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wearing only agarter belt and nylon stockings. Her pubic hairs were long and verythick and a bright yellow. Her breasts, though large, did not sag.
Mrs. Pocyotl said, "Maybe you'd like two for the price of one, Forry."
She slipped out of her gown, revealing that she wore onlystockings and abelt. Her pubic hairs were black as a crow's feathers, and herbreasts were conical.
Forry stepped back until the backs of his knees were in contactwith the sofa. He said, "What is this?"
"Well, if the police should be called, they would find this housedeserted except for you and the two women. One woman would be unconscious, andthe other would be screaming. Both women would have sperm in their cunts, youcan bet on that. And bruises. And you would be naked and dazed, as if you had, shall we say, gone mad with lust?"
Forry looked at them. All were gri
He was in a nightmare. What kind of evil beings were these? Allthis for a painting?
He said, loudly, "Get out of the way! I'm coming through! Thispainting ismine! And you're not going to intimidate me! I don't care what youdo, you'renot getting to keep this! I might have given it to you, Heepish, ifyou'd becomea good friend and wanted it badly enough! But not now! So out of theway!"
Holding the painting as if it were a shield or a battering ram, he walked towards Heepish and the naked Rumbow.
CHAPTER 27
Herald Childe drove slowly through the rain and, the high waters. His windshield wipers were not able to cope at this moment, so dense wasthe downpour. His headlights strove to pierce the sheets with littleeffect. Other cars, driven by more foolhardy Angelenos, passed him with greatsplashings.
It took him more than two hours to get to his house in TopangaCanyon. Hedrove up the steep side street at ten miles an hour while water, several inches deep, poured down past him. As he turned to go into his driveway, he noticed the car beneath the oak tree by the road. Another car that had beenabandoned here, he supposed. There had been seven automobiles left here within thepast severalweeks. All were of the same model and year. All had been by the oaktree when he awoke in the morning. Some had been left for a week before the copsfinally cameand towed them away. Some had been there a few days and then haddisappearedduring the early morning hours.
He did not know why somebody was abandoning cars in front of hishouse or, if not outright abandoning them, was parking them for such a longtime. His neighbors for two blocks on either side of the house and both sidesof the street knew nothing about the cars.
The cops said that the cars they'd towed away were stolen.
So here was the seventh. Possibly the seventh. He must not jumpto conclusions. It could belong to somebody visiting his neighbors. Hewould find out soon enough. Meanwhile, he needed to get to bed. To sleep. He hadhad more than enough of that other bedtime activity.
The house was his property. He owed nothing on it except theyearly taxes. It was a five room bungalow, Spanish style, with a big backyard and anumber of trees. His aunt had willed it to him, and when she had died lastyear, he hadmoved in. He had not seen his aunt since 1942, when he had been achild, nor hadhe exchanged more than three letters with her in the past ten years. But she had left all her property to him. There was enough money so that he hadthe house left after paying off the inheritance tax.
Childe had been a private detective, but, after his experienceswith Baron Igescu and the disappearance of his wife, he had quit. He wasn't avery gooddetective, he decided, and besides, he was sick of the business. Hewould goback to college, major in history, in which he had always beeninterested, get amaster's and, possibly, a Ph.D. He would teach in a junior college atfirst and, later, in a university.
It would have been more convenient for him to take an apartmentin Westwood where he would be close to the UCLA campus. But his money waslimited, and heliked the house and the comparative quiet, so he drove every day toschool. To save gas and also to find a parking place easier on the crowdedcampus, he rodea motorcycle during the week.
Just now the school was closed because of vacation.
It was a lonely life. He was busy studying because he wascarrying a fullload, and he had to keep up the house and the yard, but he still needed someone to talk to and to take to bed. There were women who came up to hishouse from time to time: teachers his own age or a little older, some olderstudents, and, occasionally, a younger chick who dug his looks. He resembled arough-hewn LordByron. With a clubfoot mind, he always added mentally when someonecommented on this. It was no secret to him that he was neurotic. But then who wasn't? If that was any consolation.
He turned on the lights and checked the windows to make sureagain that nonewere leaking. It was a compulsive action he went through beforeleaving andafter coming back--at least three times each time. Then he looked outthe back window. The yard was narrow but deep, and this was good. Behind ittowered a cliff of dirt, which had, so far, not become a mud flow. Water pouredoff it and drowned his backyard, and the water was up over the bottom steps ofthe back porch stairs. He understood, from what his neighbors said, that thecliff had been closer to the house at one time. About ten years ago it had sliddown and covered the backyard almost to the house. The aunt had spent muchmoney havingthe dirt hauled away and a concrete and steel wire embankment builtat the foot of the cliff. Then, two years ago, in the extraordinarily heavyrains, the cliffhad collapsed again. It had, however, only buried the embankment andcome about six feet into the yard. The aunt had done nothing about it, and, ayear later, had died.
The entire Los Angeles, Ventura, and Orange County area was beinginundated. The governor was thinking about having Southern California declared adisaster area. Houses had floated away, mud slides had buried other houses, acar had disappeared in a hole in Ventura Boulevard, a woman, waiting for abus in downtown Los Angeles had been buried in a mud slide, houses wereslipping in thePacific Palisades and in the canyons everywhere.
There was only one consolation about the deluge. No smog.
Childe went into the kitchen and opened the pantry and took out abottle of Jack Daniels. He seldom drank, preferring marijuana, but when he wasdowncast and upset, marijuana only made him more gloomy. He needed somethingto dull his mind and nerves, and Te
He sipped the stuff, shaking and making a face as he did so. After a while, he could swallow it without repugnance. A little later, he could sipon it with pleasure. He began to feel numb and even a trifle happy. The memoryof Vivie
The three men had entered and one had delicately placed the tipof his sword against Vivie
What truce? He had never found out. But the man with the sword cane had accused her and her people--he called them Ogs--of first breaking thetruce. The Ogs had captured Childe and abused him. This was definitely againstthe rules. He was not even to be aware of their existence or of that of the Tocs.
Moreover, they had endangered Childe's life. He might have beenkilled because of their irresponsible behavior. In fact, the Tocs were notsure that the Ogs had not had it in mind to kill Childe.
"You know as well as you know anything that we agreed on The Faceof Barrukh and the Testicle of Drammukh that we would let The Child developuntil he was ready!" the swordsman said.