Sintown Chronicles I: Behind Closed Doors (19 page)

“Hello Sandy,” Cathy said, standing and extending her hand. “It is so good for you to come on such short notice. Unfortunately, Matt unexpectedly had to go out of town, but he filled me in on what he wanted. It will only take a few minutes.” She gestured towards Matt's office.

Sandra followed the deputy, saying, “I remember seeing you yesterday, but I'm afraid I don't recall your name."

“Cathy Long, Deputy Cathy Long,” Cathy replied, closing and locking the office door behind them. “Have a seat, Sandy."

Sitting in Matt's desk chair, Cathy reminded herself to be very observant of Sandra's facial expressions and body language. It would be the key as to just how far she could go.

“You and I have some things in common, Sandy. I'm going to give you a brief personal history. My mother disappeared when I was two or three. Dad would never tell me what happened, but he raised me. He was a cop and I grew up determined to be a cop too. He called in a bunch of favors to get me into the academy, but then he caught a bullet in his chest in the line of duty before I graduated."

“I'm sorry.” Sandra expressed genuine concern.

“It was tough, but I did graduate. Then nobody would hire me. I applied for every job that came open in every state in the union. I couldn't even get on with a security outfit. It wasn't long before I ran out of dad's insurance money. I took a job as a waitress. I hated it. That was when I met Pete."

“Pete?"

“Pete Harlow, your husband's uncle. He liked my boobs and was willing to pay for the privilege of playing with them. One thing led to another, and I sank deeper and deeper into his pit. It turned out he was a real nut case. He got into making home videos with me as the star. Then he moved to S&M and started bringing other women onto the movie set he built in his—your—basement."

“You're Jan,” Sandra gasped.

“Yeah. That was the name of his high school sweetheart who jilted him. He wanted me to be Jan and it was okay with me. I became concerned about these home videos and tried to break it off. He promised to get me a job with Matt if I would continue to see him on weekends."

“Did you kill Uncle Pete?"

“Shit no, girl. The poor bastard had a stoke while watching TV. We weren't even screwing. I panicked. I grabbed all my personal things, put them in my car, called 911 and got out of there. I tried to get the tapes out of the studio, but I couldn't find the keys."

“It was you, not Matt, who wanted to see me today. You want the tapes."

“I knew you'd understand."

“I haven't seen the tapes. Tim found them last night and told me about them this morning. He says there are other women on those tapes. He didn't recognize you, but he did know a couple of the others."

Cathy leaned forward, narrowed her eyes and said through clinched teeth, “I want those damn tapes, Sandy."

“I understand that. When Tim told me Matt wanted to see me, he said we would talk about the tapes tonight. I'll do my best to get him to burn them all. That will protect you and the other women too."

Cathy did not reply immediately. Destroying the tapes would serve her immediate need, but she was toying with the idea of blackmailing a few of the women who were also in the videos, even though she did not at the moment know any of their identities. Pete never told her who they were. She leaned forward in the chair again, picked up the manila envelope and tossed it to Sandra. “I want you to look at the pictures I have."

Sandra picked up the envelope, removed the photographs and knew instantly what they were. When the Van Fans worked their sexual blackmail game, they took two instant photos of the victim. Hank and the others barging into the motel room always shook the guy up so badly that he gladly paid for one picture only, not even realizing there was a second. They kept the extra photo in case they might later want to hit the sucker up a second time. The photos Cathy had selected were of Sandra and the various victims she had set up.

“Matt said I had paid my debt—that this was all behind me now,” Sandra cried, panic on her face and tears streaming.

“What'd ya do honey? Give him a blowjob? If the D. A. should accidentally get his hands on these photos, you would do time with your buddies."

“Please, Cathy,” Sandra begged. “I've finally found purpose and structure for my life. I..."

“You've found what?” Cathy was laughing at her now. Sandra's reaction was everything she had hoped.

“Meaning, Tim, writing—what do you want, Cathy? I said I'd get Tim to burn the tapes."

“Oh, I want lots of things, Sandy. I don't want the tapes burned. I want the tapes myself. Also, Pete was a cheap bastard. I think I deserve part of Tim's inheritance."

