Irene screamed as the dog leapt across the room toward her. Brutus drove his nose straight up between her legs, sniffed her crotch and tried to force his eel-ish tongue inside.
“Make him stop,” Irene trembled as the dog took liberties with her sex.
Scirocco laughed. “Relax. He won’t hurt you unless you try to fight him off. Some women like it.”
Irene screamed, polarized with fear when Brutus jumped up, a paw either side of her thighs. The set of sharpened fangs were awfully close to her throat. Brutus stuck his blunt nose between her breasts, arched his back and Irene felt the penis on her bare leg. It was hard and wet.
“Make him stop,” she cried again as the dog started humping.
Scirocco laughed. “He likes you, Irene. Have a little compassion. Help the poor animal out.”
“God damn it,” Irene shrieked. “Get him the fuck off me.”
“Okay– okay.” Scirocco took hold of the dog by the choke chain. “Brutus. No.”
Brutus was reluctant to give Irene up and Scirocco pulled harder. Finally the dog relented and with a whimper, retreated back to his spot by the desk.
Irene scrambled up. “I think I’d better get dressed before either one of you decides to make a move on me.” She stepped into her dress and pulled the silk up over her hips, not taking time for the lacey underpants.
“Suit yourself,” Scirocco leaned back and eyed her breasts as she fumbled with the zipper. He thought about the dark triangle of hair she bore between her thighs and took a sip of brandy. “You’ll never know what you’ve missed.”
Irene hurried along the path toward the safety of Hobbit House. At any moment, she half-expected Scirocco’s lame-brained dog to leap out from under the bushes and knock her down. Raped by a womanizing dog, she thought. That would be a new twist.
Ditz was at the breakfast bar when Irene stepped past the door. “You want hot chocolate?”
“Sure. Double rum. I’m not flying.”
“Ditz’s spine straightened. “I got dark rum. That’s the best. What’s in your hand?”
Irene looked down and saw the accusing black lace between the fingers of her clenched fist. “My fuckin’ underpants.”
Ditz snorted and stepped to the stove to stir the milk. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Irene looked at Ditz’s legs. She was wearing a shorty bathrobe that didn’t possess enough fabric to quite cover her butt-cheeks and when she reached up for the rum bottle, Ditz flashed Irene with a swath of gold-colored pubic hair that hung down between the backs of her thighs like a gentleman’s goatee.
“So was he any good?” Ditz asked mildly.
Irene threw her pants on the coffee table. “Luckily it didn’t come to that. He was satisfied with having a good look.”
Ditz mixed the chocolate and rum into the steaming milk and added a mint leaf. “Just a look? That doesn’t sound like Charlie Scirocco. I’m surprised you even made it home. Didn’t expect to see you ’til morning.”
Irene suppressed a shudder. “I managed to slip away.”
Ditz handed Irene a hot mug. “But not before you stripped for him.”
Irene was beginning to wonder why Ditz was so curious. “I spent the evening in my heels.” Irene paused a moment. “Who arranged for my accommodations?”
Ditz looked up from the rim of her mug. “Accommodations?”
“Yes. When I first arrived on the island. Who arranged for me to come and stay here? With you.”
“Why Scirocco did. He called me into his office. Asked if I would mind. I mean I knew I didn’t have a choice. He was just going through the motions but frankly, I liked the idea. I thought it would be fun. And I was right. You’re not thinking of moving out I hope.”
Irene waved her off. “No. Nothing like that. Did you know he owns a production company out in California?”
“You mean like movies?”
“Yeah. Pornographic movies.”
Ditz smirked. “Ah gee. Why am I not surprised.” But Irene didn’t catch her response. Her mind was swirling: What did Scirocco have planned for her and his demented dog? And would Ditz take the photos?
Irene slept in. It was almost ten before she wandered out in search of strong black coffee. Ditz had left for the Casino leaving Irene free to lounge in her underpants while the coffee perk gathered steam. She thought of a swim but it seemed like too much trouble and decided on a quick turn under the shower-head to get the juices flowing.
While Irene soaped up she thought of Joey and couldn’t dodge a feeling of responsibility. Scirocco had burned the girl and she had sat, stupidly, and watched. She should have done something to stop it: Screamed. Thrown a plate. Turned the god-damned table over. Something. But no, had she just sat like a dumb cow with her mouth hanging open. Jesus.
Even so, she felt lucky to have been able to talk Steve Mosca into escorting Joey safely out of Scirocco’s apartment before anything else befell the girl.
She pulled the rope and rinsed her hair before flopping across the lounger to drip-dry.
Irene thought of her own predicament.
