The Jack Frost Thrillers - Box Set Page 9

  A moment later the waitress reappeared, looking subdued, and began filling sugar jars. She studiously avoided looking in his direction.

  Benny picked up the third hamburger and began eating, his face sullen. Girls had always reacted that way toward him, ever since he was a kid. He had always been big for his age. He realized that he couldn’t do anything about the mean things that were said behind his back. But he also realized that his very physical size could stop the face-to-face ridicule. When girls resisted his advances, he treated them the same as the boys, physically punishing them, for which he had been suspended from one school after another, until his parents had thrown up their hands in despair.

  Midway through his freshman year of high school, he had quit and taken a job in a Pittsburgh steel mill, lying about his age. He drifted from there to Gary, Indiana, where he worked as a bouncer in some of the toughest clubs in the city.

  He soon gained a fearful reputation, which brought him to the attention of Harry Varchetta, already moving up in the Syndicate’s hierarchy. When Varchetta was appointed to head up one of the Las Vegas hotels, Benny went with him.

  Benny leered at the waitress. She was young, maybe seventeen or so, and while she wasn’t very cute, she had really big knockers. And she was on her own here, her boss clearly wasn’t going to help her.

  Benny called the hapless waitress over to the table. She approached, a coffee pot in her hand.

  “I want another burger, and more coffee,” he said. He grinned at her. “You got nice tits, kid.” Crimson crept up her neck as she poured the coffee. “You want a little roll in the hay after you get off work?” She ignored him and hurried away, to the sound of his laughter.

  He sat drinking the coffee. He’d stick around and wait until she got off work. He was in no hurry. He’d convince her to go with him somewhere.

  Benny never took his eyes off the waitress as she cleaned counters. She glanced up occasionally, aware of his scrutiny.

  The roar of motorcycle engines caught Benny’s attention. He glanced through the dirty window and saw three bike riders pull into the parking lot. They stepped off their choppers and swaggered into the restaurant. They had long, greasy hair and they wore cracked leather vests, shirtless underneath, filthy jeans, and boots.

  An old man and woman, now the only other customers in the place, cowered under the gaze of the bikers. The largest man of the gang, obviously the leader, looked around at the empty tables. He glared at the old man. “We want this one,” he said, pointing down at the table where the old couple sat.

  The old fellow lowered his eyes and looked at his wife. She put a hand on his arm and said something that Benny could not hear. The two got up and walked away to the sound of crude remarks aimed at the frightened old woman. Benny watched as the elderly man took his wife by the elbow and led her out of the restaurant, his head bowed.

  The leader’s eyes caught Benny’s glance, and tried to stare him down. Benny stared back, unable to keep the amusement off his face.

  The waitress took a deep breath and walked to the table. The lead biker said, “Three coffees,” but his eyes never left Benny’s.

  Benny continued to stare back, which puzzled the biker. Not too many guys were able to maintain their cool under his withering look.

  The waitress returned with a coffee pot and three cups. The leader continued to glare at Benny, still caught up in his schoolboy staring contest. As the waitress walked around to his side of the table and leaned over to fill his cup, he ran his left hand quickly up inside her skirt and squeezed her buttock. She straightened so quickly that she spilled some of the hot coffee on his lap. He stood, cursing her, while his friends laughed at his misfortune.

  Benny noted that her boss did not even bother looking through the serving opening. He had probably seen the bike riders come in and gone out the back door.

  One of the bikers pulled her down on his lap. The frightened waitress squealed and managed to twist free. She hurried into the kitchen, tears streaming down her face.

  The smile on the lead biker’s face faded when he looked again at the big man in the black suit. Deciding enough was enough, he stood and swaggered to Benny’s table. “What are you looking at, fat boy?”

  Benny slowly pulled a long cigar out of his inside coat pocket. He lit it and blew a cloud of smoke into the biker’s face. “I ain’t looking at much,” Benny said.

  One of the trio mimicked Benny’s high-pitched voice. “I ain’t looking at much, Freddie,” the biker said, but with a definite gay connotation.

