Sintown Chronicles I: Behind Closed Doors (2 page)

Looking out the side window, she asked, “Did you ever hear the story of the man who drowned in a flood?"

“Probably,” Tim answered.

Undaunted, Sandra proceeded. “This guy was caught in a flood. As the water rose in his house, he went to an upstairs window. A man came by in a rowboat and offered him a ride, but he declined, saying God would rescue him. The water continued to rise and the man climbed up on his roof. Another man came by in a motorboat, but again he declined the rescue attempt saying God would save him. Finally, he climbed to the top of his chimney to escape the rising water. A helicopter hovered overhead, but the man insisted he was waiting for God to rescue him.” Sandra paused her narration.

“I'll bite. What happened?"

“The guy drowned. He went to heaven and complained bitterly to St. Peter that he had trusted God to save him, but God let him down. ‘What the hell do you want?’ St. Peter asked. ‘We sent you two boats and a helicopter.’”

“Very funny,” Tim said dryly and then lost the resolve not to chuckle. “Is there a point to your story?"

“God sent you to rescue me. It's your God-given duty to look after me."

“I don't take orders from a female god,” Tim joked. “Let me tell you a story. A businessman went to an outstanding preacher and told the preacher that God revealed to him in a vision that the two should team up and form a great evangelistic partnership. The preacher replied that as soon as God told him the same thing he would get in touch.” Grinning with satisfaction, Tim glanced at Sandra.

“She will get in touch with you,” Sandra replied dryly.

Tim quietly feared that he/she already had.

“Look,” Tim said after a short, uncomfortable period of silence. “I do feel some kind of responsibility for you. I'm doing what I can. You won't let me do what I think is best. What I can do now is turn you over to somebody experienced in these things."

Sandra glimpsed the roadside sign that indicated the town of Dot was just five miles away. “Pull over,” she demanded sharply. “Pull over now."

Tim, startled by the irritation in the tone of her voice, obeyed without question. “What's wrong?” he asked when the Mustang's purr was silenced.

Sandra searched his brown eyes as if she were trying to find the way into his soul. “Here's what I want you to do—plead with you to do. Let me hang with you until you get your business in Dot settled. I'll pay you back somehow, someday. If it's sex you want, I know how to make a man happy."

“Sandy, I have two hundred bucks and change in my pocket.” He saw no need to tell her of the five thousand hidden under the back seat. “You need a doctor. You need clothes."

Sandra unbuckled her lap belt and leaned towards him. “Unzip your pants."

He stopped her with hands on either side of her head and pushed her upright. “If I can think of a way to help you, I'll do it because I want to. It sure isn't going to help you any if I treat you like a whore."

“I am,” she softly said.

“You am what?"

“A whore, a thief, a con artist and a bunch of other stuff. I'm wanted by the police in three states."

Tim leaned back in his seat for a moment, then bolted from the car.

Alarmed, Sandra caught up with him as he extracted two diet colas from the trunk of the Mustang. He handed one to her and took a long pull on his own. “So much for my resolve to stop smoking,” he muttered, pulling a pack of unfiltered cigarettes from a suitcase.

“Give me one,” she almost begged.

They remained silent while they smoked and wandered to a fallen log on the side of the road. They sat down, like two lovers out on a picnic. Birds were chirping in the trees and the mixed aroma of pine trees and blooming honeysuckle filled the air.

Sandra knew she must tell her story. She feverishly tried to decide how much to tell and how much to keep to herself. The bark on the log dug into her abused buttocks. She moved to a grassy plot and sat cross-legged directly in front of Tim.

“Tim, have you ever plunged into something on the spur of the moment and later regretted it?"

“Sure, everybody has.” He plucked a blade of grass and stuck it between his teeth.

“I know it's no excuse, but my childhood was rough. I left home immediately after graduating from high school. I was looking for adventure, but I didn't find it. I moved in with a guy and eventually took a job working the graveyard shift in a convenience store."

He dug a pebble from the ground and tossed it at a tree. His lack of interest was evident.

“I was robbed and raped one night."

His head snapped to attention. “Sandy, I'm sorry. Was it that bastard that tied you to the tree?"

