Chapter 6

Monique had formed a plan. She had thought carefully about the things the American girl had told her during dinner, particularly the part about the dream. Several other of her young initiates had told a similar story about such dreams. They always occurred when she had left them alone at the hotel. That bastard Shalla has been sampling my wares, she thought angrily to herself. Under normal circumstances, she would have reported him immediately to Gamal or another of her contacts and they would have taken care of the matter by quietly dumping his body in the bay, but with this new development of the American girl's husband coming, she would need his help. He wouldn't dare refuse when she confronted him with her knowledge of his assaults on her girls. She might even let him have a little more fun with her. That should keep him happy.

She pressed the service button by her bed and waited patiently until she heard his light knock at the door.

"Can I help, Madame?" he said as she opened it wide, motioning for him to enter.

Shalla sensed that something was wrong when the French lady invited him inside. She had never paid much attention to him before and he stepped into the room reluctantly, taking the seat she pointed to.

Monique stood in the center of the room looking down at him for a long moment. The Arab lowered his eyes. He did not know how to deal with such a woman. She was far above his class and her very presence unnerved him. She must know about his little afternoon parties with her friends. This would be the only reason she would be looking at him like this.

"Was she good this afternoon, Shalla?" she said coldly, still staring straight down at him.

There was a long silence and the Arab did not speak. He was frightened. He knew the people she was connected with and what could be done to him if she just gave the word. He would have no one to turn to, he was Just an immigrant without friends. He kept his eyes lowered to the floor, afraid to sneak. There was no one to defend him.

"I asked you a question, Shalla. Was she good?" Monique repeated, almost enjoying watching the Arab squirm. He deserved it, the bastard, having such a good time with her property. He might have damaged it irreparably playing his little games.

"I--I do not know of that which Madame speaks." he finally answered slowly, raising his eyes slightly from the floor but still not looking directly in her eyes.

"You sniveling little, cochon," she spat at him vindictively, "you know very well of which I speak."

"But I do not understand," Shalla defended, "why does Madame become so angry and talk this way. Have I not always been of good service?"

"Yes, yes, you have," Monique's tone changed to one of soft understanding. She knew she would have to be more gentle with him or he would never admit to anything. She was frightening him too much and this would never do, she didn't have much time to put her plan into operation and this would require his help or she would never succeed before the girl's husband arrived.

"I'm not angry with you, Shalla," Monique continued, speaking slowly; and addressing him now in respectful tones as she would another business associate. "In fact, I need your help."

The Arab looked up at her, not certain whether he had heard correctly. Surely this was some kind of trick she was playing on him to get him to confess. Then she would turn him over to some of the toughs who worked for her and he would be finished.

"Madame, Shalla knows his place, he does not do the things of which you speak. I have my duties to perform here, I have no time for other things."

"Shalla, my dear man, you must understand that I am not going to have you harmed in any way. I just need your help. How would you like to have the little American girl again?" Monique smiled at him and said this last sentence slowly so that it would sink into his mind deeply. She was certain he had enjoyed it, otherwise, Jean would not have given such glowing descriptions of the sensations she had experienced in her so- called dream.

"How do I know that Madame does not play a trick on me, to get me to confess to something I have not done?" Shalla also spoke slowly. His Arab intuition told him that this proud French lady really did need his help and she needed it badly. Otherwise, she could turn to any number of very important people here in Marseille to do the favor for her. She must have to keep it a close secret that was not to be known outside the hotel. Perhaps, just perhaps, if he played it right, he could benefit well from her obviously difficult situation. He was a lowly immigrant, but not a fool.

Monique could see the change of expression on his face. He had looked up at her and studied her eyes.

He knew she was in desperate trouble and needed his help.

This was bad. She knew the Arabs well by now and if they knew they had an advantage they would press it for everything they could get. They were the best hagglers in the world and quick to perceive a weakness in their adversaries. Perhaps she had just better put her foot down now before he got too far out of line.

"Listen you desk clerk! I can have you thrown to the fish anytime I desire. I know now what you've been doing to these poor defenseless girls while I've been away from the hotel and I think you had better admit it to me before I lose my temper." Desperation was apparent in her voice and Shalla sensed this. Whatever it was that she needed was extremely important and she needed him to help her accomplish it. He eyed her more confidently.

"Madame is wrong," he spoke with feigned hurt in his voice. "I think I must leave."

"Shalla, stay where you are," he could almost detect a pleading note in the tone of her voice now. "I need some assistance and can make it well worth your while to help me."

"What does Madame wish me to do?" the Arab asked slyly. He would find out how important this favor really was and then negotiate the price.