“Tim controls the money, Cathy."

“I'm sure he does, but you can start making regular small payments by writing me a check for a thousand right now."

Too quickly, Sandra reached for her checkbook. Cathy grinned eagerly and moved to Sandra's side, stuffing the signed check into her hip pocket. Standing behind Sandra, she placed her hands on the terrified woman's shoulders and began to massage them.

“One thing Pete taught me was to like pretty women,” Cathy hissed. She slid her hands inside Sandra's neckline, popping three buttons on the dress, and cupped Sandra's breasts. “Get in the bathroom over there and take your clothes off,” Cathy commanded.

Standing, Sandra said, “I'm not going to get the pictures, am I?” Something seemed to have exploded in her brain. She was no longer whimpering.

“Smart girl, Mrs. Dollar. You better have a long tongue ‘cause you sure as hell don't have decent titties. Your uncle turned me into a sadist, Sandy. I usually like to beat women with my belt before enjoying their mouths, but we wouldn't want Timothy to see bruises, would we? I think I'll burn your asshole, and squeeze your little tits after I've inserted these in your nipples.” Cathy held up two old fashioned hatpins, two inches long with a ball of white plastic on one end.

“Maybe smarter than you think, bitch. You have photographs that might send me to jail. Certainly they would destroy the little life I've got started. However, I have pictures that will send you to jail and absolutely destroy your life too. You keep the damned pictures of me. You'll never use them. One little word from me to Matt and your fat fanny is mine."

Cathy panicked. No sucker she had ever set up fought back. She had no experience to draw from. Sandra recognized the confusion on Cathy's face, and saw her reach for her service revolver. Sandra lunged for her. Both women fell to the floor, the revolver came out of its holster. Sandra grabbed and cocked it and aimed it at the petrified deputy.

“Take it easy,” Cathy said in a squeaky voice, recognizing that Sandra knew how to use the weapon. “You won this one."

“You're damn right I did,” Sandra spit back. “I'm never going to be a patsy again."

“Like you said, you keep the tapes and I'll keep the pictures."

“You've probably got copies somewhere, but I'm taking these with me. Give me the check back."

Cathy complied.

“Now strip to the waist."

Cathy's eyes widened. “Somebody might come in."

“You locked the door, remember?"

“What are you going to do?"

“I think you know. Get the bra off and drop to your knees."

Cathy's head was spinning. The woman was nuts. She unhooked her massive bra and let if fall to the floor as she knelt in front of the fiendishly smiling woman.

“That's a good little deputy. Now pull your nipples straight out until you are in pain and hold them there."

Cathy grimaced as a pin jabbed into her right nipple and dug deep into her breast.

“You do the other one,” Sandra commanded, holding out the remaining pin.

Cathy hesitated, positioned the pin, clenched her teeth and plunged the weapon of torture into her own flesh.

“Squeeze ’em real good,” Sandra instructed.

When satisfied with the punishment her tormentor was enduring, Sandra removed the clip from the revolver, dropped it into the clasp envelope, tossed the gun on Matt's desk and triumphantly made her exit. She glanced at Cathy's desk and noticed the Zip drive connected to the desktop. On an impulse she pushed the button, slipped the ejected disk into the manila envelope, and laid the revolver clip on top of Cathy's monitor.

Cathy picked up her shirt and bra and went to the bathroom. In the mirror, she admired her breasts, with only the white plastic head of the imbedded pins showing in her nipples. With a hand on each breast, she pumped the flesh until the orgasm hit her. “Who woulda thought?” she gasped and grinned as she carefully removed the pins.

Sandra pulled up next to the regular pump at the Dot Super Save, went inside, pulled a cold beer from the cooler and asked Billy Frank to fill up her Cavalier. She was all but finished with the second can when he returned.

“No offense, Mrs. Dollar,” Billy said, handing her change for the twenty she had given him, “but you are about the prettiest woman I have ever seen."

At least he isn't trying to grope me, she thought. “What is it with you men in Dot, Billy. I thought real men wanted women with big tits."

Billy blushed. The red pigment flooding his normally pale white skin was clearly noticeable.

“I'm sorry, Billy. I've had a long day. I didn't mean to embarrass you."

