The garage hadn’t entertained him for any longer than any other part of his beat, and he hadn’t once even tried the bolt on the doors as he strolled by.
J.B. had slipped from the cover of the nearest hedge, standing still and silent at the angle of the garage, with Abe waiting as backup.
As the sec man passed the garage, something cold brushed against the front of his neck and then he was being pulled backward, with what felt like a knee rammed into the base of his spine.
“Bud,” he tried to say, his face splitting in a grin, knowing that this was one of the practical jokes that Sec Man Emmons liked to play on the single sentries at night.
But the cold had turned to fire, burning into him, choking off both the word and the smile. There was a terrible pressure that stopped him breathing. The sec man knew he should be doing something to try to escape, but he was already much too busy with the limitless preoccupations of passing from this world to emptiness.
J.B. had given a low whistle and Abe had scampered out of hiding. He opened the doors and helped to drag the fouled corpse inside, closing the doors immediately behind him.
And it was done.
“Up to the brim,” Abe reported from the rear of the big wag. “Any in the cans?”
J.B. nodded. “Plenty. Probably get us all the way back to the others. Get them loaded and I’ll scout around. And be ready for some swift action, Abe.”
RYAN KNEW THIS WASN’T going to be easy. Bessie had on her golden pumps with the high heels.
Above that was one stocking and a pair of stone-washed denim shorts that were so brief and tight they looked like they were cutting her in two. Above a red leather belt was a torn bikini top in dark blue vinyl that barely contained what she obviously imagined were her outstanding attractions.
She was a poem in moderation compared to her older, larger sister.
Cissie Torrance’s hair had been dyed since the wedding rehearsal at noon. Now it was a shrieking pink, from roots to tips, with a silvery net stretched over it. At first glance, as she swept imperiously into the bedroom, Ryan couldn’t make out what was on the net.
When she moved into the aura of light from the oil lamps, he saw that a number of insects, like praying mantises, had been sprayed gold and tethered to the net around her hair with tiny golden chains, leaving them free to move around.
Two had obviously mated recently, as the large female was busily devouring the smaller male.
Ryan winced at the morbid thought that this might turn out to be symbolic of the coming wedding.
Cissie had on a short skirt that showed her enormous thighs, dimpled and quaking. The purple satin, dappled with orange sequins, was so skimpy that it did nothing to conceal her lack of underwear. Above it there was a diaphanous blouse of transparent white chiffon.
On her feet were a pair of mid-calf laced boots in patent leather.
“We are here, dear husbands,” she cooed.
“Husbands-to-be, sister,” Bessie corrected. “Best watch the legal shit.”
“Of course. We thought we should have another little test, like before. Make sure that we’re What’s the words, sisty?”
“Comparable, I think.”
“Yeah.” Her voice hardened. “So get the pants down and your cocks up and ready. Unless you want us to call in some help.”
Trader looked across the room at Ryan. “I reckon now’s as good a time as any.”
“I reckon.”
Chapter Thirty
Ryan had figured right. It wasn’t easy.
They wanted to make enough noise to bring the sec men from the corridor outside into the room, so that they’d have a chance of disarming and overcoming them. The plan then was simply to get through the dark hallways of the old hotel to the quarters of Baron Torrance and retrieve their own blasters. Then they’d get outside to try to find the land wag they’d spotted earlier.
And away.
But they also had to make sure the women were no threat at the moment the guards came in.