Chapter 14

Kevin awoke the next morning to the loud medley of traffic and street vendor sounds that carried up through his window from the street five storys below. His head felt as though a pile- driver were crushing down on it and the thick cotton taste in his mouth almost nauseated him. He groaned, and sat up in bed, blinking his eyes at the full bright rays of sun that trickled in through the breeze fluttering curtains.

It was a short moment before he could recall where he was and what he was doing in this strange European looking room that had the washbasin right out in the open next to the bed. Then, slowly the entire sordid nightmare of the night before flickered back through his fogged mind. He groaned aloud and fell back to the pillow as the horrid vision of Jean's body squirming down on her knees in front of that dwarf who had sodomized her mercilessly bored itself deep in his brain. He clenched his fists tightly together until the whites of his knuckles showed as he recalled the ecstatic abandoned look of joy on her face as she had let herself be screwed like a common whore in front of all those people. And she had been loving it. He tried to the best of his ability to understand, to make himself understand and find an excuse for her, but there could be none He had seen her. He had seen her doing it, not once, but twice if he included the fat Arab that had been licking her in that room when he had walked in unexpectedly. Monique had said the girl was there for some unusual kicks and she had no reason to lie to him, plus she did not even know it was Jean until they entered the room. She had just been told by that Arab Gamal that it was some American girl who wanted to taste the seamier side of French night-life. It was just by their accidental rummaging around through the place that they had burst in on those two.

Well, she had certainly tasted it and in first class style. He wondered how many others present at that little gathering had tried it too after he had been sent away from the place. Jean had looked like she might be in the mood to show half the room a good time. It was just strange that he had never recognized the nymphomaniac streak in her before or that it had never shown itself during some of their sessions in the back seat of his car when they had been dating or at least back in the hotel room in Paris where she had screamed so convincingly at his advances.

Perhaps Monique had been right. Women are strange creatures and there is no way of knowing what their reaction to a given situation will be until they are actually placed in that situation. He could have never in his wildest dreams have imagined that underneath the stiff upper New England facade of respectability in Jean that such an uncontrolled demon of passion smoldered. And what was more mysterious and difficult to understand, was how it was set off so violently in the short span of a few days since she had run away from him in Paris. There was so much he could not understand and so many questions he wanted answered that it caused his head to throb more than it already did. But, he had to know some of these things before he left Jean here even though she had done so much to him in the last few hours. He would at least ask a few questions to ease his own mind if he could find the right places.

Later, after he had pulled himself from his bed and shaved and showered, he had coffee downstairs at the restaurant and planned out his days itinerary. He had called the airline office and found that he could get the plane for Paris with direct connections to New York at seven o'clock tonight. That should give him plenty of time to go to the hotel that Jean had indicated in her cable to him and ask a few questions. He could possibly find out whet happened to Monique also. He had wondered where she had gone after he had been knocked unconscious last night and decided she had probably gotten out of the place. He couldn't blame her very much under the circumstances after they had seen Jean lying under that Arab friend of hers, with her legs spread wide open in invitation. She had probably been so upset with what she had seen that she had gone on back to Paris. He couldn't blame her very much after all she had done to try and patch things up between two juvenile young newlyweds. He would at least like to let her know that he didn't blame her for the way things had turned out. She had no way of knowing what Jean was really like or that she would turn nympho overnight. Flow could she possibly know if even her own husband didn't. He paid the waiter for the coffee and stepped out of the hotel to hail a taxi clutching the address of the hotel in his hand. The hall porter had said it wasn't too far away but had had a funny expression on his face when he mentioned the district it was located in but Kevin shrugged it off. Nothing mattered too much now anyway and he was just taking the trip to satisfy a vague curiosity about Jean's sudden about face. Last night had destroyed any love he felt for her and nothing he found out today would make any difference in his plans to go home and file for divorce immediately.

