Chapter 6

The car sat in a darkened corner of the motel parking lot. Elliott slumped in the back seat, breathing rhythmically as he slept.

Ruth was in the front seat, flanked by Carlos and Faustina. Carlos squirmed and smoked constantly, lighting one cigarette from the butt of each previous one. Faustina held a gun in her right hand, hiding it with a sweater, keeping the muzzle poked threateningly into Ruth's side.

Her eyes shut, her hands clasped together, Ruth prayed silently that Pico and Jose would not discover Paula in the room adjoining hers and Elliott's. She couldn't remember whether Elliott had shut the door after they'd gone in to tell Paula good night, but she hoped he had--she hoped to God he had!

Please, Lord, let the door be shut... let it be locked on Paula 's side--please, please, please! Those awful men are up there now. Don't let them get my baby in their evil clutches too!

Pico slipped the key into the lock, turned it, then opened the door slowly and moved quietly into the darkened motel room. Jose followed him inside, moving even more quietly than Pico despite his large size. After determining there was only one bed, and that it was empty, Pico switched on a lamp and motioned for Jose to close the door.

The rooms were all adjoining, like some American motels, but both doors were closed. Pico found the suitcases and put them on the bed, opened, motioning for Jose to fill them with Ruth and Elliott's clothing from the drawers and closet. Then, as Jose began packing, he moved to one of the doors and checked it. It was locked. He crossed the room to the other door and grasped the knob, finding it locked too.

"It looks like rubia was telling the truth," he said, more to himself than to Jose, for he'd spoken in English.

Then he spoke in Spanish, louder, telling Jose to hurry up and be sure to get all the clothing. He wanted no traces left behind, nothing which would arouse suspicion. Ruth and Elliott would simply disappear and never be heard from again. Carlos had agreed to see that their car was conveniently "stolen," and that it, too, should disappear. Carlos would profit handsomely from that, Pico knew; for once the car was repainted and the identifying markings removed, it could be taken to Mexico City and sold with no questions asked. Carlos had promised to give Pico the money from the illegal sale, as partial payment on what he owed. But Pico wasn't concerned about Carlos paying up. He knew he would manage to get the money together in time. He was too scared to refuse.

"Carlos is like a pollo," he said, laughing.

Jose glanced at him and grinned, nodding his head. He'd understood only two words--Carlos and chicken--but it was enough to give him the meaning of Pico's spoken thought. Still looking at Pico, Jose pulled too hard on the dresser drawer he was opening. It came completely out; and in his attempt to catch it before it fell to the floor, he overreacted and set the light drawer banging loudly against the wall.

Startled by the sudden noise, Paula jerked awake and sat up in bed. For a moment she didn't know where she was, and her heart beat faster as she glanced around the strange room in an effort to orient her sleep- dulled mind.

Then she relaxed, remembering all. Her parents were back from their night on the town. She could hear movement in their room. Wondering which one of those bright, wild paintings her father had bought, and wanting to kiss them both good night, she slid from her bed and slipped on her robe. She padded barefoot across the room and unlocked the connecting door, swung it open and went through it, rubbing her eyes. She was well into the room when she noticed the dark, lean man and the big muscular Negro looking at her. Gasping, she clutched her robe tightly around her neck and stopped.

Pico, thinking and acting very quickly, smiled and said, "You must be Paula."

"Yes," she answered, staring at him in utter confusion. "How did you know my name? What are you doing in here? This is my parents' room."

"Your parents," Pico said, stalling for time as his mind groped for a way to calm her and keep her from calling out.

Paula was much too young and naive to be as frightened as she should have been. She said. "Yes, my parents."

"Your parents... Ruth and..."

"Elliott. Ruth and Elliott Strickland."

"Yes. Strickland. I'm sorry I could not recall their full names."

"What are you doing with their things?" she gasped, just noticing what was going on. "Who are you?"

"Don't be alarmed, Paula," Pico soothed.

"But you're packing their things! What are you doing that for? Has something happened to them?"

"Yes. I'm afraid so."

"An accident! They haven't had an accident?"

Smiling inwardly at the unintentional help she'd given him, but forcing his face to look concerned and serious, Pico nodded.

"Oh, no! What happened?"

"The taxi in which they were riding was struck by another car. Now don't become alarmed, Paula. Calm yourself, my child."

"They're hurt! How bad are they hurt? They're not dead... tell me they're not dead!"

"No, no, no," he said, moving to her and putting his hands on her quaking shoulder. "They are going to be fine. They are shaken up pretty badly though. They'll be in the hospital a couple of days. They are there now. That's why Jose and I are here... to take their things to them."

"I'm going too," Paula said.

"Of course you are, my child. I've arranged to have a bed for you put into your mother's room. She insisted on it."

"I'll get dressed, Mr..."

"Pico. Just call me Pico."

"You'll wait for me, Pico?"

"Certainly. And, Paula," he called, stopping her in the doorway. "Pack your things."

"All of them?"

He nodded. "Everything. You won't be coming back to this motel."

"I'll hurry."

"Please do."

Paula shut the door, not bothering to lock it now that she knew the men were there to help. She laid out the things she would wear, then got her suitcase and began packing.

Jose stood beside the bed, neglecting his duties, staring after Paula.

Pico noticed the gleam in his eyes, the lustful yet tender expression on his face. He also noticed the bulge in his trousers. A new act for the sex show put on nightly in his large whorehouse was immediately born in his mind. It would be a very erotic act, what with Jose so big and black and Paula so small and blonde. And so young and tender, too. A mock rape, he thought, smiling, pleased with himself as the scene unfolded in his mind. Or a real rape, if Paula wouldn't go along willingly with his idea.

At any rate, Jose would go along. He'd do anything Pico told him to do. Pico grinned. The act would be perfect to precede Ruth and the donkey waiting for her in the shed behind his place.

"Do you like the girl, Jose?" he asked in Spanish.

Still looking longingly at the door Paula had gone through, Jose nodded and motioned as if taking her in his muscular arms.

"Then you shall have her, my friend... every night."

Grinning broadly, Jose nodded and rubbed the growing bulge his massive prick was causing. He made sign language to indicate he wanted Paula all to himself.

"No, Jose. The girl will have to take care of customers too."

Jose looked disappointed but acquiescent.

"You can't keep her all to yourself. She will be very popular with the customers, especially the older ones. But when we are closed and there are no customers to pay for her, then you may have her."

Jose pointed to the bed. He pretended to hold Paula in his arms, shutting his eyes as if sleeping.

"Of course, my friend," Pico said. "Every night if you wish it."

Obviously very happy with the promised arrangement, Jose went eagerly back to packing Ruth and Elliott's things.

Fully dressed and ready to leave, Paula reentered the room, struggling with her heavy suitcase. Pico sat calmly in a chair, smoking a thin, black cigar. The packing finished, Jose was bird- dogging the door, waiting impatiently for it to open. Paula was barely into the room when he rushed to her and, smiling, took the suitcase from her hand.

"Thank you," Paula said, returning his smile as best she could in her worried state of mind. His face wasn't at all handsome, what with his broad nose and thick lips, but he seemed very pleasant and helpful. "I didn't get your name."