  Blood began to rise in Benny’s neck. Suddenly his collar felt too tight. He slowly got to his feet. The leader of the group stood six feet tall, but he felt dwarfed in the presence of the behemoth who towered over him. The room was suddenly silent.

  “You’re screwin’ around with my girl. I don’t like that,” Benny said. He heard the scraping of chair legs against the floor as the other men stood. He turned his cold gaze on them. “Get your asses out of here right now, before I change my mind,” he said. He looked down at the leader. “Everyone but you . . . you can’t go, little man.”

  The bikers were veterans of dozens of confrontations, but most had been carried out against men who were alone. Somehow this one was different. Finally, one slender, rat-faced man with incredibly bad acne, made his decision. He walked over to Benny and said, “You can kiss my—”

  Benny grabbed the man’s forearm with both hands, and snapped it cleanly in half over his knee. The biker dropped to the floor, screaming in agony.

  The leader spread his hands in a “no contest” gesture, and backed away.

  “Ain’t good enough.” Benny’s huge left hand grabbed the man’s hair and held him upright while he hammered the biker’s face with his right fist. Finally satisfied, he threw his battered victim to the floor. The other bikers fled, the one with the broken arm screaming in pain.

  Benny stepped over him and followed them outside. The man with the broken arm straddled his bike, vomiting onto his boots, while the other one sat frozen in his saddle, ashen with fear.

  “Get your pants off, both of ’ya, now.”

  They were awed by the ease with which he had handled their leader, but his command was too much to ask.

  “Bullshit! Like hell I will!”

  “Hey man, are you kidding?”

  “You ain’t seen me mad yet. Now get ’em off!” Benny snarled.

  They looked at him with uncertainty, then surrendered to the inevitable. Benny watched with amusement as they struggled out of their jeans. He grabbed their greasy pants and tossed them into the back seat of his rental car, then got in and started the engine.

  He glanced into the rearview mirror. Parked behind him were the three, gleaming choppers. Benny slowly backed up, pushing the bikes along, bulldozer-like, finally crushing them against the brick wall of an adjoining building.

  Benny laughed aloud as he watched the two bikers running back and forth in frustration, wearing nothing but black boots and leather vests. He gave them the finger as he drove away.

  He thought about the waitress and wondered what she would have been like. But he consoled himself with the thought of what he was going to do to Felicia Martinez.

  Chapter 19

  I stood close to Felicia, hands on my hips, unconvinced despite the list of reasons she presented as to why she should go riding. I decided to try reasoning. “Look, you’re a long way along . . . riding a horse this late in your pregnancy can’t possibly be good for you!”

  She stood next to Traveler, protected from the brisk early April wind by his rippling flank. She patted him as she looked up at me. I could tell by the look on her face that she knew she’d won. I was a pushover and we both knew it.

  Her gleaming black hair was pulled back in a ponytail beneath the white Stetson, and tied with a red bandanna. She wore jeans and boots, and a loose plaid shirt under a denim jacket.

  She was adorable.

  She patted her belly with both hands. “
We’ll soon get a look at Jonathan’s son.”

  I helped her mount up. Even with my help, it required considerable effort on her part. When she was finally settled in the saddle, she sat there for a moment, panting from the exertion.

  I said, “One more time, just to keep ol’ Jack happy—are you absolutely sure you should still be riding?”

  She squirmed in the saddle, adjusting her big belly until she was comfortable. She took the reins in her hands, a happy smile on her face. “I won’t go far, and I’ll take it easy, no loping, honest!”

  “You have your cell phone, right?

  She nodded and smiled down at me. I waved as she turned the horse and rode out of the corral, heading toward the hills at a walk. Ripper streaked past the horse and rider, racing on ahead of them.

  I got into the Jag and headed for town to pick up some supplies. As I drove away, I marveled once again at her radiant look. Her skin, always flawless, now glowed; her eyes were like sparkling black diamonds; and her black hair had an almost unnatural sheen. I had stuffed enough vitamins into her during the past few months to revive a mummy.

