Triad

BREAK NECK HILL

The car died before Debra knew she was in trouble. In her mind, she'd been going over her evening's sales pitch for the old Whateley place, wondering if there’d been anything she could’ve done to spark the off-island buyers’ flagging interest when the big Chevy’s engine sputtered and died. She’d barely had enough time to pull the massive car over to the side of the lonely road before it became an immovable rock.

Getting out and trying to find the problem was out of the question; even if she hadn’t been wearing her real estate clothes-wool suit and fancy silk blouse-she knew absolutely nothing about cars except they needed gas. God knew the Impala's big V-8 sucked plenty of that down. She’d just sit and wait-one of the island’s cops or Rufus with his tow truck would be along soon if she was lucky. In the meantime, she’d just go over her strategy for selling that rambling Whateley farmhouse on Sweet Bottom Road.

It was a charming old home, traditional New England with extensive grounds and beautiful gardens. Of course, winter wasn't the best time to impress potential buyers with those, but she'd really thought she had the young Boston couple on the hook. What had she said or done wrong?

Getting out of her two-tone red and cream Impala, she took off her suit jacket and got her bulging brief case from the back seat. Earlier, she’d had the fifty-nine Impala’s heater cranked up all the way. Now it was stifling in the car. Shivering in her white sleeveless blouse, she realized how chilly the December evening had grown, right after she'd tossed her jacket on the other side of the wide front seat. She’d probably be putting the jacket back on within twenty minutes or so, especially if rescue was slow in coming. Beneath her white slip and bra, Debra felt her nipples shrivel and stiffen, perking up to assert their agreement. It was going to be a cold one. There was a definite dampness in the air too, heralding rain, or maybe even a little snow. At least this time of year, the fog wasn't creeping in from the coast. Usually. She shivered and looked back towards town, hoping Rufus or Chief DeCosta would crest the hill soon.

She’d barely gotten back inside, coaxed her flashlight to feeble life, and found the house listing she wanted to review when she heard them. At first she thought it was the rumble of distant thunder, but then she could pick out the throaty roar of the solitary Harley as it barreled up Break Neck Hill. Her heart hoped-maybe it was a handsome cop to her rescue. She just loved those tight uniform pants and highly polished brown boots. Silly-Grim Island had no motorcycle police. Hell, they only had two police cars that she knew of. And she didn't remember seeing any handsome stud-muffins hanging around the new station house in the center of town. Muffins was the operative word for most of the island's cops-short and round like a donut. She looked expectantly up the hill, just starting to see the dim glow from the oncoming motorcycle’s headlamp, and realizing for the first time that it had started to spit a freezing rain. God, just don’t let them be Hell’s Angels. Hammering down the Impala’s door locks, she scrunched down in the driver’s seat. Maybe they’ll just zoom on by into the night, and leave me alone. It’s a pretty black miserable night outside.

No such luck. She heard the bike skidding to a stop alongside with a crunch of slick ice-it must be more like sleet than rain now-followed by a rapping of brazen knuckles on her window. Sounded like a cop in one of those hot rod movies-the ones with James Dean or Steve McQueen. Maybe the island had a motorcycle cop after all- she didn’t know everything about Grim Island. Feeling like a fool, she decided to sit up and risk a look. She hadn’t heard any footsteps leading away, though she did hear voices. There were at least two of them shivering out there.

It wasn’t a cop or one of her bad boy Hell’s Angels. A good-looking guy was staring in her window, his shivering girlfriend still sitting on the tail of the battered Harley. He looked to be about Debra’s age, the kind of stud she’d date in a heartbeat if he was cleaned up a bit more-maybe a shave, a better hair cut, more conservative clothes.

“Everything all right, Miss?" He flashed a dazzling smile with his pearly whites.

God, he’s handsome when he does that. "You okay in there-got car trouble?” With his brawny right hand he was indicating she should roll down her window while they talked.

