Chapter 8

Jill was numb and dazed as they drove across the Bay Bridge to the Oakland International Airport. She sat in the back seat of the sleek, black Coupe de Ville with Ernesto, wondering where the car came from and who it belonged to. The man at the wheel drove swiftly and expertly. From time to time, Jill studied his head and the back of his neck, and she could see a portion of his face in reflected in the rear view mirror. Garcia, ever the gentleman, had not introduced him to her, realizing her acute embarrassment and distress, and Julio -- called "Hulio" -- was sensitive enough and discreet enough not to look at her directly. Fortunately, Jack Dawson rode in the front seat with him. Julio was not wearing a chauffeur's uniform. He was dressed in sports jacket, slacks and a turtle neck sweater, a good looking young man of perhaps twenty-six or seven, with a dark, curly beard and a full shock of brown curls. His eyes were a startling blue, which surprised Jill. Naive as she was, she expected all Mexicans to have black hair and eyes.

Julio never spoke unless addressed. Yet, he was in no way servile. Indeed, he seemed to have a great deal of pride and a natural intelligence that one could sense rather than experience. Once or twice during the ride, Ernesto would lean forward and speak to him sotto voce in Spanish. The garrulous printer would rattle on about sports or politics, making embarrassed small talk. Julio's replies and comments were spare and to the point. He seemed to tolerate Jack Dawson even less than did Garcia.

It was almost midnight when the big black Cadillac pulled into a hangar at a far end of the air field. Three men were awaiting them, two in mechanics' jumpsuits, another in street clothes. Only the man in street clothes spoke in Spanish as she was whisked into a waiting Lear jet. Drugged and confused as she was, she noted the exterior design as one of Alexander Calder's whimsical abstracts, not unlike those he had done for Braniff Airlines.

The interior was something out of a James Bond movie -- more like a luxurious hotel room than a plane, with a bar, plush arm chairs that swiveled and -- a small bedroom with its own bath containing a stall shower! Jill thought at that moment that seeing the plane was recompense enough for deciding to make the trip.

The unidentified man in street clothes, who had stringy black hair and bad teeth (which showed under a thin, clipped mustache) assumed the position of co-pilot, as Julio took the controls and ushered the aircraft into the midnight sky.

Despite two cups of coffee, which Ernesto offered to her as soon as they were airborne, Jill found herself becoming sleepier and sleepier. At Garcia's suggestion, she went into the "bedroom" and was soon fast asleep on the double bed...

The two partners in crime talked intently in another part of the streamlined plane. They sipped rare cognac from Baccarat snifters as they discussed their "ward."

"I tellya, Ernesto, the kid's dynamite. Hell, if you hadn't got antsy, I'd have gotten a blow job out of it, too! For Chrissakes, why'dja have to break it up so soon? You said you'd wait for my call!"

"Sorry, Jack, but it became obvious that you were all set to make a night of it. You tend to forget yourself at times, and drugging her the way you did, you knew she was in no position to refuse -- particularly under fear of pain and disfigurement..."

"Hell, I just wanted to scare her a little bit; adds to the excitement, know what I mean? I didn't have no intention of hurtin' the kid."

"I do not care for violence of any sort, Dawson -- you know that. You don't seem to realize that this one has to be handled with kid gloves. I told you I had something slightly different in mind for her."

"Yeah? Well I think you're bein' more kid glovey than you need to be, Ernesto. Gimme another crack at her and she'll get on her back for burros!" Dawson chuckled evilly at his intended witticism, but the laugh petered out when Garcia reacted with an icy, penetrating stare.

Leaning forward, the refined Colombian spoke in level, measured cadence. "Listen, amigo," he said, stressing each syllable of the Spanish word for 'friend, ' "if you have one more 'crack' at her, she'll bolt back to San Francisco and spill everything to the police! You have already behaved stupidly -- you could have waited until she had been seasoned under the Mexican sun. I'll have to do that much more for her now before she is right to exhibit. "

"The hell you will! Drug or no drug, this little cunt has everything in her to be your fuckin' star performer! You ought to thank me for gettin' rid of her goddamned virginity and the hang- ups that went with it. The loaf's been sliced once now, and from now on, it'll be slice-heaven for everybody!"

A voice came over the intercom. "Don Ernesto, the time ees come now?"

Garcia sighed heavily. "Si, Martinez, si," he answered impatiently. The tall man rose from his chair and looked at his watch, addressing Dawson. "We'll be landing in Burbank in twenty- five minutes. I promised Martinez -- he doesn't mind fucking a woman who's not awake." Garcia grimaced at the thought. Some men settle for so little when there was so much more!

"Neither do I!" Dawson answered. "Maybe I'll give him a hand -- though I'd rather do it all by myself," Dawson chuckled again.

"Undoubtedly, so would Martinez!" came the unsympathetic reply.

The knockout drops in Jill's coffee would insure her sleep for the next seven or eight hours. The unsuspecting girl would awaken in the luxurious hacienda that was the principal resident of her Colombian benefactor. Meanwhile, she would be preyed on once again by not one but two coarse men -- both of whom she would have rejected under conditions of undrugged consciousness. Now she was at their mercy, as she lay on the bed in the Lear jet, being whisked to her grim destination at more than 400 miles per hour!

The two lusting males undressed her as though she were a lifesize mannequin, leaving her beautiful young body totally naked to their lascivious stares and caresses. They were naked, too, and they mauled her with their hands and mouths, unable to get enough of her unblemished baby-soft flesh.

While Dawson sucked and mouthed her breasts, Martinez, the co-pilot, lifted her legs up and spread them wide apart, staring with a lewd, debasing expression at her helplessly exposed pussy.

"Smooth as silk, ain't she?" Dawson remarked, as he began to rub his beefy hands down her body and around the insides of her thighs, feeling their tender softness... down to her pussy, where he inserted a finger and stirred it around obscenely in her vagina. Jill started involuntarily in her drugged sleep, and her pussy muscles contracted around the printer's large stiff finger. "See that? Even sleepin' she's hot to trot!" he chuckled. Martinez grinned back, showing what was left of a row of yellowed, chipped teeth. He was sporting a wet erection, and his oozing cock stood, like a long, thin pole, from the base of his sparse black pubic pyramid.