Beyond Redemption

By George Kalabry

Gina Santucci develops a larcenous lifestyle at a very young age. Before starting high school, she realizes that men are pushovers. Through guile and charm she knows how to manipulate and exploit their weaknesses. Her only guide is a practical amorality: Right is when you get away with it, and wrong is when you get caught. Her luck turns sour when she is arrested and remanded to a reform school for girls. Shortly after, she and her sweetheart escape. Gina renews the acquaintance of an ex-teacher, and her life takes a different twist.

Ginas mother works in a nightclub as a cocktail waitress. She entertains boyfriends in her apartment until the wee hours. Her spirited lovemaking keeps the daughter awake.

Involved with Gina in a more positive way is a detective who desperately tries to rehabilitate the dreadful delinquent. His total obsession with her endangers his marriage. Feelings of despondency and self-hatred plague him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jul 27, 2005
• ISBN: 9781463451073

George Kalabry

George Kalabry grew up in a working-class neighborhood on the west side of Rochester, N. Y. what used to be Hy’s Delicatessen is now Ortiz’s Deli. Gone are the shade trees, pulverized by the growth of a city flexing its muscles. Only Holy Apostles Church stands intact against the ravages of time. The residents were hard-working and law-abiding, content to live in peace and conformity. Neighbors were vigilant and they kept an eye on each other’s children and property. The file on lawbreakers in this community was very thin. Melancholy and introspective, George preferred to read adventure stories instead of playing baseball. He practically devoured the Hardy Boy Mysteries in junior high school. A female acquaintance had once compared him to a brooding Heathcliff from Wuthering Heights. He became a Spanish teacher, and his career was defined by pique and contention. His conventional values flew in the face of the politically correct and limp-wristed administrators, who were the bane of his existence. As a young man, he’d adapted a set of absolute values derived from his Christian education. “He was so scrupulous that he couldn’t steal cheese from a rat”, one of his colleagues had once quipped. Permissiveness and mediocrity were never in his lesson plan. Having seen how the world was turning, he never rolled over with it. He still believes that political correctness is for spineless sycophants and mindless conformists.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Through the plate-glass window Gina Santucci spotted her mark, mulling over the menu and conversing with the swarthy proprietor. She hesitated before entering the Café Apollo. If she was scared, her calm exterior masked the excitement that rumbled beneath the surface. Once inside, she lingered around the door for a few minutes, preening her hair and touching up her lipstick in the cracked mirror that hung crookedly on the wall. In an instant she had the customer’s attention. She used her body like a weapon. All she had to do was point it in the right direction. Men were pushovers!

In a slow and sexy swagger she strutted her stuff across the dining room, her high heels clicking noisily on the tile floor. At the counter she perched on a metal stool. One ankle coiled itself around the rung, and the other dangled loosely. Her skirt rose high, revealing more than her knees. She didn’t need eyes to perceive that the guy sitting next to her was staring at her appreciatively. Little grunts of approval like yum-yum emanated from his throat, but the food wasn’t that good.

Gina ordered coffee and a sweet roll. The pastry was stale. After one bite she pushed it aside. She took a tentative sip of the steaming brew. It was hot enough to scald her mouth. She could wait. The cup was an excellent prop, giving her time to play her game without appearing obvious.

Her male accomplices had done their legwork well. For several days they stalked their pigeon like a pair of hungry vultures. He was a man of regular eating habits. Like clockwork he parked his van at the curb in front of the diner. He always locked his vehicle and looked both ways before crossing the one-way street. A cautious type.At precisely six o’clock he strolled into the eatery. His pants and shirt were soiled and faded, his pigskin boots caked with fresh mud. A construction worker. On his right arm he sported a tattoo of a mermaid riding on an anchor. His long blond hair was disheveled and sun-bleached.

In front of him he sampled a bowl of chili con carne with enough red pepper in it to clear his sinuses. Tidbits of meat floated on the greasy surface. Slowly he munched on crackers with little appetite for the spicy concoction. The noise made by his strong healthy teeth sounded like a cement mixer.