Monique outlined to him briefly the part she wanted him to play in her little scheme, leaving out the most important factors that would give away the true reason for her plan. She didn't dare to divulge it all to him. She knew he would demand a price that would cut her profit down considerably, and she envisioned quite a sum from Gamal if her plan worked well. It had to work, it was her only chance.

Shalla listened intently to the outline of his part in this venture of the French lady. She tried to sound casual as she described to him the details of the actions he was to perform but he knew now beyond all doubt from the discernible concern in her eyes that there was so much more to it than she was divulging to him. She was going to a lot of trouble to merely humiliate this girl. There must be something else to it, it sounded much more complicated than she described.

"How much will this man pay to see her raped?" he asked, attempting to draw more of the story from her.

"He will pay a great deal if you and your friend follow instructions well. He likes this kind of thing and is willing to pay for it."

"But it is dangerous and if the police find out, it will mean a long prison term for myself and the friend I will need to help. We also will have a witness in the girl. She will know who all of us are and be able to identify us for the authorities."

"Don't worry about the witness, my dear Shalla, our friend who wants this little exhibition will take care of that part later. All you and your friend must do is to hold her here tomorrow and then deliver her as I instruct--but your timing must be absolutely perfect--and, of course, you may have your little fun like you did before, but no rough stuff, I want her fit tomorrow night."

"And how much does Shalla receive for this?" the Arab asked, knowing in advance that whatever figure she first offered would be a pittance compared to what she would receive. He knew she was selling these girls and that the correct timing had something to do with a sale.

"You will get half, and the gentleman is willing to pay two hundred American dollars. That would be one hundred for you which is more than you make in a month working here."

"A girl like that is worth three thousand American dollars to some in Marseille." Shalla watched her expression change as he made this statement. He knew by the sudden frustration that crossed over her face that he could almost name his own price now. She wanted this done tomorrow night and he knew it would be impossible for her to arrange it with someone else in that time. He had sent the cable for the American girl and knew when her husband was arriving. This would mean the plans would have to be completed tonight or he might take her away with him. Obviously, the French lady had already arranged the sale and this would destroy her plans completely.

Monique had been afraid of this. Damn Arabs, they would take the very clothing from an honest woman's back if they had the chance. She also knew she was in no position to argue with him too much and that speed was of the very essence if the plans were to be completed before the husband arrived.

"All right, you bastard Arab, five hundred American dollars and no more." Monique spat at him in desperation. "This is my final offer and you had better accept or I'll make you wish you had stayed in Algeria and let the revolutionaries string you up!"

Shalla smiled to himself as he heard the frustration rise in her voice. He knew the price was open now and that he had gained the upper hand. This may be the chance he was looking for. He had worked as a lowly hotel clerk too long already after losing his family shop in Algeria during the revolution. It was time he became a business man again and this was an excellent business. He had to play his hand carefully in order not to upset the fine balance of things as they stood.

"You are too kind, Madame, to a lowly hotel clerk. The price sounds too high. I think we should wait until the deed is done before we make the bargain. I do not want to be overpaid for my services."

"Then I have your agreement?" Monique asked, a smile of relief showing discernibly on her face.

"Yes you have my dear woman. I will do your bidding, asking only that I be treated fairly after the affair is finished."

"Agreed," Monique beamed. This had been easier than she had expected. She would give him a small tip after it was over and if he gave her any trouble, she was certain Gamal would take care of him for her.

"A drink to seal our bargain," the Arab said, looking at her with his penetrating stare. He knew exactly what she was thinking and counted on her overconfidence to reveal the entire set-up later on to him. Right now, he had to equalize them. It would be taking a chance with this haughty bitch who considered him slightly above the social level of a pig but he had to try now while she needed him. There was only one way to do this, and that was to fuck her senseless before he left this room. There was no better equalizer in the world than to debase her by shooting a hot stream of his sperm up into that hot belly of hers. That would convince her she was no better than he was.

Monique suddenly detected the other, more bold change in his voice. It emitted a certain unmistakable suggestiveness that suddenly curled her stomach. It took several seconds before the full impact of what this cur's voice had so subtly implied, but one look at his face and there was no question what he had meant.

He wanted her to submit to him!

This sniveling Arab wanted her, Monique DuFour, to submit to his base touch. The thought of rubbing bodies with this filth sitting before her nauseated her no end. His despicable pock- marked face and yellow decaying teeth sickened her stomach, and now he had the nerve to expect her to submit to him. She held herself back from screaming at him to get out. He had agreed to assist her and she couldn't afford to lose him now.

