Chapter 9: Welcome Home

The plane was mostly empty. It was a late night flight and Gregg hadn't really slept in more than thirty-six hours. In fact for more than twelve of those, he had been, well, exercising vigorously. The darkened cabin, the soothing hum of the plane's engine ... Gregg's eyelids might as well have had weights attached to them...

Nate Hampshaw looked out the window from his brownstone apartment on Clark Street. He would have liked to open the windows, but in this summer heat, everybody else's would be open, and there'd be no hiding what he was doing from his neighbors. He wasn't so concerned about the ones with which he shared walls, ceiling, or floor. No, it was everyone else, in all the other buildings, in passing cars, or walking along the sidewalk four floors below. He took another draw from his cigarette before tamping it out in the ashtray amidst its many partners. Careful. He was always careful and he couldn't lose focus now.

Long tapered fingernails on perfect alabaster-skinned hands circled around his chest and a petite body pressed against his back. Playfully she snapped his suspenders before running her hands down to his trousers. "C'mon Daddy, open a window," she said in her best little girl voice. From the corner of his eye he saw the black silk robe she wore flap in the pathetic breeze blown from an overworked fan.

'Daddy' ... that's what she called him now. He loved it when she called him that. It reminded him of the first time he saw her.

He wasn't really her father. Her real father was a grade-A piece of shit. It was five years ago when he kicked in the door to her father's rundown apartment and beat him senseless for not paying his dues to Bugsy. If there was one thing Bugsy didn't abide by, it was people not paying their debts. The only thing he disliked more than men not paying their debts was disloyalty, and Nate was the most loyal of them all. Bugsy had saved his life when just a kid, rescued him from the streets, gave him a job in his organization. Nate owed Bugsy everything and his loyalty to the man he considered a brother was the deepest. In turn, Bugsy always knew that he could give Nate any task, and it would be successfully carried out, to the letter, no questions asked. Beating up a drunk was a walk in the park as far as he was concerned.

Stooping to wipe his bloody knuckles on the unconscious slob's undershirt, Nate spied Gerti cowering under the table in the corner, staring at him both in fear and in awe. She stared at him with the biggest eyes he'd ever seen on girl. Green eyes that didn't seem to blink, but when they did, he was sure the room got dimmer. Nate shook his head, closing his eyes and thinking to himself, 'Since when have I ever had poetic thoughts?'

Gerti's father wasn't a small man, and this was the first time she'd seen him on the receiving end of a beating instead of the giving end. Usually it was her that was the target of his "affections." When Nate stood up to leave, she threw herself at him, clinging to his leg, begging, "Please, don't leave me here. When he wakes up ... if he wakes up, he'll beat me twice as bad as you beat him. Please ... he'll kill me," she sobbed.

Nate never had mercy for a world that showed no mercy for him ... but those eyes...

He dropped her off at Bugsy's speakeasy and asked his boss and friend to take care of her, as a favor. Nate had never asked for a favor since the time they met, and without objection he took her under his wing to be trained for the flapper review. That night, Nate walked out the door and got drunker than he'd ever been in his life.

Gerti was Bugsy's pride and joy and Nate was left heartbroken. Less than a year after she was old enough to be on stage, Bugsy married her. Nate swallowed his grief. If he must suffer some loneliness for his boss's happiness, so be it.

Two more years passed. Two lonely years. Being a gangster was always a lonely business ... at least it was until that day a few months back.

He was walking Gerti from the club back to her apartment as he did every night. Now that she and Bugsy were married, she was practically kept under lock and key. Bugsy didn't want her living in his house for fear his enemies would get to her. That's what he said at least. She knew that he wanted her on the side so she wouldn't get in the way of his other ... entertainments. Apparently it was a lonely life being a gangster's wife too, and this loneliness was something she and Nate could share. He had standing orders to protect her whenever she wasn't with Bugsy. He went from being a ball-breaker to a bodyguard. He tagged along on some runs, just to work out his pent up frustrations and aggressions. As they walked along the sidewalk on their usual route, a freak rainstorm hit the Chicago waterfront from nowhere. Before they could get to cover, lightning struck from out of the sky and knocked him unconscious. When he came to, he was surrounded by a crowd of onlook

ers, but more importantly, Gerti was draped across his body, sobbing profusely.