Groaning asthmatically, the electric fans hardly cooled the establishment, only circulating hot air and spinning off bits of dust. The place was nearly empty. Paying customers were outnumbered by the flies, floating on globs of mashed potatoes in gravy that previous patrons had left uneaten on their plates. Nobody seemed in any hurry to remove the mess.

Behind Gina in a corner booth a couple of bag ladies sat huddled over their table, eating burgers, fries, and sharing the same glass of lemonade. They looked unwashed. Each wore a gunnysack of a dress with a pair of man’s shoes old enough to curl up at the toes. Facing the sidewalk, they kept their eyes peeled on a shopping cart that was filled with deposit bottles and aluminum cans they had rummaged in trashcans all day. The women seemed reluctant to return to the heat and hassle of the streets. Outside the temperature was hovering at a sticky eighty degrees.

The curly-haired owner of the diner was stacking plates in the steamy kitchen and chatting in Greek with the cook. Each man wore a chef’s cap to prevent the perspiration from dripping into his eyes. They recognized the gentleman at the counter as a regular customer, but the young lady next to him was a stranger. She had the earmarks of a hooker, only better. The revealing blouse. The short skirt. The well worn pumps. Her face, though, wasn’t overly made up, nor was she sporting a bunch of cheap jewelry like her older counterparts who walked the streets. The foreigners in the kitchen had been around long enough to know what was going down. So what! It was none of their business. Around here you kept your trap shut to survive.

From the corner of her eye Gina caught her mark staring furtively at her. Between them was a vacant stool, their elbows nearly touching. If push came to shove, he looked the type who could handle himself well in a brawl. Plenty of muscle on those arms and shoulders. Not to worry, she convinced herself for the moment.

Armed for close combat, her accomplices could easily overpower him. Once they trapped a victim, there was no escape for him. They never gave a sucker an even break because there was no percentage in it. With brass knuckles they could turn a guy’s face into strawberry jelly. If that failed to knock him senseless, one of them carried a razor-sharp switchblade strapped to his ankle in a leather sheath. He knew every dirty trick in the book__ how to break fingers, gouge eyes, and rupture testicles.

Next to the café in a narrow alley, Paco Mendoza and Bud Cameron were waiting for Gina to lure her pickup there on some pretext or other. Her ruses were varied. Each job was a challenge, and it was never easy for a girl in this business. So far, she had proven herself worthy, passing every test the guys pushed her way.

It rubbed her wrong the way her self-appointed boyfriend had assumed certain privileges with her body. Lately Paco Mendoza was getting too horny for her comfort, and only with difficulty did she manage to restrain his advances. She was in this setup for the bucks, not the bangs! But somehow her hot-blooded accomplice never got the message. Surprisingly she was still a virgin, and her frustrated pursuer showed her a grudging respect for it. All the same she carried discreet protection in her purse. Violence was Paco’s middle name, and she didn’t trust him. She knew that her resistance would be feeble against his overpowering strength, especially if he was drunk or stoned on drugs. Tonight everybody had to be cool. Past experience had taught them that smoking pot before a caper made them slipshod and over-confident. They had to be sharp and on edge every second.

Paco Mendoza had nominated himself leader of the gang, a situation that distressed his partners. Gina and Bud were infinitely smarter. Then why let a dimwit like Paco run things? He was too brash and unpredictable to trust. Through intimidation he imposed his will, and nobody knew what hare-brained scheme he would dream up next. Certainly Gina never encouraged an amorous relationship with him. Whenever he insisted on pushing his weight around, she tolerated him only because he came across with the greenbacks. The money she needed for clothes, school, and stuff. One of these days she would put Paco in his place. Not for long would she kowtow to a man. She was too independent of spirit. Since puberty she had lived by her own rules.

