Get a Load of This

     She smiled at him. She had a very nice smile. “I've never had applejack before. It's a nice name, isn't it?”

     A tight little grin settled on Hienie's mouth. He got up and went over to the little wash-basin. He took a glass and washed it carefully, and half filled it with liquor. All right, if she was crazy, and she got hot on booze, he'd risk the experiment. The longer he was with her the less he thought of Joe's yarn.

     “Try it, baby,” he said, “you'll find it a tough drink all right.”

     She looked at the glass, reached out, and again her slim fingers touched his. It affected Hienie like an electric shock. He shivered, standing against the wall of the ambulance, watching her.

     She held the glass close to her lips. “It has a nice smell,” she said. Tilting her head, so he could see the white column of her throat, she began to drink. Hienie stood transfixed. The raw spirit slid down her throat like water.

     Hienie said: “For Gawd's sake—how did you do that?”

     She held the glass towards him. “It's nice. I'm so thirsty. May I have some more?”

     He still stood staring at her. “Didn't it burn you? Jeeze! It must have burnt you!”

     A little frown settled between her eyebrows. “Can't I have some more?” There was a slight grating sound in her voice.

     Hienie looked at her sharply, hesitated, then filled her glass. This time he took a long pull from the jar himself. The liquor made him choke and splutter. When he had recovered, he saw she was nursing the empty glass, her eyes on the jar. He put the cork back firmly, and thumped it home with his fist.

     Don't do that,” she said sharply, “I want some more.”

     Hienie shook his head. He felt a sudden confidence. He was no longer nervous of her. He didn't care how mad she might be, he could handle her. “You've had plenty,” he said, putting the jar by the door, away from her. “You don't want too much of that stuff.”

     She put her hand on his arm, and leant close to him. Her breath, smelling of the sweet, sickly spirit, fanned his face. “There's such a lot left—I'm thirsty.”

     Hienie shifted closer to her. She was giving him the works all right. He slid his arm round her back. “Maybe there is, baby, but we've got a lot of time to kill.”

     “But it's so nice,” she giggled suddenly. “It makes me feel tight.” She leant against his arm.

     “Sure it makes you feel tight.” He encircled her waist, letting his hand rest on her hip bone. She looked down at his hand, then swiftly up into his face. He pulled her close to him. “Your pa's got plenty of dough, ain't he?” he said, waiting for her to pull away.

     She didn't move. “Why did you ask that?”

     “I like talkin' about dough.” His hand shifted up, closing over her breast, it felt firm and full, imprisoned in his hand. She shivered and stiffened. Hienie went on talking, trying to keep his voice normal. “I like hearin' about guys with plenty of dough. It must be a swell feeling to give a dame like you just what you want without wondering where the dough's comin' from to pay for it.” He didn't know what he was saying, but he knew he had to keep on talking. He could feel her relaxing against his arm. “I've been a bum all my life. Maybe you wouldn't understand what that means.” He shifted his hand, taking the weight of her breast.

     She made a little face. “Now you're being miserable,” she said, her full lips parting a little. Her long slender fingers gripped his wrist and pulled at his hand.

     “Let it stay, baby, it feels good.”

     She hesitated, keeping her eyes turned away from him, then her hand fell away. Hienie said thickly: “You're a swell kid. Gee! You're a swell kid!”

     She moved her long legs restlessly. “You haven't told me who you are,” she said. There was no interest in her voice.

     Hienie reached down and put his hand under her knees. “I'll show you how to be comfortable,” he said, swinging her legs off the ground, so that she was half sitting, half lying across his knees. He expected some resistance, but she lay limply, her hand hanging by her side. He thought, “It's a push over.” “Ain't this comfortable?” he said, leaning over her. Her head fell back, her eyes closed, she murmured something that he couldn't hear. He pulled her to him roughly and mashed his mouth down on hers. Her mouth opened and he could feel her breath in his throat. Her arms encircled his neck and she began to moan softly.

     His free hand slid over her silken knee, touched warm, smooth flesh, and then she suddenly gripped him, forcing her mouth against his until it hurt. He found it was difficult to breathe and he tried to move his head away, but she moved with him. He jerked his hand from her, trying to push her off, the blood drumming in his head. Her arms were encircling his throat like steel bands, cutting the air from his lungs. In a sudden panic, he began fighting, but he couldn't shift her. Then lights began to flash before his eyes, and he was conscious that she was strangling him, and he couldn't do anything about it.