Shalla, when he heard the footsteps on the stairs leading up to the second floor desk leaped to his feet in excitement. He had been waiting for Monique to return with his share of the price for the American girl since early this morning. He had been counting with glee over and over again the money he had made from her yesterday and it was a considerable amount considering she had taken on between twenty and thirty customers not including the amount he made for the exhibition she put on with the African. Now, with his share of her sale to the syndicate, he could start his own business again and be on easy street. He had hoped this time it was her coming up the stairs but as they drew nearer a slight tinge of disappointment crossed over his brow. The steps were too heavy. It was not a woman, just probably another tired seaman who wanted a room for the night He was surprised suddenly when an American appeared at the top of the steps looking as though he had just stepped from the advertising section of one of those American men's magazines Shalla had sometimes seen, old and used, in the barbershop. He must be wealthy and perhaps looking for a woman for the day. Why else would he come down to this section of town. Damn, if he only had the American girl here now he could probably get four or five times the price he would have from the customers he had sold to yesterday.

"May I help you, Monsieur," he purred in his best English, hoping to make an immediate impression on him. He enjoyed speaking to them first in English and always getting the query, "Why, how did you know I was American?" It was strange that they didn't even know themselves they always looked so different from Europeans in their neat looking ever- pressed suits and shirts.

Kevin looked at the desk clerk for a moment before answering. He was still stunned by the appearance of the neighborhood when he had gotten out of the cab downstairs. There were nothing but cheap looking bars, sailors, and prostitutes for blocks. Why on earth had Jean chosen a place like this to stay in unless she were really looking for a chance to wallow in filth. Had she gone completely out of her mind. It certainly would appear that way.

"I--I wonder if you might answer a few questions for me," he managed to stammer after an uncomfortable moment.

"Certainly," Shalla grinned, sensing that there was some money to be made here if he played his cards right. Truly this was his week of "bonne chance" and rebirth. "Anything that Shalla does not know about Marseille, Monsieur, is not worth knowing."

"I would like some information about a girl," Kevin said softly, his voice lowered in suspicion of the unsavory looking character standing in front of him.

"Ah, but you have come to the right place," Shalla answered in a low confidential voice so endemic to pimps. "I can arrange any type you want, Monsieur, or any color. And it will not be too expensive. You have come to the right man."

"I--I didn't mean that kind of woman," Kevin quickly corrected. "I mean a woman that was registered here at your hotel. A young American one."

Shalla's grin suddenly faded as the recognition flickered through his mind. He suddenly recalled the cable the American girl had sent to Paris. This was her husband! Panic seized him for a moment as thoughts of the police following close behind came to him. He had sudden frightening thoughts of the entire transaction being destroyed by an over-zealous husband and with that the destruction of his profits from the deal. This would ruin him and his plans for his business that he had spent the whole morning dwelling on

"H--Have you seen her?" Kevin's voice interrupted his thought. "Her name was Taylor, Jean Taylor."

"I--I don't know, Monsieur, if I can help you," Shalla hesitated, placing his finger against his chin as though trying to recall. "I am not always on duty here."

"It would mean a great deal to me," Kevin offered. "I will pay you well for any information you can give me."

Shalla sensed that he should just deny any knowledge whatsoever of the girl but the mention of money started his mind working again. He could kill two birds with one stone by misleading the American and still take his money for the information even if it was false.

"Perhaps if Monsieur could describe the young lady," he ventured cautiously, "you see we have so many customers, particularly during the tourist season. I don't know if I would recognize her."

"I think you would remember her if you saw her " Kevin said. "She was a very pretty girl with long dark hair. Twenty-three years old and built very well."

The thoughts of the American girl's body thrashing under him in wild abandon that first day drifted back to Shalla as Kevin continued his description. He felt a slight tinge in his prick as he thought back on it. Yes, he mused silently to himself, she did have a nice body and again a surge of secret power rippled through him as he listened to her husband stand before him and describe a being that he in all probability knew better than he did. He wondered what his reaction would be if he knew that he had fucked her silly not long ago and then watched while multitudes of others used her body for any purpose they wanted for hours on end Yes, it did give him a secret sense of power to listen to this poor fool here who probably was looking upon him as nothing but a dirty illiterate Arab as his wife did when she first came into the hotel. Perhaps he could make up a story that would be half true that would bring him down a peg or two. He would enjoy watching him squirm.

"And, oh yes, she was traveling with an older French woman. Nice looking also and about thirty-nine or forty years old," Kevin added as he finished describing Jean to the apparently close listening Shalla.