When the crowd saw that he wasn't dead, they managed to pull her off his body kicking and screaming and they got him to a hospital. Gerti refused to leave his side until the doctors told him he could go home. She would have stayed in her soaking flapper outfit and coat if Bugsy himself hadn't come by with a change of clothes for her and well wishes for his most loyal lieutenant.

Nate quickly recovered, and much to everyone's amazement returned to work, sort of. The gangster life held no more luster for him, and collecting on debts became painfully easy. He'd kick in a door and think to himself, 'Just pay the goddamn money, ' and to his surprise, people ponied up without him even saying a word. He soon found that he was able to "charm" his fellows to take over most of the collecting duties. "Charm" was how he began to describe what he could do. Soon he wasn't doing anything except for one treasured appointment. Every night he'd walk Gerti home.

But the joy of seeing her face, now a young woman's face, no longer a child's, became tainted. Nightly walks with Gerti became increasingly pained and goodnights were strained. A kiss on the cheek goodnight became a peck on the lips. It wasn't long before they tumbled into her bed together. Their lovemaking was loud and desperate. Having been married to Bugsy for two years, she wasn't a virgin anymore, but when Nate pierced her with his huge cock, it felt like she'd been taken anew all over again.

It didn't occur to him until later that night that the neighbors probably heard everything. He loved his boss, but he loved Gerti even more. Apartment by apartment he knocked on doors greeting and then charming them to forget they heard anything. He asked everyone if anyone who was home in the last hour had left and nobody said yes. He'd know if they were lying.

And thus began his affair with the boss's nubile young wife. They moved their rendezvous to his apartment, where there were fewer tenants and less likelihood for discovery. He took every care not go be noticed, which was not easy because Gerti was a screamer. She was small and petite, with long legs for her frame — perfect for a flapper. And he was a big man with a big ... gun — another gift he'd found himself with after his accident. Everyday he checked and charmed his neighbors to make sure no one squealed. It was the random person strolling down the street that worried him.

About a month ago, one of Gerti's dance partners — Betty — followed them home from a rehearsal and listened in as Gerti got the fucking of her life. She opened the door quietly once the screams inside quieted down. She was sure her friend had just been attacked. She pulled out the small derringer pistol she hid in her garter for protection and pointed it at the man she thought was raping the boss's wife. "Get off her! Get off her or I'll kill you where you stand" he hissed, her hand trembling.

Nate rolled over, pulling his massive cock out from the petite woman with an audible slurp, and looked over at the buxom brunette with the pistol. Calmly he stood up and walked toward her. Betty tried to pull the trigger, but her finger wouldn't work. Her eyes drifted from the man's stoic face down his naked body to his ... his... 'Oh God!'

Without a word he relieved her of her pistol and escorted her to his bed. She didn't protest when he ripped off her dress, nor when he pulled down her stockings and underwear. She didn't even protest when Gerti walked up and started kissing her. She didn't flinch when she heard the door lock click shut behind her.

And thus began his affair with one and then more of the dancers — always with Gerti by his side, and often with previous conquests. Some of those girls were the girlfriends, daughters, or wives of some of the other boys, but soon it didn't matter. Each conquest led to one more which led to another.

And that's why the windows had to remain shut. There were just too many people he had to charm to keep his growing addiction a secret. His concerns were erased from his mind as Gerti's hand entered his pants and began playing with his cock. Her small hand barely circled his girth, but she had a sure, strong grip. It didn't matter what he was thinking about — when the girl he rescued in more ways than one wanted attention, that's all that mattered.

Behind them the door suddenly burst open. Nate spun around and Gerti's hand was whipped out of his pants. Five guys in grey trench coats and tommy guns entered, forming a line blocking him from the door and, more importantly, from his holster.

Nate knew the men. He'd worked with them for years. The men parted silently and four more men entered, half-dragging three women by the hair. He knew them also — the girls were all women he'd slept with recently and the guys dragging them were more of Bugsy's boys — their boyfriends or husbands. Nate was about to start charming them to forget what they'd just seen here, when the line of men parted once more to make way for the one man he feared.