Now Gina took a sip of her coffee. It was cool enough to drink. As part of the deception, she looked toward the entrance as if expecting a friend to arrive momentarily. Turning her head slightly, she monitored her john. He was no wimp, she admitted. The hackles rose on the back of her neck. In a moment of weakness she wanted to cut and run, but that was unthinkable. Often enough Paco had threatened to beat her if she ever turned tail. He might use his studded strap on her, or even worse. Nobody could control his mercurial shifts of mood, his deep insecurity betraying itself in violent bursts of temper.

Gina still had second thoughts about her mark tonight. The typical one was middle-aged, feeble-looking, and well dressed. This one was precisely the opposite ___ young, strong, and his clothes looked like they came off the Salvation Army rack. He was married, and from the newness of his shiny wedding band, not for very long. Good! Respectable squares like him didn’t run to the police after a scam went down. They couldn’t risk the publicity, not to mention the humiliation of the experience. Many a victim regained consciousness in the hospital, and he couldn’t even remember what had happened to him, except that he had been hoodwinked by a girl. But he would never admit this to the police. All he could say was that he had been mugged by a couple of thugs.

The guy at the counter tried to concentrate on his meal. Now and then he darted quick glances in Gina’s direction, delicious moments of tacit passion that left him yearning. His eyes were smoldering, and not only from the spicy chili he was eating. The tendons in his neck looked tense enough to burst the gray collar of his shirt. He was really working himself into a lather over this chick. Discouraged, he averted his vision, wishing for something to happen to break the ice between them. The girl beside him was more than cute, he reflected. She was a knockout, but jailbait too. A dark-haired, sullen beauty who had all the right assets.

A decent fellow could get into serious trouble if he fooled around with her kind. She was the stuff that molded his erotic dreams. He couldn’t ignore her, for she was too compelling for his libido. And she was too young to realize the devastating effect she exerted over him. Hell! She was only a high-school kid, probably waiting for a girlfriend. On the other hand, she could be on the prowl. A guy could never tell. If he played his hand wrong, he could find himself behind bars. Better to sit and wait. See which way the cards fall before making a move.

His wife was seven months pregnant, leaving him randy these days. Wistfully he recalled the females he had avoided lately ___ the sexy secretary in the payroll department, his divorced neighbor who never closed her bedroom blinds, even the flirty cashier at the 7-Eleven who wore tight T-shirts with no bra underneath.

There were plenty of hustlers working the bars around the corner on the main drag. For twenty-five bucks he could get his ashes hauled. Anyone of them would give him a quick tumble in the back of his van. But he had no taste for streetwalkers, and there was the risk of catching some disease. Even on television they were advertising condoms nowadays. Unprotected sex with strangers was a dangerous game.

When he glanced at Gina again, her hemline was higher, exposing a generous portion of creamy-white thigh. She was well-constructed, slender and smooth, except where the lush curves of her breasts were molded by a tight blouse and where her abbreviated skirt hugged her replete hips. The prettiest pros that worked the gin mills down the street looked like shopworn hags next to this little cutie.

The proprietor gave his male customer a sly wink, aware of the social intercourse taking place. Many times he had seen this game played in his restaurant, and he enjoyed it because the outcome was as uncertain as a horse race.

There were only two people sitting at the counter. Even the flies had buzzed off. For lack of patrons the waitress had gone home an hour ago. Business always slumped in April. The two bag ladies split their small check. They departed, leaving their odor behind instead of a tip. They smelled like goats. The owner was pleased to see them disappear because their presence discouraged other customers from returning.

Scarcely out the door, the women were nearly bowled over by a pair of youngsters who bounded into the place. They were wearing baggy black gangster pants. Both gangly, they were all arms, legs, and budding Adam’s apples. With only small change between them, their choices were limited. For a noisy minute they bickered over whether to play the jukebox or the video game. They opted for music, slipping their few coins into the slot, only enough for one selection. A loud rock tune came surging out of the machine to set the diner throbbing. Any attempt at conversation was discouraged now.

