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"My painting!" Forry gasped. "The Stoker!"
Heepish looked up at it and put the tips of his fingers togetherto make a church steeple. He smiled under the walrus moustache.
"You like it! I'm so glad! A fabulous collector's item!"
Forry choked and tried to stand up. One of the guests, a womanwho looked as if she were Mexican, pushed him back down.
"You look pale. What are you doing out on a night like this?
You're soaked! Stay there. I'll get you a cup of coffee."
"I don't want coffee," Forry said. He tried to stand up but felttoo dizzy. "I just want my painting back."
The woman returned with a cup of hot coffee, a package of sugar, and a pitcher of cream on a tray. She offered it to him, saying, "I am Mrs. Panchita Pocyotl."
"Of course, how graceless of me!" Heepish said. "I apologize fornot introducing you, my dear Forry. My only excuse is that I was worriedabout yourhealth."
The other woman was a tall slender blonde with large breasts, aDiana Rumbow. The three men were Fred Pao, a Chinese, Rex Bilgren, amulatto, andGeorge Bunyan, an Englishman.
Forry, looking at them clearly for the first time, thought therewas something sinister about them. He could not, however, define it. Maybe it wassomething about the eyes. Or maybe it was because he was so outragedabout the painting he thought that anybody who had anything to do with Heepishwas sinister.
Mrs. Pocyotl bent over to give him the coffee and exposed largelight-chocolate colored breasts with big red nipples. She wore nobrassiere under the thin formal gown with the deep cleavage.
Under other circumstances, he would have been delighted.
Then Diana Rumbow; the blonde, dropped a book she was holding andbent over to pick it up. Despite his upset condition, he responded with aslight poppingof the eyes and a stirring around his groin. Her breasts were just asunbrassiered as Panchita's. They were pale white, and the nippleswere as largeas his thumb tips and so red they must have been rouged. When shestood up, hecould see how darkly they stood out under the filmy gown she wore.
He was also begi
Pocyotl sat down by him and placed her thigh against his. DianaRumbow sat down on the other side and leaned her superb breast against the sideof his arm. If he looked to either side, he saw swelling mounds and deepcleavages.
"My painting!" he croaked.
Heepish ignored the words. He drew up a chair and sat down facingForry andsaid, "Well! This is a great honor you have done me, Mr. Ackerman. Ormay I callyou Forry?"
"My painting, my Stoker!" Forry croaked again.
"Now that you've finally decided to let bygones be bygones, and, I presume, decided that your hostility towards me was unwarranted, we must talkand talk!
We must talk the night out. After all, what with the rain and all, what else is there to do but to talk? We have so much in common, so much, as somany people, kind and unkind, have pointed out. I think that we will learn to knoweach other quite well. Who knows, we might even decide someday that the CountDracula Society; and the Lord Ruthven League can band together, become theGreater Vampire Coven, or something like that, even if witches and notvampires havecovens? Heh?"
"My painting," Forry said.
Heepish continued to talk to him, while the others chatteredamongthemselves. Occasionally, one of the women leaned over against him. He became aware of their perfume, exotic odors that he did not remember everhavingsmelled before. They stimulated him even in his anger. And thosebreasts! And Pocyotl's flashing, dark eyes and Rumbow's brilliant blue eyes!
He shook his head. What kind of witchcraft were they practicingon him? He had entered with the determination of finding the painting, taking itdown from the wall or wherever it was, and marching out the front door with it. Now that he considered that, he would have to find something to protect itfrom the rain until he could get it into his car, which was across the street. Hiscoat would do it. Never mind that he would get soaked. The painting was theimportantthing.
But he could not get off the sofa. And Heepish would not pay theslightestattention to his remarks about the painting. Neither would theguests.
He felt as if he were in a parallel universe which was in contactwith that in Heepish's house but somewhat out of phase with it. He couldcommunicate to a certain degree and then his words faded out. And, now that he lookedaround, this place seemed a trifle fuzzy.
Suddenly, he wondered if his coffee had been drugged.
It seemed so ridiculous that he tried to dismiss the thought. Butif Heepishcould steal his painting and hang it up where so many people wouldsee it, knowing that word would quickly get to the man from whom he hadstolen it, andif he could blandly, even friendlily, sit with the man from whom hehad taken his property and act as if nothing were wrong, then such a man wouldhave no compunction about drugging him.
But why would he want to drug him?
Thoughts of cellars with dirt floors and a six foot long, sixfoot deeptrench in the dirt moved like a funeral train across his mind. A furnace in the basement burned flesh and bones. An acid pit ate away his body. Hewas roasted in an oven and this crew had him for di
Forry shook himself as a dog shakes himself emerging from water. He was getting a little psycho about this. All he had to do was assert hisrights. IfHeepish objected, he would call the police. But he did not think thateven Heepish would have the guts to stand in his way.
He stood up so suddenly he became even dizzier. He said, "I'mtaking mypainting, Heepish! Don't get in my way!"
He turned around and stood up on the cushion and lifted thepainting off itshook. There was a silence behind him, and when he turned, he saw thatall were standing up, facing him. They formed a semicircle through which hewould have to go through to get to the door.
They looked grave, and their eyes seemed to have become largerand almost luminous. It was his imagination that put a werewolfish gleam inthem. Of course.
Mrs. Pocyotl curled her lips back, and he saw that her canineswere verylong. How had he missed that feature when he first saw her? She hadsmiled, andit seemed to him that her teeth were very white and very even.
He stepped down off the sofa and said, "I want my coat, Heepish."
Heepish gri
"You may have your coat, Forry, since you don't want to be
friendly." Forry understood the emphasis. Coat but not painting. He said, "I'll call the police." "You wouldn't want to do that," Diana Rumbow said. "Why not?" Forry said. He wished his heart could beat faster. It should be, but it
wasn't, evenunder this strain. Instead, his muscles were jerking, and his eyeswere blinkingtwice as fast as usual, as if they were trying to substitute for thelack of heartbeats. "Because," the blonde said, "I would accuse you of rape." "What?" The painting almost slipped from his hands. Diana Rumbow slipped out of her gown, revealing that she was