She had actually stripped off her clothes in front of those men. Hard to believe she had been talked into it. No, forced into it, she reminded herself. But all the same, she had taken off her dress and stood submissively as Scirocco forced Joey to her knees and pushed the girl’s face forward. A shiver ran beneath her skin at the thought of the girl’s tongue moving and Irene felt the heat in her cheeks.
She flopped on her side, still feeling pithy; the result of mixing champagne, rum and red wine with two snifters of brandy. Her thoughts turned to her stomach and Irene wondered what soups might be offered at the main dining room. She had a craving for spring vegetable with a dollop of sour cream and a few dry biscuits. And there was a good chance that Joey would be working the floor. Irene felt duty-bound to check on her.
In her room, Irene pulled on stovepipe jeans, a cotton shirt and did her hair and makeup. She left a note for Ditz and headed up the path to the Casino and the main dining room.
A pretty hostess with a radiant smile and a black uniform was behind the desk.
“Table for one,” Irene said. “Sorry. I don’t have an employees’ card just yet.”
“That’s okay. I’ve seen you around.” The woman was studying her seating plan.
“Is Joey working the floor. I’d like to be in her section, if that’s possible.”
The gorgeous smile faltered and the eyebrows came together. “Are you a friend? I mean you know her, right? I just sent the doctor ’round.”
There was an urgency in the woman’s voice that made Irene forget about her stomach. “The doctor? Whatever for?”
The hostess clung onto her smile with effort. “Hopefully it’s nothing. But she didn’t show up for her shift. And when I called, she could barely speak. She said she wasn’t well so I called Doctor Evens. It’s routine, you understand, for medical leave you need a doctor’s certificate.”
Joey hadn’t had a thing to drink the night before so it couldn’t be a hangover.
Irene felt the tension knotting her throat. “I better go check on her.”
“She’s in The Barracks. Room 101.”
“The Barracks?” Irene questioned.
“Yes. Building ‘B’ just to the left. We call it The Barracks because that’s where the staff is billeted.
“To the left,” Irene confirmed.
“Yes. Take the path; the left-hand fork. And come back and tell me if she’s going to be available for the evening shift.”
Irene hurried along the path trying to control the scenarios that were unwinding in her head. What had happened to Joey?
Irene entered Building “B” through a side entrance just in time to see Doctor Evens pull an apartment door closed behind him; the closing of the door was punctuated by the decisive snap of a deadbolt.
Irene didn’t know Doctor Evens but the bag in his hand and the stethoscope slung casually about his neck pegged him as the resident physician. “Doctor Evens,” Irene beckoned, “could I have a word? My name is Ross.”
“The new pilot,” he answered, leaning a shoulder against the wall. “Are you experiencing some difficulties?”
Irene struggled to keep the tension from warbling her voice. “No, nothing like that. I’m a friend of Joey’s. I’m trying to find out how she is.”
“In my opinion, she needs to be in a hospital,” he remarked flatly. “Someone worked her over pretty good.”
“Worked her over?”
“Yes, Miss Ross. Someone beat her.”
“But who?”
“Don’t know, and she’s not talking. Wouldn’t even let me conduct an examination. She has contusions about the face, I believe her left cheek is fractured. And she may be missing a tooth or two. I noticed blood on the sheets. In my opinion she’s been raped. Sodomized in actual fact.”
“Sodomized?”
“I suspect she was hooking and picked up the wrong john. Some of the girls do it, hooking I mean. It’s against the Casino’s policy and grounds for instant dismissal, but I guess the lure of a thousand dollar trick is too hard to pass up.”
Irene turned away and tried to control her stomach. “Oh God. No…”
“Are you alright, Miss Ross?”
“I have to see her.” Tears were stinging Irene’s eyes.
“You can try,” Doctor Evens said, pushing off the wall. “But she doesn’t want any visitors. She just wants to get back home as quickly as possible. And truthfully, that would be best. I’m just on my way to call MediVac. They’ll fly her out this afternoon.”
“Home?”
“Yes. Austin, Texas. That’s where she’s from. Now if you’ll excuse me, I should make the call.”
“Yes, sure.” Irene watched him move off down the hallway. She took several deep breaths then lightly tapped on Joey’s door.
“Go away!” The voice was muffled and it sounded to Irene that Joey had a wad of cotton between her jaws.
“Joey? It’s Irene. Please. Let me in.”
“No.” The voice was louder, more distinct as if Joey had stepped forward, was positioned on the opposite side of the wood panel. “I told you to go away,” she repeated.
“Joey. I don’t want to have this conversation standing in the hallway. Who did this to you?”
There was a moment’s pause and a stifled sob, as if into a cupped hand.
“Joey?” Irene tried again.
“It was that fucker from Philadelphia,” Joey suddenly blurted out, her voice shredded with tears. “That son of a bitch.”
“Steve? Steve Mosca?” Irene felt her heart cave.