Debra couldn’t see his left hand and that bothered her a little. God, I’m so paranoid. Not everybody's a rapist, out to get your body, Debra. Besides, when was the last time you actually got laid? She couldn't remember. She glanced at his girlfriend, a pretty blonde, about nineteen by the look of her. Sweet, almost elfin looking waif. Ethereal, looking pretty miserable out there in the cold. She was really shivering now-well, that wasn't surprising. Just look at her. Look how she was dressed! Cheap trash-no lady, that was for sure. Except for the open leather jacket and her high-heeled boots, she was dressed for summer-cut-off jeans and a top that looked like lacy underwear.

“I’m fine, thanks. Some car trouble. It just died.” She’d rolled down her window, but almost wished she hadn’t. This close, waves of primal animal attraction threatened to engulf her. Denying her yearning, Deb wondered again if he might not be a rapist, or worse. She was far from unattractive, and here she was all alone on a desolate road with a dead car. Helpless. Fighting the urge to crank up her window in his handsome 102

face, she threw out a casual warning instead. “The town tow truck should be along any minute. The garage owner, Rufus, lives out this way-he’ll get my baby going.”

“I sure wish we could help you, but I’m not much good under the hood. Sure is a pretty car, though. Fifty-nine Impala, right? A real classic.”

She ignored his comment, or missed it. Obviously not a car guy, though she could imagine what he could do with those big strong hands. “She’s almost brand new-I’ll have it paid for come February. Cars are just so expensive these days. I do like the smell of a new car though-I just had to have her. That’s why I can’t understand why it just died. Anyway, thanks for your concern. I’m sure Rufus will give me a tow.”

Debra moved to crank up her side window, but the biker shoved his hand through the crack, stopping her. When she looked up, nervous anger leaking across her face, he smiled down at her, indicating he wasn’t through talking. Debra got the distinct feeling he was looking right down her blouse. He could probably see her slip, her bra, maybe even her boobs. Her face blazed almost as red as her long hair.

“Look, I'm sorry Miss…?"

"Debra. Debra Primm. And you're right-it is Miss."

"Look, the thing is, you shouldn’t be waiting alone out here. Things happen around here-on this road, on this hill-after dark. Bad things. Now, it’s freezing out here, and with this sleet, it’s kind of dangerous. We almost got in a bad skid coming up this hill. Chrissie-that’s my girl-is really frightened of riding in this weather, and we’re both pretty darned cold. Maybe we could wait with you-inside-until the tow truck comes. I’ll try my cell. Give them a call and hurry that old buzzard on his way. That be okay with you, Miss Primm?”

“Cell? Debra-please call me Debra or Debbie. Yeah, come in, I can see your girlfriend is really miserable with the cold. Come in and wait with me. I’d like that.”

She unlocked the Chevy, and let them in. Chrissie- Christine, she’d introduced herself-scooted into the back seat while her boyfriend, Mark, lingered in the sleet, trying to raise the garage on his cell phone. Finally, he too scooted inside, tossing Debra’s suit jacket into the back seat and sliding across the broad front bench seat almost into Debra’s lap. He shook his head, spraying them both with icy spray, saying he couldn’t get through, his cell claiming there was no service, because of the hill, the weather, or something. He guessed they’d all just wait. Debra tried the engine, wanting to heat up the inside. Both she and Chrissie were shivering. She wished she hadn’t worn her thin sleeveless blouse but felt funny about asking Mark to retrieve her jacket.

Looking at Chrissie, seeing the tips of her large breasts poking out the thin fabric of her lacy thingy, she suspected she must look the same. Risking a quick glance at Mark, she noticed his eyes weren’t exactly on her face. Embarrassed, she felt anger blaze across her face, accompanied by something else. Desire. He was really hot.

They stumbled through a brace of awkward moments. Debra learned that both Mark and Chrissie were off-islanders, vacationing tourists. They were staying with Christine’s cousin, out near Wolf Head light. Fingering the little plastic name tag pinned to Debra’s suit jacket, Mark noticed she was a real estate agent for Ocean view Realty.

Debra Primm. Their star agent, one of three women.

Trying to keep the stuttering conversation going, Debra mentioned she’d just finished showing a farmhouse out on Sweet Bottom Road when the Impala died. The old Whateley place.

Hearing that, Chrissie made a funny face, saying she had seen the farmhouse, but her cousin had commented it was owned by a school teacher named Rodriguez.

Her cousin’s kid had her in class at Constance Paine Elementary.