She shook her head. “This was some four years ago. About four o'clock one morning a half dozen or so vans pulled up to the tanks and started filling up. A couple of women came in to use the bathroom. They were the roughest looking crowd I'd ever seen. I was scared. When the guys came in, they spread out, as if they were shopping for peanut butter and stuff. One came to the counter with money in his hand. I thought he was going to pay for the gas, but instead he pulled a gun on me. I opened the register like he told me and he reached over and helped himself to the few bills that were in the tray. Another fella, tall and muscular but with a beer belly, came behind the counter, twisted my arm behind me and forced me into the back room where the safe was located. I was terrified. At first he didn't believe that I couldn't open the safe and he slapped me around a little."

“Sandy, I know this is painful for you to tell and I don't need to hear it,” Tim said, but the expression on his face betrayed him.

“There wasn't anything he wanted in the storeroom and he was pretty pissed off. He waved his gun at me and told me to get naked. I did. When I pulled my shirt off, he said something about my beautiful breasts. I thought I misunderstood him and asked him to repeat it. He said he liked ‘tiny tits'. He told me to bend over the table, spread my legs and pull apart the cheeks of my bottom."

Tim sprang from the log, sat beside her and gently put his arm around her quivering shoulders. “You don't need to tell me this."

“I want to tell you, Tim. I want you to understand."

He kept one arm around her and with the other hand, he pulled her head to his chest, stroking her hair affectionately.

“The orgasm hit me the instant he entered me. I wasn't certain what it was at first. Sure, I knew the word, but only with my finger had I ever experienced one. It was like, BANG! He just kept pumping and I moved my butt like the guy I was living with taught me. I lost count of how many times that BANG hit me, but it was a lot."

Tim continued to hold her, but the stroking stopped.

“When he was done he turned me around and kissed me. I kissed him back. He asked if I wanted to go with him, and I said yes. That's how I became Hank's Toy and a member of the Van Fans."

Tim interrupted. “I need to make a little trip behind the bushes. I'll be right back."

“Me too,” she replied.

They found separate bushes.

They returned to the car, lit cigarettes, and Sandra continued.

“I found the adventure I was seeking. It was a hell of a lot of fun, especially at first. I got to know everybody and the rules. Hank treated me like a rubber doll—used me when he wanted and forgot about me the rest of the time. If you broke their rules, they passed you around among the guys who didn't have Toys. I learned to obey pretty fast ‘cause Hank wouldn't touch me for a week after I had been with someone else, and only Hank could give me what I wanted from sex."

Tim looked out the side window, refusing to make eye contact.

“Home base was a rented farmhouse near Jessup. We never caused any commotion in that area. After a few days at home, we would hit the road again. There was lots of fun—drinking in bars and going to places like Six Flags, Disney World and Myrtle Beach. We didn't pull any pranks in those places either. We wanted to be able to return without having the police on the lookout for us."

Tim sighed audibly and flipped his cigarette out the window.

“We supported ourselves by knocking off convenience stores, prostitution, rolling drunks, and extortion. They worked out this deal that was successful just about every time. We roamed Georgia, South and North Carolina. We would find a man, usually an older guy, who looked like he might have money. One of the Toys would proposition the mark and take him to a motel room. Just at the right moment, some of our guys would barge into the room and snap Polaroid pictures. We never demanded a ton of money from these turkeys—anywhere from five hundred to five thousand dollars. Like I said, we almost always got it."

Tim turned and glared at her. “Is there a point you are trying to make?"

Sandra nodded. “Four months ago Hank came home with a sixteen year old bitch with breasts out to here. They put me in the pool, which meant that I slept with whoever wanted me, including the other Toys. I didn't like that at all and by that time I was beginning to feel very guilty about all the stuff I was doing. I knew it was time to get out of the Van Fans, but I needed to be careful. I saw one girl drummed out of the gang. It wasn't pretty. I began to hold back a little of the money I earned from prostitution and rolling drunks, saving for the day I could slip away. I got caught."

Tim touched a bruise on her face. “This is how they punished you?"