Gina groaned inwardly, propping an elbow on the counter while finishing her coffee with the other arm. Something always had to happen to queer a perfect pitch. Her stomach tightened on seeing the reflection of the boys in the mirror. She recognized them, a couple of twits in junior high school. Facing the stepped-up jukebox, they were preoccupied with the beat of the raucous music, snapping their fingers and jiving around on the balls of their feet.

She hoped they wouldn’t see her, but a girl with her physical endowments could hardly pass unnoticed. Later they might remember her and yak to the cops. They appeared too immature for her, she thought reassuringly. At that age boys were afraid of older females, except for the centerfolds in the glossy magazines. Just in case she aroused their curiosity, she hunkered over the counter, trying to make herself appear smaller. She was sitting at the right angle to use her mark’s body as a shield. Casually she pulled down her skirt, not daring to turn her head toward the entrance in search of her imaginary date.

Abruptly the music stopped. Their money spent, the two kids scampered away like a pair of squirrels. Now there was a rush of quiet, like a valve opening and the silence pouring in to fill the air. The only sound came from the droning fans. Even the dust seemed to settle.

The mark almost gagged on his last mouthful of chili. He dropped his spoon noisily in his empty bowl. In a long swig he finished his orange crush to extinguish the fire that burned in his belly. He lit a cigarette, holding it clumsily as if not accustomed to the practice. He jetted the smoke from between his teeth, coughed harshly a few times, and inclined his body toward Gina without looking directly at her. Tiny beads of perspiration glistened on his receding hairline. He hesitated while still debating with himself. Heretofore he had never cheated on his wife.

Gina was growing impatient. This guy was shy. Maybe she had better encourage him. The longer she waited, the more likely he was to get up and leave. She couldn’t afford to let him slip through her fingers. Turning her head, she met the man’s gaze evenly, her eyes challenging. Can you spare a cigarette, mister? she asked.

Suddenly his face brightened. This was the opening he was anticipating. Sure, kid, he responded. He fumbled in his shirt pocket for another weed.

Gina accepted the little gift, touching his wrist softly as he held a flame in front of her face. The contact of flesh startled him. She sucked deeply on the filter and batted her eyelashes at him, hoping he would take the gesture as a come-on. He did.

He stared at her openly. Her features and her body were on the delicate side. Exotic. Italian or Spanish, but more Mediterranean than Caribbean. Her hair was a soft-hued brown like ripe chestnuts, and her complexion was a healthy pink, the kind women try to buy in expensive salons. For an awkward minute he smoked in silence. Curious. Cautious. He cleared his throat before speaking. You look depressed, kid.

Gina took a drag and exhaled it in a deep sigh. Then she raised her shoulders in a little shrug. Yeah. My boyfriend stood me up again, she answered with feigned annoyance. She acted embarrassed, her shoulders drooping a little.

Tough break. He must be crazy to keep a pretty girl waiting in a place like this, he said airily with an expansive gesture of his arm that left an ash on the Formica-topped counter. He lowered his vision, becoming self-conscious of the calluses on his hands and his dirty fingernails.

She took the flattery as sincere. He sounded as silly as the boys in school. Too bad for him. She blew a mouthful of smoke in the muggy air, then she asked, What’s your name? His rheumy eyes sparkled. Roger.

Gina gave him a broad smile. I’m Jane, she lied with a straight face.

Do you come here often? he inquired casually.

This guy was really a greenhorn. Nah. This is my first time. I don’t live around here, she declared truthfully. She pretended to sound irritated, not with Roger, but with her fictitious date. My boyfriend, he told me to meet him here at six. We were planning to go to the beach. I even bought a new bathing suit. A string bikini, she spilled out glibly in one breath.

Roger liked the sound of her words. She was almost asking to be picked up on the rebound. A girl like you shouldn’t have to wait for any guy. You don’t deserve to get jilted, he said sympathetically.

Gina’s voice turned husky. You’re sweet, Roger. I don’t know what to do now. He takes advantage of me something awful, she drawled out plaintively.