After that, the silence in the car began to fester. Debra had never heard of anyone on the island named Rodriguez, much less an owner of the house she was trying to sell. Yet Chrissie seemed certain. Why would she lie?

At last the sleet seemed to slacken, and Mark decided to take a look under the hood after all. The tow truck guy was taking an awful long time coming. There were a few awkward moments when he asked Deb to pop the Impala’s hood. She offered him her flashlight before she realized she was sitting on it. Squirming aside so he could reach it, she noticed two of her blouse buttons had popped open, baring the lacy edge to her slip and the swell of her pale breasts. Mark retrieved the flashlight, but in sitting up, lost his balance and tumbled into Debbie. She was sure his hand grazed her breast before he regained his balance. She couldn’t have imagined his strong fingers pattering across her nipple-she’d felt him right through the thin crepe blouse. It couldn’t be her suppressed desire-could it?

“Got it! Thanks.” Without another word, he was out of the car, whistling Orinoco Flow as he strolled towards the engine.

Flustered, Debra sat staring forward, enjoying the male eye candy moving around in front of her car as she wondered what had happened-what she should do.

“He’ll do you, if you want. Just ask him.”

“What? What did you say, Chrissie?”

“You heard me. I know you want to.” Sighing heavily, Christine positioned herself directly behind Debbie, letting her long fingers skitter spider-like over the top of the front seat. “I said Mark will fuck you-you know you want him to. You’re a pretty hot lady yourself-in spite of the frumpy clothes. He’ll love it. He can’t fix shit on cars. He’ll be back in a minute-then we’ll ask him. He'll be frozen stiff and we'll need to warm him up anyway. I know you want him-I can see it in your eyes, Debbie. He’ll waggle his dipstick and check your oil. It is what you want, right, Deb?”

“How can you talk like that about your boyfriend? You should be ashamed, young lady. I figured you for lovers.”

“Don’t you young lady me. Christ, you’re only-what-about twenty-five? I’m nineteen-and a half. And yeah, we’re lovers. Since high school. Fairhaven High School. Blue Devils-rah, rah, rah. Don't worry about it. I don’t mind, really. It’s been a long time since I let him.”

“But what’ll you do? You can’t stand outside in the sleet while we-not that I’m saying I want to. But you can’t just-watch.”

“I don’t intend to, Debbie.” Chrissie’s hands did snake down the back of the bench seat then and slither onto Debbie’s silky shoulders, wriggling on down to touch her breasts. “Mark isn’t the only one you turn on, sweetie. Haven’t you ever heard of a threesome?”

Debbie thought she should protest-that would be the lady-like thing to do, even though her heart was racing with the thought of having Mark’s strong thighs thrusting between her legs. Debbie meant to, but then Chrissie’s lips engulfed her own, as her pale fingers unbuttoned her blouse, shoved aside her lingerie straps and began kneading her soft breasts.

“Markie babe is taking a while playing his little mechanic-game. Let’s get you all primed and greased for him, Debbie dear. I know I’m well oiled just thinking about it.”

The icy rain made sure Mark didn't monkey around under the hood too long. As he slid back into the car, he noticed two horny partly undressed ladies watching his every move.

"Sorry, Debbie, I couldn't find your problem."

"Don't you worry about that, Mark, baby." Chrissie giggled. Her partly closed blue eyes drifted down his body as though she might peel away his clothes just by staring. A glance toward the horny real estate woman revealed her watching him with only slightly less obvious lust. "Get your little ass in here, honey, out of the cold. You must be freezing to death. Don't worry about the damned car. Debbie and me-well, we discovered she's got a more immediate problem for you to fix. We found this dark wet hole needs plugging."

"Maybe he doesn't want to, Christine. We really shouldn't force him." Debra blushed, suddenly very aware that her breasts were flaunting themselves, all but popping out of her half-unbuttoned blouse. "After all, you don't really know me."

"Nonsense. I know my Markie-he'd love to. Didn't slow me down. I don't know you, and you and me been sucking face the whole time he was out there freezing his balls off. I told you he'd love to, Debbie-ain't that so, Mark?" Her fingers still playing inside Debra's dainty blouse, Chrissie twisted around to beam at her boyfriend. The lipstick smears decorating Chrissie's face proved that Miss Primm wasn't all frigid prude.