She nodded and for the first time began to cry softly. “I don't know what they do when they drum a guy out of the gang, but they take the Toy to some community and sell gang bang rights to whoever they can find. The guys take what's left of the Toy to an isolated place, tie her up sadistically and leave her there, naked, alone, in pain and with absolutely no possessions."

“You could have died."

She nodded and dried her eyes on the sleeve of the sweat suit. “They don't care."

He felt as if his heart were melting. A woman's tears always did that to him. “You need to report this to the authorities, Sandy. Don't let them get away with it."

Her eyes flashed and she raised her voice. “Damn it, Tim, haven't you been listening? I'm as guilty as they are and they have photographs to prove it."

“Why did you tell me all of this?"

She lowered her voice and again communicated with her eyes. “So that you can understand why I can't go to a hospital, or the police, or social services, or anything like that. You're all I've got, Tim."

“Sandy,” Tim slowly responded. “I've never broken a law in my life, except maybe I've been guilty of speeding a couple of times. My idea of adventure is to sit down with a bowl of popcorn and a soft drink and watch a TV sitcom. You frighten me."

She slumped back in the seat and closed her eyes. Tim pushed in the clutch, turned the key and the Mustang engine roared briefly, then purred. It was the only sound heard in the passenger compartment until they reached the unincorporated town of Dot, North Carolina. Sandra feared she told him too much.

To the emotionally drained travelers the first view of Dot was not very impressive. Old Charlotte Road, according to a dilapidated street sign, dissected Highway 13 on which they were driving. A traffic light at the intersection seemed unnecessary. On one corner was a white frame building with a wooden sign identifying it as Dot Grocery. On a second corner was an old-fashioned gasoline station with two bays and no self-service pumps. A fading metal sign swaying in the gentle breeze, identified this business as Dot Super Save. The third corner looked as if it might once have also contained a service station, but now the pumps were gone. The hand-lettered sign on the building indicated that Dot Racing Motors, Inc. was the current occupant. Completing the four corners of the intersection was what appeared to have once been an open-air market. It was now in such a state of disrepair that Tim knew it must have been out of business for many years.

The light turned green. Tim eased the Mustang across the intersection, turned into the Dot Super Save and parked away from the pumps. “Look in the glove compartment, Sandy. There's a letter in there from the lawyer I need to see."

Sandra handed the letter to Tim who headed for the building after ascertaining that the lawyer's name was Silas Coan. No one was in the office area of the service station so Tim edged into the bay where he found a muscular young man changing the oil on a pickup truck.

“Can you point me in the direction of Mr. Silas Coan's office?” Tim asked. “He's a lawyer."

“Sure can,” the smiling youth replied, wiping his hands on a red rag he pulled from the hip pocket of his jeans. “Want to sell your Mustang?"

“No way,” Tim shot back. The blond mechanic's smile was contagious and Tim felt the corners of his own mouth turning up.

“Didn't think so. She's a beaut. Probably couldn't afford her anyway."

“Mr. Coan's office?"

“Oh yeah. Head on down Charlotte a piece. You'll see Dot's Diner on the left. Mr. Coan's office is upstairs, over the diner."

Tim thanked the young man and turned to leave.

“Name's Billy Frank. You and the missus gonna hang around a while?"

“Nice to meet you, Billy. I'm Tim Dollar. I might be here a few days. I don't know yet.” Tim saw no reason to explain his marital status, and tried to end the conversation politely by saying, “Thanks for the info."

“No problem. I figure you're Pete Harlow's nephew, come to claim your inheritance. I'd ‘preciate your business while you're in town. My mom runs the diner. It ain't much to look at, but the food's great."

“Thanks again,” Tim replied over his shoulder, finally escaping. As he opened his car door, he heard Billy shout, “Need any work on the Mustang, I'm your man."

Tim waved and nodded.

Sandra sat in the car parked across the street from the diner, trying to find something on the AM radio besides country or religious music. Tim climbed the steep stairs beside the diner, paused to catch his breath and entered the inauspicious offices of Silas Coan, Attorney at Law.

“Well hello there,” beamed the plump and graying secretary. “I'll bet you're Timothy Dollar."

“Yes ma'am. Please call me Tim."