Dan Webster - Forced into damnation

Johnny smiled, flashing his gold-capped tooth. The white heart-shaped cutout seemed to twinkle at her. "Oh, I don't ever have a problem parking," he said. "The police all know my car."

Connie looked at the car. It had a white vinyl top with a pattern of faint gold lines running through it. Painted on the front door in delicate swirling lines of gold leaf was the monogram JW. Each letter was about three inches high. Johnny opened the door for Connie and assisted her into the front seat. The upholstery was black leather. As she sank into the comfortable softness of the seat, she ran her fingers gingerly along its surface. The leather was smooth and buttery soft.

A moment later Johnny opened the door on the driver's side, and slipped into the seat beside her. "Would you like some music?" he asked.

"That would be nice," Connie answered. Johnny selected a tape cartridge from a leather-covered box built into his armrest. He inserted it into a slot on the dashboard and a moment later the sensuous voice of Tina Turner filled the car's interior: "I'm a honky tonk woman. Gimme, gimme, gimme a honky tonk man."

"Do you like Tina?" Johnny asked. He made it sound as if he knew her personally.

"I don't think I've ever heard her before," Connie answered guardedly.

"Then you're in for a treat," Johnny answered. "I won't say anything for a while. Just let you enjoy the music."

Connie was grateful for his promise of silence. She leaned back, letting her head sink into the softly padded headrest behind her. She was glad for an opportunity to be alone with her thoughts and to be free of the need to guard her speech and actions. She was certain that she had passed Johnny Walker's informal examination in the Glass Onion, but realized that a criminal like him would always be alert to anything which might give her away.

As the car sped west along Queens Boulevard, she thought about the events of the past few days. First there had been that dreadful scene at Lionel's apartment. Although he had overpowered her, she knew that he really wasn't to blame. The drinks which she had that night had weakened her powers of resistance. Her actions had probably been misinterpreted by him as signs of her willingness to submit to his will. He had probably seen her last-minute protest as a coy act of coquettishness.

She couldn't really blame him for that. He was a man! And that meant that he had nothing but sex on his mind most of the time. She shouldn't have gone to his apartment without first making it clear that she was interested in nothing more than talking about drugs. And then she shouldn't have had the drinks. She would know better next time.

But the incident in the warehouse with Foxy had been another story, altogether. Although Connie had searched her soul, she could find nothing in her own conduct which had justified Foxy's actions. He was a vicious perverted beast and had apparently been motivated by nothing more than his own lust. The memory of his thick red cock pushing past her lips and into her throat disgusted her and made her want to gag. She tried to block it out of her mind but found that the best she could do was replace it with a vision of the girl on the stage at the Glass Onion.

The girl had sucked the other performer's cock greedily, a lewdly satisfied smile on her face. Connie remembered the slurping sounds that the girl had made with her oral cavity as she sucked him off. She couldn't understand how anyone could do such a dirty thing willingly. Much less in front of people.

And then the two performers had lain together on the floor with their faces buried obscenely in each other's crotches. She shuddered at the thought.

"Are you cold?" Johnny asked.

"No," she answered, "It was just a sudden chill. It passed."

But she couldn't blot the horrible images out of her mind. The girl performer had sobbed and moaned when her partner's tongue had found its way into her pussy. She had actually sounded like she was enjoying it.

Connie shifted her weight from one buttock to the other in an attempt to scratch the tingling itch which had begun in her own pussy. It felt just like it had at the Glass Onion earlier, when she was watching the show. She crossed her legs and uncrossed them, rubbing one thigh against the other in a vain effort to stop the sensation which was beginning to spread throughout her loins. It was a warm fluid feeling, as though some kind of thick liquid was oozing from between the lips of her cunt. She wondered if her recent sexual experience had done some damage, in there. Maybe when this whole thing is over I should see a doctor, she thought.

She had never been examined by a gynecologist. Momma had warned her that most of them weren't to be trusted, having entered their profession because of a perverted desire to touch and handle the naked genitals of their female patients. But now that she was no longer a virgin, Connie thought that it might be necessary. Maybe she could find a woman gynecologist. She could say that she was married so that she wouldn't have to make excuses for her ruptured hymen.

"Well, here we are," said Johnny, bringing her back to the present. He had turned the Continental into a driveway leading to a parking garage in the basement of his apartment building. Just before the car was swallowed into the bowels of the building, Connie glimpsed its marble, chrome, and glass facade and the name Silver Towers emblazoned across its entrance doors. Who says crime doesn't pay, she thought.

Johnny wheeled his car along a curving underground driveway, pulling up in front of a small glass-enclosed office. A young attendant sporting a sparse black goatee and wearing a greasy beret scrambled out of the office to open the Black gangster's door. "Evening, Mr. Walker," he said. "Wash your car tonight?"

"Sure, why not," Johnny said, tossing him the keys and walking to Connie's side of the car. He opened her door and took her arm as she got out.

They walked in silence toward a bank of elevators at the rear of the parking garage. When one of the elevator doors opened, Johnny gestured toward it with a wave of his arm. Connie stepped inside. There was soft music playing in the elevator.

Johnny stepped in beside her and stabbed a button marked, "PENTHOUSE". The door closed and they were whisked upwards so quickly that there was no sensation of motion. A moment later the doors opened onto a carpeted hallway. The corridor was wide but short. Two doors broke the smooth clean line of the wall opposite the elevato. Both doors sported the same JW monogram that Connie had seen on the doors of the Black racketeer's car.

Johnny opened one of the doors and reached inside, flipping a silent mercury switch on the wall. The room was suddenly illuminated by soft lights which highlighted the bright splashes of color decorating the floor and walls. The molded plastic furniture cast long dark shadows across the floor. Looks like a den of seduction, Connie thought. Well, I've learned my lesson. I won't even let him get near me.

"Come on in and make yourself comfortable," Johnny said affably. "There are a couple of people I'd like you to meet." Then turning towards the back of the apartment he called, "Cobb! Edward! Come on out. I want you to meet a friend."

So there's more than one crime boss in Forest Hills, Connie thought. Good, I'll get them all. A tall man walked into the room. His skin was cafe-au-lait tan and his head was completely shaved. It shone in the soft yellow light of the room. He smiled, revealing two rows of perfectly even white teeth. He was thin, but muscular, and clad only in a long, multi-colored dashiki which reached almost to the floor. His dark feet were bare. "Good evening, Mr. Walker," he said.

"Hello, Cobb," Johnny answered.

A moment later another man followed him into the room. He was shorter than Cobb – about five-foot-ten – and heavier. He was Caucasian, but his skin was a bright pink, as though he had just stepped out of a hot tub. His hair was red and shaggy, reaching almost to his shoulders, and his face was freckled. There was a vacant look in his eyes. But he didn't look drugged so much as he looked stupid.