"I'm filthy, Chrissie. Got grease and oil all over my shirt and hands. Your Miss Primm isn't going to want me touching her. But I will watch."

"Men can be so dense. Take the damned shirt off, sugar bum." Looking exasperated with her man, Chrissie crossed her arms under her heavy breasts, pulling her lacy chemise tight across her large rigid nipples. "Maybe you should take your blouse off too, Debbie. It looks expensive and my Mark can be a bit of an animal."

As he removed his dirty shirt, Mark noticed an almost perfect lipstick imprint of Debra's lips marring the yellow silk at one of Chrissie's breasts. Apparently, Debra Primm had no hang-ups about making out with other women. Cool-if she didn't want him to touch her cause of his dirty fingers, he could always just lay back and watch. He was warming up just thinking about it.

It kind of looked like that was going to be the case-as he watched, she buttoned up most of her blouse. Damn. Too bad; she appeared to have really nice breasts-a bit smaller than Chrissie's jugs, but by no means small. Real pretty face too. He was disappointed-he'd been hoping to look at those big green eyes staring back at him as she sucked on his throbbing wang.

"Actually, Mark, I'm not worried about the car. I'm sure the tow truck or one of Chief De Costa's officers will be along any time. Likewise, I'm not worried about your dirty hands. In fact, if you don't think it too weird of me, I was kind of hoping you and Chrissie could help me live out a little fantasy I have." As she talked, Debra Primm lowered her face seductively, her large emerald eyes riveted to the swelling bulge between Mark's thighs. Although the image she cultivated announced she was a proper lady, her burning gaze screamed she was anything but. "I've always wondered what it 108

would be like to be taken against my will. To be completely at the mercy of a handsome stranger and fucked silly. Will you, Mark-fuck me without mercy?"

Mark allowed a nasty grin to ooze across his handsome face. "You'd better listen to Chrissie and take off that pretty blouse, Debbie. Your slip and bra too, if they're nice."

"Why don't you take them off me, you brute. Pretend I'm completely at your mercy."

Mark backed out of the car then, ordering Chrissie to slip over the seat top and stay up front. As he got back in, scooting himself across the Impala's wide back seat, Debbie indulged herself in watching the graceful movements of his broad tanned chest, his well defined six-pack, and just a hint of paler narrow hips as he undid the front of his jeans and let them slither lower on his torso. Catching her ogling stare, he pumped his muscular arm, watching her wonder about the lurid skull and crossbones riding his biceps. Suddenly, his thick forearms shot out, snaring her thin wrists, and beginning to drag her across the seat back towards the rear seat. "Chrissie, grab her ankles and give her ass a shove. I want this bitch in the back seat with me." Switching his attention, Mark glared at Debra, letting his face split in a wide feral grin. "Okay, Miss Primm. It's play time. Just the way you want it."

Trapped across the top of the front seat, held by ankles and wrist, Debra wished she'd remembered the old adage, Be careful what you wish for. This didn't feel like play-acting. Mark managed to pin both her wrists with one hand while tearing at her blouse with the other. With pearly buttons popping, he wrenched open her blouse and began tugging at her lacy underthings. Good Lord, he's got a knife! Grabbing her lacy Bali bra, he snipped each of the ribbon straps and then deftly sliced the bra apart between the 109

lacy cups. A few moments of brutal tugging and it was gone, her full breasts almost bare beneath her flimsy slip. She sputtered at him, begging him to be a little less rough, slow down a bit, let her enjoy it. But by then he was into her silk panties, shoving them aside, tearing them away.

When he rammed into her it was like somebody had shoved a hot railroad spike up her pussy. Debbie screamed. He came almost right away, his thick cum scalding like liquid fire. Debra felt like she'd been brutally violated by a wild beast; she wished she'd kept her fantasy to herself, and asked him to be gentle.