"I'm tired, Shalla my dear, perhaps we can have one another time when we've completed our agreement," she smiled sweetly, hiding her contempt as best she could under the circumstances.

The Arab looked at her and she knew her ruse had failed. She felt as though he were looking straight into her mind and was sensing every thought. Perhaps she shouldn't have called him into this, she had misjudged him. He was a clever one and she knew she wasn't going to get out of this as cheaply as she had thought.

"We had better have it now, Madame," he said, rising from the chair and pouring them two large glasses of the Courvoisier cognac she had sitting on the dresser.

Monique stood frozen in the middle of the room, not taking her eyes from him as he handed her the glass.

"Drink," he commanded, raising his glass to his lips that were now curled in a contemptuous half-smile. Monique found herself lifting the glass to her lips almost in a daze, her superior bearing lost. She was shaking slightly, fully aware of the fact, that she had lost control of the situation and that she had to put up with his insolence or lose Gamal, her best customer, and this was impossible as all her future business plans rested upon his acceptance of her girls. She drained the glass, feeling the hot liquid sear down her throat softening for the moment the impact of the sudden change of events.

Shalla reached for the bottle and poured her another.

"I think Madame will need this, we have many plans to make if we are to succeed in our little venture. It will not be easy without total cooperation between us. Do not you agree?" he smiled triumphantly.

Monique nodded numbly in assent, taking the glass as he passed it to her, and pouring another large swallow into her throat. She felt as though she would scream in revulsion if this pig touched her but she knew it was coming and had to deaden her senses. Things had gone too far now to turn back and she just could not afford to lose Gamal's loyalty as a client, in spite of what degradations she had to submit to in order to save it. It meant her reputation and that was all one had in this business. Either you delivered if you had promised to do so or suddenly found you had no customers for your girls. It was that simple and she knew it too well.

Shalla knew at the moment she nodded her head that the battle was won. He was going to fuck this high-class bitch and there was nothing she could or would do to stop him. He had drained all fight from her because she needed him and would do anything he demanded in order to insure his help. He smiled lewdly as he stood in front of her unbuttoning his pants and letting them drop slowly to the floor. His hardened cock stood out from his body throbbing straight at her. It looked like a giant oak growing up through the black underbrush of his thick pubic hair, as with one hand he stroked the foreskin back and forth over the expanding head. It grew jerkily in size each time it disappeared and reappeared through the thick flap of flesh covering it. He watched the loathing in her face as her eyes remained involuntarily locked on his dark growing member. His excitement flared as he saw the helpless fear rising in her eyes. It would be more fun than with the American.

This one would be conscious of the things he was going to do to her!

It would be he who was bringing forth the moans of pleasure and pain this time and not some distant lover that would receive the credit for his caresses. It was he, Shalla, who would be felt when he drove it deep into the soft unprotected belly of this desperate bitch.

"Strip," he hissed at her. "Or should I do it for you?"

Monique moved, she couldn't stand the thought of this beast touching her yet. She undid the buttons of her dress at the back, wriggled it off her shoulders, down over her lush full hips and stepped out of it. She could feel the Arab's lewd eyes devouring her ripe mature body but she didn't dare look at him. She was still well built and solid for a woman of forty and kept herself in good condition by daily exercises. She pulled her slip up over her head and let it limply slither to the floor at her feet with the dress. She suddenly for the first time in years felt extremely defenseless and naked. Thank God, for the cognac that had deadened her nerves.

The Arab had removed his clothes except for the dirty green socks that had large holes in the heels. His yellow pallored skin clung tightly to his thin rib cage; his long sinewy cock jutted menacingly out from his belly.

Monique shuddered visibly this time, thinking back to the horrors of another evening so many years ago when she had been ravished brutally by a gang of his kind in the same room where the broken body of her husband had lain grotesquely spread in death on the floor. They had been farmers in Algiers before the revolution and had been caught in their home by surprise one evening by a roving band of Arab guerrillas. They had tortured her husband to death before her eyes and then had taken turns committing every kind of indecency imaginable on her then young defenseless body. Her mind still bore the scars of that night and its horrible memory had prevented her from ever having a man since that time. Most young wives of the slain settlers had come back to France and out of desperation for money had ended up on the streets. She had not. She had worked hard in developing her little trade, using the contacts she had with their Algerian friends that had survived the revolution. She had prided herself in the fact that she had survived and had not given herself to anyone in respect for the memory of her dead husband. And now, this. This horrible creature was standing before her ready to perpetrate the same indecencies on her helpless body again. The thought revolted her of that thin emaciated body slivering across hers, using her for its own obscene pleasures. She couldn't do it... she just couldn't... !