Roger could hardly contain his excitement. His eyes grew heavy and a gush of saliva filled his mouth. Before speaking again, he swallowed hard. His voice was strained, almost a controlled whisper. Why don’t you ditch the big jerk? I can show you a good time, he offered with urgency in his tone. We can go ...

Hold it, buster! Gina interrupted, raising a hand to stop him. Now she really went into her routine. My mother warned me about men. I never let strangers come along and ... and just pick me up. What kind of girl do you think I am? she asked peevishly with the indignation of an abashed maiden.

Roger’s face turned remorseful. Sorry, kid. Don’t get mad. It’s just that you look so unhappy.

I’m sure I’ll cheer up. Everybody gets blue at times, she whimpered in a tone that was barely audible. She kept her eyes down, stirring the coffee grounds at the bottom of her cup. We have a big Spanish test tomorrow. Maybe I should go home and cram for a while, she said glumly.

Roger wrinkled his nose. Sounds dull. It’s such a beautiful evening, perfect for a stroll on the sand. What a pity to waste it, he said suggestively. Now the wheels were really spinning in his brain. I got a pair of shorts in my van. We can still go to the beach, he prompted. Whaddya say, kid? I promise to get you home early. Breathlessly he waited for her reaction.

She gave him a quizzical stare as though noticing him for the first time. At the same time she wanted to appear skeptical, but interested. A tough act to pull off. Geez, Roger, you look okay, I guess. My parents might think I was lying if I go home early. My old lady is real strict, you know. She extinguished her cigarette in an ashtray, a halo of blue smoke looming over her head. Her eyes narrowed. You won’t try anything funny, will you? I don’t neck on the first date.

Roger smiled crookedly. He raised his right hand in a mock gesture. Scout’s honor, he promised with a wolfish grin.

Gina giggled. She had struck a responsive chord. His face registered confidence, his chest swelling. She tried to restrain her nervousness. Certainly her accomplices were chomping at the bit by now. There was still another obstacle to overcome, and she had to sound persuasive beyond the shadow of any doubt. Can you get me home by nine-thirty? she asked as part of the ruse.

No sweat, kid. We got three hours, he replied as he glanced at his watch.

I’m afraid there is a small problem, Roger, she intoned with tongue in cheek. I came here on my bike. I left it in the alley over there, she explained as she nodded over her shoulder. It’s out of sight behind the trashcans. She touched his wrist with her fingertips. I wouldn’t dare leave it on the sidewalk in this neighborhood.

Roger looked suspicious. Are you wearing your swim suit under your street clothes? he asked as if trying to catch her in some inconsistency.

Gina wasn’t prepared for this question, but she was quick on the uptake. She leaned closer to her mark, close enough to smell the onion on his breath. Very gently she rubbed her knee against his. I tied it to the handlebars, she invented.

He laughed hoarsely. Of course. Why didn’t I think of that?

Would you get it for me, please? she wheedled in a little-girl voice. I’11 give you a few minutes, and then I’11 meet you in your van. It’s the blue one across the street, isn’t it? she asked nonchalantly.

Yeah. But how did you know that?

Gina forced a tight smile. I’m not blind. There’s only one van out there, silly.

Roger was still uneasy, and she sensed it. Somehow she had to dispel any apprehension. Let’s have a party! Why don’t we buy a six-pack of beer? she ventured boldly, knowing how to press his buttons.

He rubbed his chin nervously. Why don’t you come outside with me?

Gina lost her patience. C’mon, buddy. Give a girl a break, will you? She glanced at the wedding band on his finger. You’re a married man. I have my reputation to protect. What will people think if they see us together? If my old lady found out, she’d ground me for a month, she answered hotly in an angry torrent of words.

Now it was Roger’s turn to get irritated. You wouldn’t be trying to dump me, would you? he asked with a quirky grin.

Gina had to think fast. She fluttered her eyelashes at him again. Would I trust you with my bike if I were going to pull a disappearing act? How would I get home? I don’t live around here, remember? She dabbed an imaginary tear from her eye.

This time Roger pulled his earlobe. "Well, I don’t know. I ..."