“Ma'am,” Billy stuttered. “I've been so busy looking at your face I haven't gotten around to the rest of your body."

Sandra wasn't sure if that was a compliment or not. Suddenly there was an ear-piercing roar and she clapped her hands over her ears. “What the hell is that?” she shouted.

He shouted back. “That's Rick and Randy testing a motor."

She followed his eyes to the building across Highway 13 and read the sign, “Dot Racing Motors, Inc.” The roar stopped.

Billy smiled broadly. “They build most of the modified motors used around here."

“What's a modified motor?"

“For modified race cars.” Recognizing the blank look on her face he continued, “You don't follow NASCAR racing do you?"

“Oh, you mean Richard Petty and guys like that. I used to hang out with some people who were race fans. We went to a race at Daytona Beach once. My friends were drunk and I was bored."

“Something like that. The motors Rick and Randy build are for smaller cars. They race in what's called the modified division on small tracks. There's a race on a quarter mile track in Winston every Saturday night. The cars don't go as fast as they do at Daytona, but because the tracks are so small, there's more driving skill involved."

“Can they make a living doing that?"

“Not the modified drivers. They get money from sponsors and friends, but wind up digging pretty deep into their own pockets as well. It's more of a hobby than a business."

“I mean Rick and Randy."

“Oh, I reckon so.” Billy started laughing. “It keeps them going ’til they can perfect their flying car."

“Flying car?"

“Yeah, they claim they are working on a car that takes off and lands like a helicopter and flies like a UFO.” He was laughing so hard that his eyes were watering. “They came over here one night and we all got wasted. They said their car will put me out of business ‘cause it don't use gas. Uses something they call ions."

Sandra was laughing too, not because she found anything Billy said funny, but because he was laughing so hard. It was contagious. “Are you going to tell me what ion fuel is?"

“No ma'am, and they won't either ‘cause there ain't no such thing."

The beers and laughter were the medicine Sandra needed. Driving home, she felt proud of herself for standing up to Cathy Long, but now she must decide just how much to share with Tim. She had a book report to write, too.

For Cathy Long, the day began with great promise and ended in disaster. She watched the bar of Ivory soap floating between her legs, reached for it, applied a generous coating to her washcloth and began the bathing ritual. She preferred the luxury of soaking in a tub to taking a quick shower, but despised the difficult scum removal process when the bath ended.

It was in the early days with Pete Harlow that she first experimented with drugs. She excused herself then as needing something to help her bear the early guilt she experienced. She consoled herself then by pretending that marijuana was not habit forming. She knew better now. It was the dependency on this weed that kept her relationship with Harlow alive. It was the dependency that constantly drained her bank account. The dependency turned her idealistic dream of a career in law enforcement into a farce. It was the dependency that made her unsuccessful confrontation with Sandra Dollar such a disaster.

She noticed the missing Zip disk immediately. Now she had no copies of the incriminating photographs of Sandra Dollar, but Sandra had the incriminating videos of her. What would be Matt's reaction when he discovered the photographs missing? Only the two of them had keys to the file in which he had placed the pictures for safekeeping. Matt she could handle with the promise of her body, she thought, but the videotapes were another matter. She could break into the Dollars’ home, pry open the studio door and steal the tapes, but by now, they would have both seen them and know she was Jan. She would have to not only steal the tapes, but also kill both of the Dollars. Who else might know about the tapes? Did the huge black man know? How about Silas Coan? She couldn't murder them all, or could she?

On returning home, Sandra found Tim in his study, poring over a stack of papers. She decided not to disturb him. She showered, put on fresh clothes and sat at her computer, but the words would not come. She read a chapter of
Middlemarch
. Her mind was not on it. She began to prepare dinner. Tim once mentioned he liked spaghetti with lots of meaty sauce. She intended to surprise him.

Tim neither heard Sandra open the door, nor did he notice her standing in the doorway of his study. He had spent most of the day looking at the videos. Finally, he had snapped on the old computer, found the stills Uncle Pete had loaded and a missing piece of the puzzle as well. In each photo, text identified the persons pictured. He printed the photos and returned to his study to try to match names with promissory notes.