"How could you Nate? You were like a brother to me. And I got to find out from Nicky over here you've been banging his wife. She gets home with scratches on her back and he damn near has to beat her senseless before she gives you up!" Nate winced. It was probably Gerti who left those marks. She had left her mark dozens of time on his own back. "You know, she took a worse beating than any guy I've met to protect you ... it was like she was physically unable..." Bugsy's gaze shifted to Nate's right shoulder where he saw Gerti cringing in fear. "And you. I ... I..." The sadness in his eyes turned to resolution. Nate had seen that look before and he knew what was coming.

He had run out of time. He wasn't ... worthy? 'Now why would I think th— '

"Kill them all."

Gregg woke with a start and a sharp pain ran down his neck. He had been fallen asleep against the bulkhead of the plane and his neck had been bent at an odd angle for too long. He quickly felt over his chest for the dozens of bullet holes he was sure would be there and to his surprise and relief, he wasn't human swiss cheese. Quickly, he grabbed his pen from his shirt pocket and pulled out the vomit-bag from the pouch in front of him. It was the only thing he could find to write on within reach. He started writing names and descriptions, anything he could remember before they faded from memory. He only managed to write a few lines before he couldn't recall anything new. 'Well, at least I got more this time than I usually get."

Ever since that night he dreamed of Takashi, he'd kept a pad of paper near his bed. It seemed like every night he had another dream. Most of the time by the time he'd get pen and pad in hand, he couldn't recall what he wanted to write. Sometimes, like just now, he managed to get a few details down. The only thing he remembered clearly was that every dream ended in his own violent death.

"Sir, would you care for a hot towel?"

Gregg looked up from his scribblings to see an attractive flight attendant holding a rolled up washcloth, still steaming, in tongs. How she knew he'd just woken up, or had the foresight to prepare the cloth was beyond him. It was the kind of service he might expect in first-class, but not back here in coach. He took the towel, mumbling a soft "thanks" and wiped his sweaty face and neck. Maybe the air crew were just bored. After all, the trans-Atlantic flight was only about half-full.

"Let me know if there's anything else you need," she said, taking the towel back from him and smiling in a seemingly too familiar way. She walked back toward the front of the plane with a bit more sway in her hips than seemed natural, and she appeared to be holding the used cloth up to her nose.

Gregg was surprised to feel a stirring in his pants as she sashayed down the aisle, checking on the occasional passenger, always giving a glance back in his direction. His mind was filled with the way her eyes seemed to glint with deeper meaning when said "anything."

He honestly didn't know how he could have any sexual energy left! Between Jenny, Brenda, and especially Emily, he was thoroughly fucked out. All night long, they traded partners, usually one-on-one, sometimes two-on-one. Only Emily seemed unaffected by no sleep. When someone seemed on the verge of collapse, she always managed to resurrect them.

In the morning, room service was delivered and Gregg and Chad talked about their plans to leave over breakfast. Everyone sat around the table wearing the hotel's complimentary robes. Despite having been in the midst of a ten-hour orgy the night before (and that morning too, in actuality), it felt weird to be eating breakfast naked. Chad made reference to "good-naked" and "bad-naked" — something to do with that Seinfeld show Gregg had never watched, but at least heard of. Whatever that meant, it got laughs from the girls.

That meal was the first real break in the non-stop sex since the night before. It seemed like all was in order, and there was no point staying in Tunisia any longer. After breakfast, everyone showered one at a time and then Chad left with Brenda and Jenny - the girls giving Gregg and Emily fond, but exhausted farewells. Gregg was then left alone to say goodbye to Emily - a goodbye that took another hour. After the sweating, screaming, and another shower, the real goodbye began and so did the tears. Unlike his parting with Heather, he honestly didn't know when, or even if, he'd see her again.

His sadness over leaving Emily was balanced by a new motivation: he was on his way home and he'd finally get to see Heather again. Last night's adventure did nothing to diminish his desire for this woman. If anything, his desire was heightened.