She cut him short. Okay, pal. If you don’t believe me, let’s forget it. She rose to her feet, turned away from the counter, and took a step toward the door. Her back was to him now. Go home to your wife. I’ll go to the beach alone. If I want company, I can find plenty," she shot back.

Roger reached out and grabbed her by the arm with more force than he had intended. Hold it, kid. I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings, he apologized. "It’s just that ... that I’m not used to this sort of thing. I have a reputation too."

Gina played her role with the aplomb of an actress. Do you think I let any guy pick me up like a tramp? Still standing, she put her hands on her hips, her nostrils flaring. If we can’t get along, I’11 have to run along, she said loudly enough for the proprietor to catch an earful. He emerged from the kitchen to clear away the dirty dishes. Speaking freely in Greek, he gave even odds to the cook that the couple would exit together. He was going to lose that bet.

Roger looked shame-faced. How could he treat a decent kid so badly? he asked himself. She was as genuine as mother’s milk. You win. Sorry I was so tough on you, he muttered sheepishly. I’ll play it your way, kid.

Gina thought she would scream if he apologized one more time. She wrinkled her nose. And please don’t call me kid. I wasn’t born yesterday. Do you want to go to the beach, or not? Either fish or cut bait, she taunted.

He couldn’t say no if he wanted to. The tingle in his groin was too insistent. He spoke quietly, his voice strained with emotion. Meet me in my van in five minutes. I’ll go find your bike after I pay the tab. He paused for a second to check her reaction. No objection. He pushed his good luck further, becoming more aroused and emboldened. His breathing was shallow and labored, like an old dog wearing a tight collar. How about a little kiss for old Roger, huh? Show me you’re on the level. When he tried to embrace her, she nearly gagged on his strong breath. She turned her head away, and her body went rigid. Undaunted by the rebuff, he gave her a bear hug around the waist that left her breathless. Before releasing her, he fondled her buttocks.

Gina disguised her contempt for this man with a phony smile. He was a jerk for all seasons_ pushy and chauvinistic. Shortly this pig would pay dearly for presuming that he could take liberties with her body.

CHAPTER TWO

In the narrow alley adjacent to the diner, Paco Mendoza and Bud Cameron waited impatiently for Roger to appear. He was long overdue. Once he was in their clutches, there would be no escape for him. Both assailants would hit hard and fast before their unsuspecting victim realized what was happening.

Bud leaned his weight against the concrete wall near the mouth of the alley. A low-hanging eave cast a wide shadow that concealed him from the street. From his angle everything looked normal. A few doors away the bells of an ice cream truck tinkled merrily accompanied by the dull roar of assorted traffic noises.

The location Bud had selected was ideal for a mugging. It was deep, narrow, and dark. And it was still too early for the prowl cars to be making their nocturnal rounds. His only anxiety was the possibility that a homeless junkie in need of privacy might decide to use the same turf for a shooting gallery. If that happened, an intruder would be treated harshly. Dopers were stoolies. For a dime bag they would sell their own mothers.

Bud shifted his weight from one foot to the other, grit crackling under his rubber soles. His nose and chin were steady, but the clamped lips revealed tension. He was thinking about Roger, the big stud from Sneaky Pete’s Girlie Revue who spent money like a sailor on shore leave. He always carried a thick wad of bills in a hand-tooled wallet, and today was payday. Bud had him pegged for a working stiff, bored with his wife, and on the prowl for some gash.

Suddenly Bud’s heart skipped a beat. A derelict staggered into the trap, clutching a bottle of Wild Irish Rose in a brown bag. With his free hand he unzipped his fly, fumbled around down there, and finally pulled out his penis. He pissed against the soot-covered wall, leaving a puddle of urine on the hard ground. He hummed quietly, unaware that two pairs of hostile eyes were glaring at him.

