Robert Moore - Hard guys and hostages

"Hi, girls," he said. "I'm a friend of Jim and Julie. Just visiting." Julie nodded when Brown Hair looked at her.

"Let's go into the living room," she said.

They knew they had walked into something when they got to the living room and saw Jim Bradford trussed up on the floor. Brown Hair dropped her bag and clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from screaming. Her friend just stood there rigidly. Julie had taken the baby on the way in, and now Max stepped up behind the girls and gave them a hard shove toward the middle of the room. They both let out a yelp of surprise and fright.

"Sis," Brown Hair said, turning to Julie, "what's…"

"You got any questions, baby, you direct them to me," Max said. He pulled the gun into sight, and the two girls huddled together staring at the weapon. The sight of the pistol in his hand seemed to affect them more than the rifle and the shotgun in the hands of the other two. "Now, I guess you girls are wondering what kind of party you've wandered into. My name is Max. That's Pete. And the intellectual looking gentleman with the rifle over there is Butch. We're staying here for a few days, until some people who are looking for us get tired and go away."

"Oh, God," the redhead said suddenly. "They're the…" She broke off, and Max smiled his best smile.

"The escaped murderers. That what you were going to say, Red?" He paused, smiling again. "You know, you're right? We're the three who made history yesterday by escaping from death row. And if we're caught, we're going back to death row. So we really don't have anything to lose if we shoot holes through a couple of teenagers.

"Now, you're going to be our little guests for the next few days. You'll have to earn your keep by working around the place and by furnishing us with a little entertainment now and then. Mrs. Bradford can tell you all about that if you have any questions. But as long as you do as you're told, you won't get hurt. One little bit of bullshit, and we start using you for target practice. You got that?" They didn't answer in words, but he could see from their faces that they understood the situation fairly well.

"I want the one with brown hair," Pete said. He came forward and grabbed her by the arm. She tried to pull away, in a panic, and he cuffed her a good one alongside the head. She gasped and stopped fighting. Pete pulled her toward the hall, and the front bedroom. She looked around in a pleading way, as though she expected help.

"Just a minute," Max said. Pete stopped, eyeing him suspiciously. "I want to talk this over with you, buddy," Max went on. "I want that little gal myself."

"Yeah?" Pete's gun was suddenly in his hand. He didn't point it at Max, but it was there, and ready. "Well, how do you figure you got a right to two dames and me none?"

"I don't figure that."

"Then what you got in mind?"

"A trade. I'll give you the blonde. I'll give you Julie." Julie looked at Max sharply, and then at Pete, to see what he would say to the proposition. Pete looked at her for a moment, and then at the young twat next to him. They were both lookers. The younger one was a little more slender, less lush, than her sister, but she had a kind of fragile beauty that a slob like Pete probably wouldn't appreciate as much. Max stood waiting for him to make up his mind. Finally, he shrugged.

"It don't make a fuck to me, boss. One woman or another. As long as she's good-lookin'." Max could see that Pete thought he had gotten the better deal. Well, let him think so. Maybe he had. Pete shoved the girl toward Max. She was crying. Max took a close look at his acquisition.

She had a small, finely-chiseled face, and her brown hair was shoulder length, framing it nicely. She had on a red minidress, nylon hose or panty-hose, and black pumps. Her eyes were wide and blue, giving her an innocent look. Yes, the resemblance was striking.

Her friend was still standing in the middle of the room with terror written all over her face and bearing. She was short and slender, like Sally, and while not beautiful like her friend, she was certainly more than ordinarily pretty. She was heavily freckled, with a clean-cut, girl-back-home took that was attractive. And exciting.

"Well, Red," Max said, "Connie, whatever your name is, it looks like you belong to Butch over there." He walked over to her and gave her a shove toward Butch. She gave a little squeal and tried to stop herself. She fell on the floor, banging one knee so hard it made Max wince a little. Butch gave his gorilla laugh and reached down and pulled her up by her hair. Her grey minidress had hiked up fair enough to reveal the bare beginning of white panties. Now it fell back into place.

Butch pulled her toward him and perched her on his lap like a ventriloquist's dummy. She made an effort to get up and he pulled her back. He must have given her one a hell of a squeeze, because she let out a squeal of pa in. But she didn't try to get up again.

"I wouldn't try anything if I were you," Max said to the girl. "Butch isn't much of a deep thinker, and he might just hurt you badly, without meaning to. Sometimes he forgets his own strength. He's the one who opened the back door last night. And he didn't use his shoulder, either. Just his hands." Max held up his own hands and pantomimed the manner in which Butch had forced the door. The girl's eyes grew even wider. "I'm not saying he won't hurt you anyway. Butch is just about the meanest man I've ever met. I'm no St. Francis of Assisi myself, but sometimes he makes me shudder. Still, if you're very nice and don't give him any shit, maybe you'll get through this period without any broken bones."

She was crying, but she sat still, as though she were afraid that moving itself might break her bones. Butch grabbed a thick handful of red hair and jerked her head back. It must have looked like deliberate cruelty to the other women, and to Julie's husband, but Max and Pete had been around Butch enough to know he was just being playful. He grinned at the girl's discomfort. As long as Butch could be supplied with playthings like Connie, there really wasn't much to fear from him.

"That sure is a pretty dress Connie's wearing, isn't it, Butch?" Max said with a laugh. "Only thing is, it's too long. Covers up too much of her." The dress was a mini, of course, almost a micro. Connie looked at Max with a startled expression. Max laughed again. "I think it would be much improved if it had a slit up the front, don't you?"

"Sure," Butch said, but he was smiling vacantly. He was the only one in the room who didn't understand what Max was getting at. Sometimes, Max thought, it was hard making yourself remember how stupid the big lunk was. "Don't you think you ought to make a slit in it, Butch?" He pantomimed a tearing motion with his hands. The smile grew broader as Butch realized finally, what Max was suggesting.

"Oh, sure. Sure," he said. He took the hem of the dress between his hands. It was a good, expensive-looking dress, tailored from sturdy material, but Butch tore it like a piece of Kleenex. He tore it all the way up to the girl's waist, revealing the white panties again. They were lace and brief, bikini panties, and a little of her belly showed above the elastic. Connie gave a shriek, and her hands waved in the air, wildly, like a terrified child's. She was sweating.

"Yeah, that looks a lot better," Max said. "Looks more comfortable, too. Now what do you think of those boots?" Her boots came up almost to her knees. "I think those cover up too much of what everyone would like to see, don't you, Butch?" This time it didn't need any explaining to Butch. He had the idea. He reached down and took the right boot, wedging his thumbs between the front and Connie's shin, and laying his fingers flat along the outside of the leather. The boot was tougher than the dress had been, of course, but the difference was hardly noticeable. Butch had to give it a couple of tugs, but once it started to give, it went clear down to the instep on one rip. Threads of leather stuck out of the ripped part, and the lining, a pale white, showed through. Butch gave the boot's foot a twist, turning Connie's ankle in the process. She cried out with pain, and turned her whole body, but the boot was off. Butch turned his attention to the other boot.