinking Drovek tribe. Five years. Now bouncing one of their wives isn’t enough. Not half enough.
When Sylvia had started the habit of coming into the Starlight Club for a few drinks before dinner, he had gone out of his way to be nice to her. Kid around a little with her. Make her laugh. Good policy. One of the wives of the management. You never could tell when you mightneed a friend. No idea of trying to get to her. None at all. Just innocent-like. Sexy-looking little dish, but you could tell she wasn’t on the make either. Just lonesome. No harm in it at all.
And that’s the way things were when the roof fell in. Five years working for that outfit. Two years as head bartender. With them ever since they opened the Starlight Club, ever since they had the liquor license. It wasn’t as if what he had been taking was going to break them. It had taken him quite a while to figure out how to beat the register. There was one behind the bar. He was smart enough not to try to bring anybody else in on it. You could always work something that way. The deal was always to find a way to work your own system, all by yourself. You had to make out a check for each customer, leave it in front of the customer, and take it away only when you stuck it in the machine to print the amount of the next round on it. The checks were in serial sequence. At the end of the night your cash in the box had to even out with the check
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