And like that, he was. He rode her like the sweetest of lovers, massaging the inside of her arms, her breasts, kissing her lips as he went. His hesitant tongue was almost polite, insistent but gentle as a lover's. At some point, Debra felt herself gently lowered onto her back seat, her perfect lover lowering himself quietly on top of her, smiling. Chrissie was in the back seat now too, cradling Debra's head, kissing her face, her lips, her breasts. Her soft slender hands were everywhere, treating plain body parts with the same intimate caressing as Debra's most tender spots. As she leaned across Debbie's torso to tongue her exposed navel, she brushed aside Mark's shaggy hair and whispered in his ear, "Do you think she remembers? Do you think any of it was brutally-familiar?"

Looking up from between Debbie's thighs, Mark shook his head as he let his callused fingers rub and tweak Debra's nipples to perky peaks. "Merciful God, no. She called it her fantasy, didn't she? Besides, she's looking forward to Rufus and the tow truck showing up. Let's just give the poor woman a few moments of pleasure, okay Chrissie?"

Chrissie would have answered her lover, but Debbie and she were busily dancing with tongues. Clothes were either tossed or shoved aside, fingers and other appendages gently probing the hills and valleys of three entwined bodies. Mark and Chrissie kissed and fondled, but centered most of their passionate indulgence on their new partner, eager to be the compassionate lovers Debbie never seemed to find. They created slow harmonizing love, caressing Debra with warm tongues and gentle fingers, eagerly hoping to bring a relaxed moment of peace along with their sultry compassion.

Both knew making slow continuous love with the quiet calmness of gently rolling waves could not last. Mark was the first to notice a change in the actinic atmosphere inside the moist Impala, sensing that Debra suddenly craved something more like a raging tempest. Sensing it too, Christine let her fingers fondle each of Debra's swollen nipples while she bathed Debbie's lips, throat and breasts with passion-filled fire.

She noticed Mark beginning to rumble around, moving willingly as her lover shoved her to one side, positioning himself for deeper penetration with his intended partner. Debbie lay back, quietly waiting and watching, lusty hunger blazing in her eyes.

Mark felt himself devoured; the woman's green-eyed stare sweeping down his buff body, wolfing everything down.

Debra smiled, approval hot across her features. Mark had a ruggedly handsome face, a broad lightly-haired glistening chest, broad shoulders cresting powerful arms rippling with just enough well-defined muscle. She drank in his narrow waist and hips, small jutting ass, and then centered her attention on his bulging crotch. If she closed her eyes, he'd be her perfect fantasy lover. But there was simply no way she was going to stop looking-he was just such delightful eye-candy to watch…and to feel!

Debbie's eyes widened as her would-be lover seemed to swell an extra inch or two before her eyes, his blood-gorged prick pointing at her with a distinctly starboard list. Suddenly the time for study was done. Mark rocked towards her, plunging his rock-hard blade into her waiting wet wound. Again and again he stabbed, at last bringing long howling screams bursting from Miss Primm's throat as she melted in a pleasure she'd never known before.

The three lovers' limbs flowed through their entanglement until each had found a new hole or partner to adore. Mark and Chrissie coupled at last, practiced partners dancing gracefully to a familiar tune they knew so well. Their eager hands and lips invited Debbie into their embrace, each finding a tender morsel soft and raw they could kiss, suck, or nip. The old car's windows had long since steamed up with the spent energy of their passion, and had Rufus crested the hill at that moment with his rescuing tow truck, none would have known or cared.

Too soon Debra's fingers tapped on Chrissie's shoulder, signaling an end to the dance; a time to change partners. Christine smiled and kissed the shy woman, letting her left hand caress Debra's thumping bare breast, while with her right she gently tugged her man by his drenched prick toward a fresh eager hole. Without missing a beat, the wintry evening's music thundered on, the three dance partners improvising fresh exciting steps when the familiar began to bore. Finally, Debra rocked back on her damp behind, panting, a contented smile chiseled on her glistening face, physical exhaustion plain in her huge green eyes.

"You guys are the best. God, I've never felt so truly, happily…fucked. Thank you-thank you both. You're my guardian angels! I'll never forget you."

At that, the two bikers looked at each other, knowing. Smiling, they winked at each other, but said nothing.

"I've really enjoyed this Mark…Chrissie. But God, I'm so tired…and kind of sore.