As if sensing his urgency to get out of Tunisia, all the government offices seemed to go out of their way to get his paperwork processed quickly. 'They probably just want their hands on the land, ' he thought glumly. 'I just hoped I managed to salvage enough!'

When he got back to the dig with the officials who would take his keys and inspect the sight, Chad was already packed up. In fact, he even packed up Gregg's things. "I knew you wanted to get out of here in a hurry EP, so, here you go. By the way, I have a favor to ask."

"Name it." Gregg was touched by this simple act.

"Could you take my CD player, camera, and discs? I heard that security at El Al is pretty rough, and since I'm coming from a country that was the former home of the PLO ... well, I just don't want them confiscating everything thinking I'm a spy or something. I figure it'd be best if I only travel with my clothes and some books ... oh, that reminds me ... I borrowed a few more books."

Gregg smiled. "Not a problem."

"If you get bored on the plane, give a listen to some of the Blind Guardian. I think you might like it."

The rest was taken care of in a blink of an eye. They drove to the airport together, and when they went to go to their separate gates, they gave each other a big hug and well-wishes for safe trips. Chad had to fly to London before heading into Israel, and Gregg had to fly to Rome before heading into DC and then on to Chicago.

So here he was on the middle and longest leg of his trip and the exhaustion he'd been ignoring was finally catching up. First he thought about listening to Chad's CDs, but he wasn't in the mood for music. So, he tried entertaining himself by listening in to various passengers' thoughts, but that proved to be pretty mundane. He was surprised, however, to see just how preoccupied most people were with sex. Fantasies, short-comings, repressed desires — he wondered if it was just his imagination or if this was truly what was on most people's minds. Behind him, he knew that attractive flight attendant was preparing the drink cart. It wasn't beverage service that was on her mind however. Her hands worked efficiently stocking the drink drawers, having gone through the motions hundreds of times. No, her thoughts were on Gregg, and unbeknownst to her Gregg was a silent witness.

She imagined herself locked in the small lavatory with him, she sitting on the sink with her legs wrapped around his body, him thrusting into her with brutal strokes as he quickly guided her through multiple orgasms. It was one of her favorite fantasies and one that she had seen come true on more than one occasion. She was desperately horny and hoped the passenger in 42B would be up for a little fun.

His libido fought a battle against his body. He knew that with the simplest thought, he could have that flight attendant. He knew he could have her swallow his meat right there in the cabin and none would be the wiser. He also knew he probably didn't even need to use any special tricks, she was ready to go and only needed a signal. But even as his loins began to stir, exhaustion soon took over. Again, his eyes began to close, and his thoughts about the flight attendant turned to thoughts of Heather — the feel of her skin on his, the smell of her hair, the little freckles on her nose. With sleep would come more dreams, but his body didn't care. It demanded rest and rejuvenation. Even though he feared whatever painfully-ending dream he was sure he'd get, he just couldn't keep his eyes open. Thankfully, this time his dreams were of only one particular pair of green eyes...

If he had been awake to see it, Gregg would have witnessed a possible world-record for the number of couples joining the mile-high club on that trip. If he was really observant, he might also have noticed the man sitting a few rows behind him taking careful notes.

Gregg sneezed as he pulled the dust cloths off his meager furnishings. The cab had just dropped him off at his apartment and a surprised Mrs. Miller greeted him at the door. He had phoned from DC to let her know he was back in the country and could she meet him at his apartment with the keys. She was a sweet old lady who owned the small apartment building. She loved having her tenants over for dinner once in a while — it kept her from being lonely. Even though Gregg had only lived there for less than a year before his excursion, he was one of her favorite (that is, quietest) tenants.

Gregg's one-bedroom apartment was considerably smaller than what most faculty members could afford. It's not that he was poor, because he wasn't. He just didn't have many expenses. He didn't drive a car, so he lived near campus in student-style housing. He didn't own a TV, so he didn't have to pay for cable or a satellite dish, DVDs, or VHS tapes. He had no desire for material things, except books, so a bedroom and a living room lined with bookshelves were all he wanted. Or at least, all he used to want.

