'No, I won't come out, Ernesto. I can't. It's a horrible nightmare. That brute, that… animal! He raped me!'
'Please Jill, please get dressed and come out – or let me come in. I deeply regret the unfortunate incident – it is beyond contempt. But it is already fait d'accompli, so to speak; it is past. And we must continue in the present, as intelligent adults. Please open the door, Jill.'
Jill was dressed, now, and though she felt an acute sense of mortification, there was something so commanding, so reassuring in Ernesto's voice, that she felt obliged to comply with his request. How could she ever face him, though?
The shower was still going when she turned the lock and opened the door a crack. She did not show her face. Gently, cautiously, the refined Colombian pushed the door open and stepped inside. He closed it again behind him.
Jill leaned against the lavatory, her head hung in shame. Garcia looked toward the shower after seeing the crestfallen girl, noting the soaked garments of her seducer. He had to suppress a laugh. So, the girl has some spunk! She is a she-cat after all. And Jack says she is the best fuck he has ever had… Caramba!
He went to her and tenderly placed his arms around her shoulders. His embrace was paternal. Jill began to cry. She was so bewildered, so embarrassed, and yet, so turned on!
'My dear Jill,' Ernesto began in his most consoling voice, 'I had no idea you would be subjected to advances from my associate. It was beastly of the man, taking advantage of an innocent young woman like yourself. Most probably, he had far too much to drink, and seeing you in a vulnerable condition, his beastlier nature overcame him. You are so sweet, so beautiful, so desirable, it is difficult for a man to contain his baser nature…'
'Oh, Ernesto, it was so terrible. He forced me, he hurt me. I was afraid he would really kill me or something,' she said, sobbing into his chest. He stroked her hair as though she were a little girl with a skinned knee.
'Of course, darling, of course. I can only imagine your ordeal,' he sighed heavily. 'And I blame myself…'
Jill looked up suddenly and blinked at him. 'You? Oh no, Ernesto, it wasn't your fault!' she insisted.
His face was filled with pain. He smiled sadly. 'You are very generous to say that, Nina, but in truth, it is I who am to blame. I should have escorted you myself.'
'But you didn't know, you couldn't have know. He said his wife was here. No, Ernesto, it isn't your fault at all. No way!'
'Then you'll still come to Mexico with me? You'll still let me do everything I can to help you, to further your career?' he asked earnestly. 'I want to make up for all this grim business with Jack tonight. As a matter of fact, if he weren't my business associate, I would call the police. I would have him arrested. Unfortunately, I am dependent upon him for my printing – he is the best man I have found. So, naturally, I cannot see that justice is done. But you can be assured that as long as I am with you, he will never harm you against your will again.'
The good looking man managed a smile. Jill looked at him intently. Oh why couldn't it have been Ernesto? she agonized silently. He's such a beautiful man, a kind man and so considerate of me. Why couldn't it have been his hard penis inside my cunt…?
'I… I don't know. I don't know what to do now,' Jill answered finally. She was genuinely torn between her fear and embarrassment, and her desire to be a famous artist.
'Of course, if you do not trust me…' Ernesto continued.
'Oh I do, I really do, Ernesto. It's just that… that man. I don't want to see him anymore.'
'Another couple of hours, and I promise you, you won't have to. Unfortunately, he must fly as far as Los Angeles with us. We'll be dropping him there. Until then, I'll see that he rides up front with Julio. You needn't talk to him again, if you don't wish to.'
'Oh no – no, I really don't want to have to speak to him again,' Jill stated.
'Then you won't have to. In fact, there is a berth on the plane. You can sleep all the way to Mexico City if you like. Shall we go?'
Without thinking further, Jill answered a simple, 'Yes.'
CHAPTER EIGHT
Jill was numb and dazed as they drove across the Bay Bridge to the Oakland International Airport. She sat in the back seat of the sleek, black Coupe de Ville with Ernesto, wondering where the car came from and who it belonged to. The man at the wheel drove swiftly and expertly. From time to time, Jill studied his head and the back of his neck, and she could see a portion of his face in reflected in the rear view mirror. Garcia, ever the gentleman, had not introduced him to her, realizing her acute embarrassment and distress, and Julio – called 'Hulio' – was sensitive enough and discreet enough not to look at her directly. Fortunately, Jack Dawson rode in the front seat with him. Julio was not wearing a chauffeur's uniform. He was dressed in sports jacket, slacks and a turtle neck sweater, a good looking young man of perhaps twenty-six or seven, with a dark, curly beard and a full shock of brown curls. His eyes were a startling blue, which surprised Jill. Naive as she was, she expected all Mexicans to have black hair and eyes.
Julio never spoke unless addressed. Yet, he was in no way servile. Indeed, he seemed to have a great deal of pride and a natural intelligence that one could sense rather than experience. Once or twice during the ride, Ernesto would lean forward and speak to him sotto voce in Spanish. The garrulous printer would rattle on about sports or politics, making embarrassed small talk. Julio's replies and comments were spare and to the point. He seemed to tolerate Jack Dawson even less than did Garcia.
It was almost midnight when the big black Cadillac pulled into a hangar at a far end of the air field. Three men were awaiting them, two in mechanics' jumpsuits, another in street clothes. Only the man in street clothes spoke in Spanish as she was whisked into a waiting Lear jet. Drugged and confused as she was, she noted the exterior design as one of Alexander Calder's whimsical abstracts, not unlike those he had done for Braniff Airlines.
The interior was something out of a James Bond movie – more like a luxurious hotel room than a plane, with a bar, plush arm chairs that swiveled and – a small bedroom with its own bath containing a stall shower! Jill thought at that moment that seeing the plane was recompense enough for deciding to make the trip.
The unidentified man in street clothes, who had stringy black hair and bad teeth (which showed under a thin, clipped mustache) assumed the position of co-pilot, as Julio took the controls and ushered the aircraft into the midnight sky.
Despite two cups of coffee, which Ernesto offered to her as soon as they were airborne, Jill found herself becoming sleepier and sleepier. At Garcia's suggestion, she went into the 'bedroom' and was soon fast asleep on the double bed…
The two partners in crime talked intently in another part of the streamlined plane. They sipped rare cognac from Baccarat snifters as they discussed their 'ward'.
'I tellya, Ernesto, the kid's dynamite. Hell, if you hadn't got antsy, I'd have gotten a blow job out of it, too! For Chrissakes, why'dja have to break it up so soon? You said you'd wait for my call!'
'Sorry, Jack, but it became obvious that you were all set to make a night of it. You tend to forget yourself at times, and drugging her the way you did, you knew she was in no position to refuse – particularly under fear of pain and disfigurement…'
'Hell, I just wanted to scare her a little bit; adds to the excitement, know what I mean? I didn't have no intention of hurtin' the kid.'
'I do not care for violence of any sort, Dawson – you know that. You don't seem to realize that this one has to be handled with kid gloves. I told you I had something slightly different in mind for her.'
'Yeah? Well I think you're bein' more kid glovey than you need to be, Ernesto. Gimme another crack at her and she'll get on her back for burros!' Dawson chuckled evilly at his intended witticism, but the laugh petered out when Garcia reacted with an icy, penetrating stare.
Leaning forward, the refined Colombian spoke in level, measured cadence. 'Listen, amigo,' he said, stressing each syllable of the Spanish word for 'friend', 'if you have one more 'crack' at her, she'll bolt back to San Francisco and spill everything to the police! You have already behaved stupidly – you could have waited until she