Besides, the sleet's stopped-quite a while ago I imagine-and I'll bet you both have some place you've simply got to be. If you don't mind, could you use your… cell phone when you get service and call the police or Rufus with that damned tow truck? I'd be most thankful. And if you ever tie the knot and want to move here, look me up. I'll give you a great deal on a house. Promise."

The bikers had both looked at each other again when Debbie mentioned someplace they had to be. Their stares seemed less jovial now, more resigned. When she mentioned calling the tow truck, Mark couldn't help but mumble under his breath that damned Rufus was already on his way. Knowing what was coming, he looked at Debra, thinking he might tell her to lock her car doors, or better yet, run. Resigned to the inevitable, he said they'd make the call. They smiled at Debra, kissed her and got ready to leave. If their smiles seemed a little wan, their kisses a little cold, Debbie didn't seem to notice. For that one moment, she felt…loved. If only it could have lasted.

The two biker lovers left her then and crunched across the still frozen ground to their waiting Harley. Chrissie looked back at the dead Chevy, watching the woman inside dress by the feeble dome light. She shook her head and chased after her hulking man, threading her slender gloved hand around his leather clad waist. Mark looked down at Chrissie, smiling warmly at his girlfriend. "You done good, babe. You're really starting to get the hang of this. First time you actually seemed to be enjoying yourself."

“It was fun. Once she got over her shy prudishness, she was a good lover-

really started to turn me on. I liked her. She was a really nice lady. I feel really bad now that we're going. Are you sure she won't suspect what's to come?”

“Nah, they never seem to remember. None of the others did.” Mark was busy scratching another notch into his black leather belt. He looked back at the big Impala, watching the pretty woman inside redressing herself. He thought about the newspaper article he'd seen as a kid, the lurid details of what was yet to come this night. Rufus and his tow truck were on their way all right, but what he brought was far from relief and a restarted car. His passengers were common visitors to this infernal hill, the twin specters of misery and death. He took another look at Debra Primm's Chevy, wishing there was more that he could do. Through her partly open window, he could smell her perfume and hear her singing happily to herself.

“Glad to be of service, Miss Primm,” he mumbled to the frosty night air, just as the pristinely new Impala and its driver flickered, faded and winked out of sight. “Always a pleasure to lay a ghost to rest.” Turning to Chrissie, he watched as his girlfriend put on her cracked helmet, yanking the chin strap tight. She was so sweet-he loved her so much. He hoped what he felt, all this love, would last forever.

“Debra makes three-she was by far the best. Hard to believe this hill has claimed so many lives and the police have never done anything about it. I remember reading about Miss Primm’s gruesome murder at your cousin's house. That Rufus was a monster! This damned hill is one dangerous place.”

“I’ll say. Be careful, okay, Mark? Remember that nasty skid we got into coming up the hill? That could have been really bad, lover.”

“Like I could ever forget it. Sleet’s stopped. Let’s hit the road-it’s getting late.”

The two bikers got on the big chromed-out black Harley with the ghostly blue flaming skull howling from the head of the gas tank. Mark brought the big beast to life with a snarl, eager and ready as a fiery steed from hell. As it off with a throaty roar, Chrissie wrapped her slender arms around her lover's muscular torso, holding on for dear life.

The Harley roared back up the hill toward town, and then disappeared over the hill. Mark eased on down the road, only picking up speed when the frosty pavement seemed to clear. Suddenly, Mark hit an unseen patch of black ice trickling across the cracked road, going into a bad skid before he could do anything. Chrissie screamed as Mark wrestled the big Harley for control. Losing the battle to keep the big beast upright, Mark’s curse and deeper scream joined Chrissie’s.

She went down first, her helmet cracking and bouncing off, her broken body scraped raw and shattered before she’d slid thirty yards. Dead. Blessedly, dead. Mark stayed with the bike until the end, riding his well-loved hog right into the massive oak.

Bike and rider exploded on impact with the old dead tree, yet nothing lit up the sky, no loud whoosh or roar shattered the quiet.

The night stayed silent as the grave. Crunched Harley and torn bikers simply winked out and disappeared. Forgotten ghosts. Again. Break Neck Hill had fed and grown quiet. Sleeping. Waiting.