Books used to be his life, but in the past few weeks, he'd grown to want more than just the written word. The small apartment suddenly seemed claustrophobic. He wanted to call Heather, but knew she was probably working. He'd just have to wait until this evening.

Deciding he needed a shower after more than 20 hours in planes or airports, he emptied his pockets, putting his wallet and keys on the table. Heading into his bedroom, he opened his luggage for a change of clothes. Chad had done a nice job neatly folding his wardrobe. He jumped in the shower, threw on a fresh pair of jeans and button-down shirt, and decided to head into campus. Maybe he'd feel better if he got back to his academic surroundings.

He emptied his backpack onto his bed, sorting through items he wanted to take with him. His eyes were caught by a bit of white cloth. He lifted it to his face and inhaled deeply as his mind flashed back...

... He was the last person on the plane that just landed in DC, having chosen a seat near the rear. He had thought there was a gentleman sitting across the aisle and a few rows further back, but he must have slipped past him. Weary passengers walked down the aisle in single file, each getting their perfunctory "Bye, bye now" from the flight attendants at the open door of the plane. When Gregg reached the exit, he received a warm, "Goodbye Dr. Walters" from his favorite flight attendant and she pressed something into his hand and gave him a very fetching smile. As he walked up the gangplank, he opened his hand to reveal a wadded up pair of cotton panties. He could feel her wetness still on the sodden cloth. Just under the elastic waistband was written in marker: "Amy 312-555-5858"...

... It was a memento he was proud of. He was proud that he could attract such a lovely woman and he was equally proud that he didn't act on his almost overwhelming urges. 'If I had to be honest with myself, I don't know if I would have shown such restraint if I wasn't so tired!' Taking another sniff, he folded them carefully and put them back into his backpack. He wasn't sure why he chose to carry them with him instead of putting them away somewhere or, better yet, just throw them away, but that's what he did. There was only one woman on his mind right now.

'I might as well get to campus and see what the summer has in store for me.'

Gregg couldn't have picked more prophetic words if he tried.

School had just ended, so there were plenty of happy, or at least relieved, students on campus. It was early May, so the Chicago weather was warm, but not yet humid. As he walked through the quad with his backpack slung over one shoulder, Dr. Walters (as he'd have to think of himself again) became acutely aware of his surroundings. Students lounged under trees reading books or talking in groups. Frisbees were being flung and there was even a guy in a black suit and tie standing on one of the benches reading dramatically out loud from his bible to a small crowd.

Like an itch in his mind, his gaze was pulled left and right, toward the quad and toward the buildings. The faceless masses that had always been just that — faceless — came into focus. A lifetime of doing his best to ignore other people in the hopes that they'd ignore him was crumbling. All around him were people, actual people. All around him were ... were ... Girls! He couldn't believe he never really noticed. There were girls everywhere! Girls of all shapes and sizes. Girls wearing tight t-shirts, girls wearing heavy flannel. Blondes, brunettes, red-heads, even a few shaved heads. Gregg's heart started pounding in his chest and he could feel their eyes turning in his direction. Everywhere he looked, there were young women giving him very approving gazes. Their thoughts began pouring into his mind and even the mildest of them would be enough to make a porn star blush. He could feel waves of sexual energy emanating from himself and could feel the women's sexual

energy grow in kind. Like a chain reaction, his lust and the lusts of the women around him were feeding off each other.

He could feel his own lust rising, his blood boiling under his skin. Quickly he tried to imagine some of the most grotesque things he could think of. He thought of a documentary he saw once on cable at his parents' house about a facial reconstruction surgery and he could feel his libido start to ebb. To his surprise and relief, when he got himself in check he noticed that not as many women were looking his way. The ones closest to him were still looking him over like cats eyeing prey and a few that were a little further away changed their looks to looks of concern — after all, he hadn't moved for at least a minute and he was breathing hard and sweating!