  She was as full of anticipation as she was with new life. My God, she was so pregnant—and so beautiful. She was naturally full-breasted anyway, but as her time grew closer, her breasts had swollen until they were almost too painful for her to touch. She waddled around the little cabin, her hands under her stomach, supporting the weight.

  I frowned. I should have refused to let her go riding. Right, Frost! I’m sure she’d have followed your orders to the letter! She was as exasperating as she was pregnant.

  * * *

  Felicia allowed the horse to wander along the snow-covered trail. She sat upright on the animal, straddling his big, warm body, totally content. Holding the reins in one hand, she placed the palm of her free hand against her stomach. What had to be a small knee poked sharply outward. She laughed aloud as the little guy kicked.

  She sat there smiling. “If only Jonathan could be here.” With that thought came a sudden, wrenching need and longing. The picture of Jonathan Flynn burst into her mind, bringing an involuntary groan to her lips. Her mood of outright joy disappeared and she burst into tears. She sat on her horse and wept.

  As quickly as it had come, the sadness passed. Within moments she was loping down the trail, despite her promise to Jack. She rode on for a mile or more, Ripper ranging far and wide ahead, coming back every now and then to look up at her. She spoke to him each time, and he would turn in circles and chase his stubby tail out of pure playfulness. Then, once again, he would race away, belly low to the ground.

  She slowed Traveler to a walk. She was tired, but every time she tended to slump in the saddle, the pressure of her big stomach reminded her to sit upright. As she watched Ripper, perhaps twenty yards ahead, he suddenly collapsed in mid-stride, sliding for a few feet on the snow before he came to a halt, his feet twitching. “Ripper!” she cried. She urged Traveler into a gallop.

  As she reined up she could see that the big dog had stopped moving. Blood covered the left side of his head. She dismounted, nearly falling in her haste. An ugly, bloody furrow was carved across the side of Ripper’s head, just missing his left eye. His breathing was shallow.

  With horror, she realized he had been shot. As she frantically tried to dig her cell phone out of her pocket, she heard the pounding sound of running feet. She looked up, eyes wide. Bearing down on her, just yards away, was the hulking form of Benny Florentine. His black suit jacket was open, and his hat flew off as he ran. He was close enough so that she could see the gleam of perspiration in his blond crew cut. His eyes, set back under the overhanging, shelf-like forehead, were hidden in shadow.

  She began to run, knowing she would never make it to the horse in time; it had been difficult to mount up, even with Jack helping her.

  Benny swarmed in on her. He grabbed her black ponytail and bulldogged her to the ground. She landed hard on her stomach and rolled over and over in the snow, coming to rest flat on her back, the wind knocked out of her. He pounced on her, sitting heavily on her breasts as he pinned her shoulders with his knees. She looked up at him, her face twisted in terror. His face was cruel.

  “You made a fool outta me, Felicia,” he said. “And now you’re gonna pay for it.” He got to his feet, her pony tail still captured in his meaty left hand. A scream ripped from her throat as he yanked her to her feet by the hair. He held her at arm’s length with his left hand and closed his right fist. She stared at him in disbelief, eyes wide.

  Benny hit her in the face, knocking her off her feet. She sprawled on the sand on her back, arms and legs splayed out. He reached down and scooped her up with ease, then carried her toward the entrance of a nearby abandoned mine shaft. He walked a few yards into the shaft, then threw her to the ground.

  He went back for the dog. He carried Ripper back to the mine shaft, being careful not to get blood on his suit. He threw the Doberman into a corner, discarding the animal as if he were throwing away a piece of trash.

  Benny stood over Felicia’s inert form for a few moments. Then he got down on his knees and looked her over from head to toe. The side of her face was swollen. His ring had cut her cheek to the bone; blood ran down that side of her face. He moved the cheekbone with his fingers. It felt soft and pulpy.