Bud was frozen in place, fearing that his presence would be detected. He held his breath until he thought his lungs would burst. At the far end of the alley Paco clenched his fist against the grip of his brass knuckles, the bite of raw metal in his palm almost drawing blood. He could feel his own excitement rising, like a hunter about to make the kill. Slowly he backed into a shadow, his dark clothes blending like camouflage with his surroundings. Unlike his partner, Paco possessed a cool confidence, an icy enjoyment of the situation.

The pisser appeared too drunk to perceive the real danger that threatened him. Oblivious to those around him, he finished his business with a sigh of relief. Lucky for him that he shuffled away from the scene without lingering or looking back.

Roger bounded out of the café with a purposeful gait, eager to complete his little chore for his date. The dormant satyr in him was wide-awake and roaring for action. His imagination was running rampant now___ A beach. A beer. A babe in a bikini. How could a fellow be so lucky? If she tried to run away, he could certainly catch her. The prospect of a chase excited him all the more, and since she was obviously a virgin, his pleasure would be doubled.

When he reached the mouth of the alley, he paused to peer inside. It was dark, but not totally. Vaguely he saw a row of garbage cans at the opposite end. Straining his vision, he tried to locate the bicycle. There was no sign of it. In a few long steps he entered the snare with no further hesitation.

Then all hell broke loose! From behind he felt Bud’s moist hand grab at his collar so forcefully that it knocked him off balance. Before Roger could collect his wits, Paco darted forward, his motions fluid and catlike in their grace. Paralyzed with terror, Roger nearly upchucked the chili that churned in his stomach. Surprisingly he made no move to flee. He threw a left hook at Paco. It missed. With his head down, he tried to bull into his attacker, but Paco smartly sidestepped him, grinning with sardonic amusement.

The two assailants didn’t look at one another, keeping their vision fixed on their mark who was braver than most. Rarely did one offer opposition. If they lunged at Roger together, they would stumble all over each other. In low crouches they circled him. Paco’s brass knuckles with protruding shards were waiting to connect with soft flesh.

Roger lost his footing and stumbled. He was on one knee, head still down, being pummeled into submission. Striking viciously at him were fists, knees, and feet that forced him to the pavement. He made soft gurgling sounds, choking on his own bitter bile. Hurting badly, he wasn’t feeling the pain yet. In a blind rage he tried to strike back, cursing and struggling to pull himself into an upright position for better leverage. He had the dazed, unfocused expression of a trapped animal. Large globs of blood from his forehead trickled into his eyes to blur his vision.

Paco connected solidly with a haymaker to the victim’s ear that sent him reeling into his buddy’s arms. The latter pinned Roger’s hands behind his back in a crude hammerlock. Then Paco cocked his arm and landed a bone-crunching blow to the victim’s nose, turning it into a bloody pulp. Bud released his tight grip, letting Roger’s battered body slump to the ground. In a few quick movements Paco rolled him over onto his stomach. He separated the man from his thick wallet, disregarding a watch and a ring because they could be traced back to him. With bloodlust in his eyes he kicked Roger brutally in the ribs. Bud winced at the sound of cracking bone.

Not far from the mouth of the alley, Gina leaned against the steering column of a stolen Datsun. Through the dust-covered windshield, heat waves shimmered off the hood over the engine. The sun was setting now, but not quickly, still a big golden ball with plenty of light. Earlier in the day Bud had spooked the car by crossing a few wires. Later he would ditch it far away, after wiping it clean of fingerprints.

Gina turned the starter. The engine whined, tried to catch, but failed. She cranked again, a little harder this time. The engine made the same wheezing effort. Nothing yet. She made a sharp whimpering cry. Without panicking she knew what to do. Bud had taught her well. Cars were his bag. The choke was probably stuck open, she believed. Pressing the accelerator to the floor, she hit the starter again. The engine caught the spark and struggled to hold it. She pumped more gas, and the engine finally came roaring to life.

With one eye on the alley and the other on the dashboard, she checked the gas level, the oil pressure, and the temperature gauges. Everything was cool. A mechanical failure could spell disaster. In a few minutes Paco and Bud would rejoin her. There was nothing more to do but mark time. Nervously she poked at a cigarette as if on a five-minute break between classes in school.

