Nightmare in New York

Her voice dropped an octave and she was half-whispering as she added, 'Did you know that you slept with me all night?'

Bolan grinned, opened his eyes a slit, and lied. 'Sure, I knew it.'

A variety of emotions crossed the unsophisticatedly pretty face and after a brief silence she said, 'You're teasing me. You were out all the time.'

Drawing upon his 'dream,' Bolan told her, 'Not with those long legs wrapped around me, doll, I wasn't out allof the time.'

The girl's face turned a fiery red and she replied, 'Well I was probably doing that in mysleep, whatever you're talking about. I mean, I didn't lay here awake all night, you know. This ismy bed. And Paula said you needed body therapy more than anything else. After all, I wouldn't attack a wounded man.'

From across the room came a coolly modulated voice. 'If you were in heat, Evie, you'd attack a wounded rhino.'

The girl giggled, tossed her head, and called back, 'I thought you were meditating.'

'I have been in The One,' the cool voice replied. She shifted about to peer over her shoulder, luminous eyes raking Bolan in a quick, see-all scrutiny. Bolan shivered. It was the face he had carried with him into paradise. 'I asked Onefor your life,' she informed him in a totally undramatic voice.

Bolan was beginning to decide that the dream had not ended. He heard himself asking the cool one, 'And what did Onesay to that?'

The girl twisted about to face him and dropped her legs over the side of the table. They dangled, then crossed at the ankles. She smiled and brought her palms up even with her shoulders. 'You're alive, aren't you.'

'I guess,' Bolan replied, though he was not all that certain. He lay there and watched her slither off the table. She moved like a cat, all fluid and tawny grace, with the controlled springiness of superbly developed and coordinated muscles. The body was unbelievably exquisite, tight and hard looking yet entirely feminine with all the proper curves and angles in the right places. Her hair was shiny black and fell in a torrent to the small of her back where it clung. The tight flesh of her torso gleamed and rippled, and the motions of her body as she walked created the illusion that she was moving across shifting sand.

She reached the side of the bed and stood there smiling down at him with all the detachment of a Siamese cat. Bolan did not feel like smiling back. For some unaccountable reason, he felt like shouting something offensively obscene.

The sheeny black badge of puffy-soft femininity at the base of that ivory abdomen was at a direct level with his eyes, and it was to this that he directed his compulsive remark. He said, 'Hello, One. Okay, this is your life.'

Evie Clifford exploded into a fit of coughing and fell off the bed. The nude girl's eyes performed a rapid blinking sequence, then she silently spun on her heel to walk away. Bolan grabbed her hand and clung to it, squeezing with all his strength, which wasn't much.

'I don't know why I said that,' he murmured apologetically.

'I know why,' came the cool reply.

'Evie tells me that you helped bootleg me out of the grave. Thanks. And I'm sorry for the silly remark.'

'It's perfectly understandable,' she replied in a cold purr. 'And I'm the one who is sorry. For affronting your sense of modesty.' The girl disengaged her hand from his grip and glided from the room.

Evie Clifford's eyes appeared over the edge of the bed. 'Socko,' she whispered. 'Don't feel sorry, she had that coming. All this bilge about the holiness of the body. It's about time someone told her that hairy monkey between her thighs isn't all that holy to look at.'

'I didn't mean it that way,' Bolan muttered.

'You got the message across just the same.' The girl crawled onto the bed and knelt there, staring at him with frank curiosity. 'Is it true that you've killed hundreds of men?'

Bolan returned her level gaze, then dropped his eyes to the perky little breasts peeking through the gauzy jacket. Surely he was either asleep or dead, in purgatory or some concoction of hell. The shoulder was beginning to pulse and he was suddenly feeling very weak. And yet he wanted a woman. He wanted a woman in the very worst way. Yes. He supposed that hell could be this way. He told the girl, 'There are worse things than killing.'

'I guess it depends on who you kill,' she replied solemnly.

Bolan shook his head doggedly, as though pleading his case before the keeper of heaven's gate. 'No matter who, there are worse things.'

'What, for instance?'

'Notkilling, sometimes.'

She smiled winsomely and told him, 'I guess I don't get that. You should talk it over with Rachel. She's the deep one.' She giggled and added, 'Mentally, I mean. Physically I think she's all glossy exterior. I bet she doesn't even have a vagina inside that monkey's mouth. I mean, I get that feeling sometimes. Know what I mean?'

Bolan hoped to God he did not know what she meant. That would surelybe hell. And such statements issuing from that ingenuous face were just another irrational dimension of his mad dreaming. Surely. If it were not a dream, then he must have awakened to madness.

At that moment the tall efficient one reappeared with a tray. She set it on the bed, showed Bolan poached eggs and dry toast and let him sniff a cup of weak tea. 'You want to try this?' she asked him.

Yes, Bolan would try anything sane. He thanked her with his eyes and said, 'I believe I can handle it.'

She arranged the tray for his easy access, puffed the pillows behind him and helped him to a workable position, then watched attentively as he struggled through the self-feeding. As he ate, she told him, 'If you're wondering about your wounds, you got off pretty easy. There's a tiny furrow across your hip, no problem there. I dressed it with sulfa salve, just to take no chances with infection. As for your shoulder… well, you're a very lucky man. You lost an ounce or two of tissue, but nothing vital. If the bullet hadn't nicked a large artery, you'd probably still be out running the streets. But you lost a tremendous amount of blood. I've been worried about… well, you're obviously strong enough to fight back. You area fighter, aren't you?'

Bolan grinned and said nothing, dizzily working at the elusive eggs.

'How long since you'd slept?' she prodded. 'I mean, before yesterday.'

He thought about it for a moment, then replied, 'I really don't remember. A couple of days, I guess.'

'Uh huh, that's what I thought. You're worn down, physically neglected, and you were probably reaching the edge of your reserves even if you hadn't been shot. I don't want you out of this bed for at least another two days.'

'You don't understand,' Bolan weakly protested. 'My enemies know their business. They'll track me here sooner or later, bet on that, and — '

'They've already been here,' Paula told him. 'Late last night. They went through here with a fine comb, so I'm sure they're satisfied. They won't be coming back.'

Bolan was giving her the uncomprehending stare.

She smiled and explained, 'We hid you in the bathtub. With Rachel.'

Bolan groaned inwardly. The dream, the damned dream. It was all coming back now. Allof it had not been dream. He murmured, 'I don't know how to thank you girls.'

Evie Clifford laughed and told him, 'Well think of something, I bet.'

'Yes, we'll think of something,' Paula assured him in solemn tones.

Somehow Bolan got the idea that the ladies had already thought of something. He mumbled an unintelligible response and pushed the tray away, then closed his eyes and cautiously maneuvered himself back to the horizontal position. The food had filled him with a numb warmth, and the black whirlpool was again summoning him.

As he drifted into the void, he heard Evie declare, 'Hey, he's passing out again.'

'That's fine,' came Paula's quiet voice, seemingly from far away.

'Well I can't lay here with this guy forever like this. He's tearing me up, just simply shredding me.'

'Okay, Hotsy,' was the crisp reply. 'Go on, I'll supply the body for awhile. Tell Rachel to relieve me at