  He ran his hands slowly over her body, making low, crooning sounds in his throat. His hands shook as he began to unbutton her plaid shirt. When the excitement became too much for him, he grabbed the shirt in both hands and tore it apart. He sat back for a moment and stared at the great brown breasts.

  Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew a switchblade and flicked it open. Sliding the blade between her skin and the center of the bra where the cups joined, he pulled upward, slicing the bra cleanly in half. He put the knife away, then gingerly reached down and parted the two halves of the bra, unveiling her breasts. They looked larger than he remembered when he had watched his boss make love to her that night. The brown skin looked swollen and tight, and gleamed in the faint light that came in through the mine shaft entrance.

  He had always wanted a pregnant woman, but had never had one. This was beyond his wildest dreams. He reached behind Felicia’s head and lifted her to an upright position. With difficulty, he got her out of the denim jacket and threw it into the corner. Grunting with the exertion, he ripped the plaid shirt from her body, pulled the severed bra from beneath her, and tossed it aside.

  He let go of her head. It dropped limply on the sand. He yanked off each boot, pulled her jeans off over her legs, and tossed them aside. She lay unconscious on the cold sand, wearing only red bikini panties.

  Benny stared at the huge, round stomach. It seemed even bigger than when he had watched her from the protective rock formation as she rode down the trail.

  He ran a finger over the protruding belly button. She’s as helpless as a turtle on its back. And she’s mine for as long as I want her.

  He listened to Varchetta’s voice in his head: Kill her, Benny, but don’t touch her, do you hear? Just kill her and get rid of her where she’ll never be found. But keep your damn hands off her!

  He had assured his boss that he would not touch her. No, he would not think of doing that. “Screw you,” he said aloud. The boss would never know. She was here with him, and nobody else in the whole world knew that the two of them were in this place. The boss was hundreds of miles away, in Las Vegas. The dog was dead, and Frost wouldn’t know where to look for her.

  He had all the time in the world. And he had wanted her for so long. Only when he tired of her, would he kill her. He pulled her panties off over her legs. Then he pulled a coil of heavy cord out of his pocket. Minutes later, she was spread-eagled on the floor of the mine shaft, cord wrapped around each wrist and ankle, the other ends tied to the supporting timbers. The sight reminded him of Billy, the young whore who had not been very affectionate.

  He sat down on the sand next to her. He amused himself by running his hands over her body, peeri
ng closely at the goose bumps on her skin, caressing the big belly, and squeezing the swollen breasts.

  He jumped involuntarily at the sound of a cell phone ringing. Puzzled, he looked around, then realized it was coming from the pocket of her jeans that he had tossed into the corner. He laughed. He knew it had to be Frost calling. That thought bought a pleased smile to Benny’s face.

  The ringing finally stopped, and he resumed his vigil. He wanted Felicia to wake up before he did anything else. C’mon, Felicia, c’mon. I can’t wait much longer.

  Chapter 20

  After I dropped Felicia at the stables, I went into town to pick up some groceries, then drove back to the cabin. After I put everything away, I walked outside and sauntered over to the edge of the cliff overlooking the valley. I stood there with the wind and snow flurries whipping around me. It was an utterly fantastic day, but something nagged at me.

  I looked in the direction of the stables, then glanced at my watch. I felt vaguely uneasy. Something’s wrong.

  Once those little fingers of fear start crawling up your throat, there’s no sense trying to pretend everything’s okay. I pressed the speed dial number on my cell for Felicia’s phone. I listened to the ringing as I tried to fight back the panic. I clicked off and raced for the car. Ripper’s with her. It’s safe here. She probably just has her cell phone turned off. Everything’s okay.

  No, it isn’t! My stomach turned to ice. No it isn’t!

  When I arrived at the stables, Jane Withers met me with a worried look. “Traveler came back,” she said.

  “How long ago?”

  “Just a few minutes!”

  “Call an ambulance, and call Doctor Morris, too. Do you have a horse that’s saddled?”

  “I’ll have one in a hurry.”

  She had a big roan saddled in record time. As I mounted up, I said, “Call that ambulance!” and I urged the horse into a gallop.