Before he made an even bigger fool of himself, he headed over to the Liberal Arts building, keeping that image of the patient's face being peeled back. He just wanted to get to his office and collect his thoughts. He almost made it to the northwest corner of the fourth floor when he heard a voice shout his name from down the hall. "Dr. Walters! This is a surprise. We didn't expect to see you for at least another few weeks. Wow, look at you. It seems a few weeks in the dessert did you some good!" Linda was her name, he thought, one of the History department secretaries. He wanted to correct her, and say that the coast of the Mediterranean was not a dessert, but he just smiled and nodded, saying something non-committal about the sun and hard labor. He couldn't help but notice how nicely she filled out her sweater. He reminded himself that she was married and at least 15 years older than him (but she still had a figure that would make someone ten years younger

envious... ), and quickly concluded the conversation, wanting to get into his office.

"Well, you be sure to come back soon and tell us all about your adventures, Dr. Lawrence of Arabia!" she giggled. For someone in her forties, Linda was flirting like a school girl.

Gregg finally got to his office. He keyed the lock, turned on the light, shut the door behind him, and slumped against the heavy oak, catching his breath. For the time being, the fledgling Anthropology program was housed within the History department, at least until (and if) it grew enough to warrant its own location. When he first got the job, this office seemed a dream come true: it was everything he wanted. It had cinderblock walls, it was in the interior of the building so there were no windows, the door was heavy and solid. On one side of his office was a custodial closet and on the other side was an elevator, so there was no one sharing walls with him. Above and below him were storage rooms. In fact, that's what his office had once been, but it had been cleared out to make room for him when he got hired. There was a heavy metal desk that might have been older than him, a computer at the corner of the desk, a small table in the opposite corner of the room

with two chairs, and little else but book shelves. At the time, all he wanted was quiet and privacy so he could do his work. Now it all seemed so ... so, well ... depressing.

Because he'd been gone, he wasn't privy to course selection, so he logged into the system to see what courses the more senior faculty left for him to teach during the coming Fall semester. He had three course sections — not a heavy load, but enough given the publishing, advising, and research he was expected to do. He gulped with fear when he realized that one of his classes was a freshman level seminar: Anthropology 1001. With 75 students already signed up, that meant it'd be one of those sage-on-stage classes: lots of lecture and no practicum. Most likely, many of the students signed up thinking it'd be an easy 'A' and would satisfy some general education requirement.

An hour later, Gregg was busy downloading whatever available syllabi he could find online to try to plan his courses. He'd never had to teach, so he had nothing to go on. He was so focused on his screen that he leapt a foot into the air when his phone rang.

"He ... Hello ... I mean ... Dr. Walters here."

There was no response. He thought he heard a short yip and then the line went dead.

"Hmmm, that was odd."

Fifteen minutes later, he was reserving books through the library's website. He needed to find books and articles that he thought freshmen could handle, but not bore them to tears. It was hard putting himself into a freshman or sophomore's mind-set since he had taken this level of course work when he was just thirteen. Again, he was broken out of his concentration by a knocking at his door.

"Come in," he said, but there was no response.

"Come in!" he shouted, but again, nothing. Thinking he might be hearing things he went back to work. He had only typed a few words when there was a second knocking, louder than the first. He got up from his desk and opened the door himself. Pulling back on the heavy oak door, he was greeted by an absolute vision of loveliness. Heather stood there, looking up at him expectantly, her eyes practically lighting the dim hallway.

After a long minute with neither of them moving, Heather finally looked left and right down the hall and asked, "Uh, Dr. Walters, do you mind if I talk to you privately in your office?"

Realizing that other students could walk by at any time, even in this dark, forgotten corner of the building, Gregg cleared his throat and in his is best professional voice said, "Huh, oh, yes. Of course. Come in." He backed up and let her in, breathing deeply of her scent as she passed by under his nose. He licked his lips nervously and let the door close behind her with an audible slam that echoed in the concrete room. Without realizing what he was doing, his hand flipped the lock on the door. He wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her, to meld his body against hers, but instead she took one of the chairs from the small table and placed it opposite his desk. It occurred to him at that moment that it was odd that she was wearing a raincoat, especially since it wasn't raining. Sitting herself, the coat's material gaped open at the bottom and he couldn't help but to admire what he saw of her long smooth legs that were bare from the bottom of the tightly c