Reflecting on the current state of things, Gina felt a pang of uneasiness. She perceived correctly that Bud had taken a fancy to her, apparent in the obvious ways he tried to please her. He was dependable, always there when she needed a favor. At every turn he showed her little acts of deference, sometimes making a pest of himself. His solicitude was flattering, but disturbing all the same. Though Gina wasn’t in love with her admirer, nor with any man for that matter, she respected Bud. He was soft-spoken and levelheaded. But when Paco was around, she had to watch her step because this one had claimed her as his property. Paco was the jealous, Latin type. If he suspected some stud had a yen for her, he might eliminate the competition with his shiv.

Perhaps Bud had been molded by his sullen temperament, the quiet and pensive type who rarely displayed emotion. He wasn’t averse to committing violence, but he never enjoyed it for its own sake. It was the necessary means to an end, not an end in itself. His life, like Gina’s, was guided by a practical amorality.

At twenty-one Bud was still gangly and awkward, more like the boys of Gina’s age. A cleft lip and a crooked nose made him acutely self-conscious. When anyone looked at him too closely, his neck would redden and swell. His eyes pleaded with people not to laugh. He took little pride in his personal appearance. His clothes had a timeless look, indifferent to the calendar and current trends in men’s fashions. Most of the time his ash-blond hair was unwashed and unkempt. Gina doubted that he ever found female companionship, except for what he could afford to hire in the grind joints with titty dancers onstage humping brass poles. Out of kindness she had arranged dates for him with plain and unassuming types like himself. Soon the word got out that he was a colossal bore. He spoke only of cars, danced with two left feet, and had few social graces. In spite of his shortcomings, Gina nurtured a sisterly fondness for him.

Gina couldn’t understand the female preoccupation with the opposite sex. The co-eds at school talked of little else but their emotional involvement with boyfriends. And their attraction seemed genuine and profound, not merely physical. Not surprisingly, she felt left out of the social scene as though she were not quite normal. At this stage in her life she had no inclination for romance.

Consequently, Paco Mendoza gave her great cause for concern. He rode roughshod over her like a bull in heat, always making with the threats. Somehow she was never cowed by him. He might get under her skin, but never into her pants. She shuddered at the crooked way he stared at her. There was a sinister side to his nature, something she failed to comprehend. His mellow voice might make you think he was a pantywaist. Yeah, he could deceive a stranger with his slim hips and lightfooted gait.

Gina was bemused that a man thought himself a loser, if he failed to score with a woman from the outset. Not without difficulty did she repel his clumsy advances. Even in repose his set jaw, the straight line of his lips, and the taught muscles revealed the rage that festered in him.

She was protective of her body and stingy with her favors. For fear of being raped, discretion prompted her to give Paco quick manual relief. It wasn’t very satisfying for him, but at least it slaked his lustful appetite for a while. She always recoiled, her face twisting with disgust, and even revulsion.

Anyone who pulled a double-cross on Paco got a taste of his blade. Like steel to a magnet he was attracted to danger. In a fight he was reckless. Even when a victim was submissive, he would maliciously goad him into a fight for the sheer fun of it. Gina and Bud were sickened by it. Miraculously he had never murdered anyone. Under the influence of alcohol or drugs, he was even more bloodthirsty.

Gina snapped out of her reverie when she saw her partners emerge from the alley. Triumph was written on their faces, their heads held high. Impatiently she gunned the idling engine. After taking one more drag from her cigarette, she flicked it out the open window. There was the bitter taste of nicotine on her lips. She unwrapped a Lifesaver and popped it into her mouth.

Without glancing over their shoulders, Gina’s buddies entered the car. Their hair was ruffled and perspiration oozed from every pore. Bud edged himself into the back seat, while Paco rode shotgun next to the driver. When traffic permitted, Gina dropped the gearshift into drive and pulled away smartly from the curb, melding into the flowing stream