Searching for Sheila Ch. 02

"Yes?"

"There's absolutely nothing wrong with your butt."

Angel laughed, wiggled her fanny and blew Tobe a kiss. He closed the door, still hearing the click of her high heels. He went to the window and watched her get in. The car's overhead light came on for a second and Tobe caught a glimpse of Angel's savior. He had short light hair and broad shoulders and he did not look back as he took Angel away into the night.

II.

Tobe followed the limo all night. It was as long and black as a string of bad luck. It led him through the twisting streets of Piedmont and then out on dark country roads. Several times he got close and Sheila would look out the back window and laugh at him. Somehow her laughter echoed in his head, daring him on. After what seemed hours and interminable miles, the limo stopped behind what appeared to be an abandoned factory. He ran to the car and looked in as Sheila lay across the lap of the big faceless man called Pharaoh. She opened his slacks and took his large, thick cock into her mouth, stretching her lips so wide her face became distorted. But she sucked Pharaoh with abandon, keeping her wide, taunting eyes on Tobe watching helplessly outside. He pounded on the window, screaming words he himself could not understand. His screaming was lost in the dissonant bleeps of the car's alarm, which in turn became the hushed beeps of the alarm in his watch. He sat up, called Sheila's name, and let the fading traces of the dream disappear into the dim corners of the motel room.

His watch said 2:30 a.m. It was time. Tobe went to the shower and let cold water trickle over his head and upper body. Without drying, he dressed, took a .38 out of the back pack, checked its rounds and went to his truck. He went south on the old highway he had come in on, and after some miles, came upon the gated factory he had passed the afternoon before. He turned around and in about a mile found an unmarked service road.

He killed the lights and ambled through a couple of empty fields, coming out on the edge of a woods of thick trees. He pulled off the barely paved road, spotting the rear gate of the factory through the trees. For a moment he thought he was back in the dream. Tobe slid open the door of the truck and took out a long- handled flashlight, metal clippers and a crowbar, sticking the .38 in his belt. He scaled the fence, clipping the strand of barbed-wired at the top. Around one corner of the building he found a set of double doors which appeared to be a delivery entrance to the factory's cafeteria. After several tries, he wrenched the doors apart with the crowbar, sending out a grinding sound into the night. He waited for any reaction. I shouldn't be making so damn much noise, Tobe thought. But he was finally taking some action, and he didn't care. He entered, pulled the doors closed behind him and let the inside darkness shroud him for a few moments. He thought: Well, Sheila, I guess the search starts here and now.

In the flashlight beam, the kitchen looked large, shiny and well-equipped The commercial sized refrigerator had little in it, but the walk-in pantry was well stocked. Through a pair of tall, bronze swinging doors brought Tobe into a spacious dining room full of heavy glass-topped tables and dark brown padded chairs on rollers. An imposing dark mahogany bar ran the length of one side of the room with many long-legged stools lined up before it. At the far end of the room was a large stage with poles from floor to ceiling and built-in lighting equipment. Tobe didn't need to guess what the entertainment would consist of. He ran the flashlight around the walls revealing large black and white framed photos of men and women, and women and women, in various sexual positions.

Tobe walked through the dining room and came out into a large foyer with a wide carpeted staircase to the left. He mounted the steps to a dark-paneled hallway which ended on his right with a tall, thick door designed to resemble a medieval castle portal complete with a long wrought iron key in the key hole. Over the door in olde English lettering painted in gold leaf, someone with a lopsided sense of humor had carved: Pharaoh's Good Time Torture Chamber. Down the hallway to the left were locked doors which he supposed led to rooms where guests were entertained by Pharaoh's princesses. It was all here, Tobe thought, the state's largest, most luxurious whorehouse, no doubt. But where was some sign of Sheila?

With mounting agitation, he passed the locked doors and went to the other end of the hallway and looked through a thick pane of glass in a heavy metal door. It too was locked, but Tobe could make out the lights, cords, cameras and sound recorders Pharaoh used to film the sexual exploits of his princesses. Tobe slammed his fist against the glass.

He went back downstairs to the dining room to take a closer look at the photos. All the women mounted on the walls were blond and well endowed from surgical procedures. One, who could have been Sheila (but Tobe hoped was not) was on her knees surrounded by four men offering her their stiff cocks, two of which she had stuffed in her enlarged mouth, her eyes bright with lust. A short stocky man, who could have been a member of Piedmont's City Council, Tobe supposed, stood behind the woman, his cock buried in her thick blond hair. In another photo, a blond was suspended from the ceiling by her wrists, her vertical arms obscuring her profile. Behind her was muscle-man, fucking her up her ass, and another unidentified man in her pussy. Tobe swallowed hard and made his way around the dining room. A picture at the far end showed one blond's face buried in the pussy of another. Tobe let his light play on the two women for some moments and he felt relief that neither appeared to be Sheila or Angel.

Then finally he was looking into Sheila's face. There she was in a blown-up photo at one end of the bar. Three couples looked into the camera. All the women were, of course, blond and big-titied, wearing skimpy shorts and high-heeled boots. Tobe recognized all three men -- Pharaoh, still in dark glasses, and hairy-man and muscle-man. Pharaoh was on the left, a possessive arm around Sheila, his hand on her breast. But it was the building they were standing in front of that held Tobe's focus. A vertical sign read: B

R

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Tobe's eyes went to the window just left of the letters R-U-N-S. The unforgettable image of Sheila fucking on the bed burst into his head, and then the image of the window with those three blinking pink letters. This was it -- the place where the video had been shot, the window to the room where his wife had wantonly given herself to these three men in the photo. A cold sweat wet Tobe's forehead. He had to brace himself against the wall with one hand.

Perhaps part of him was hoping he would find no trace of Sheila here, that his trip to Piedmont would have been for nothing; that he could return home feeling justified that he had done all he could have done; and, knowing that, he could rid himself of her forever. But now none of that was possible. The trail to Sheila was marked with this picture. Should he follow it? Did he want to? Was it his duty?

He brought the light to Sheila's face, looking for the features of the wife who had disappeared from his life so many months ago. She was looking at the camera, and at him, almost defiantly, like in the dream, seeming to glory in this gangster fondling her body, daring the world to judge her or him. Her eyes held no warmth and her smile was tight and humorless. Redding was right. The woman in this picture was not the woman he had married, not the woman he had fallen in love with. So what was the use of continuing this search for Sheila? He suddenly wanted to leave this place and never look back.

Tobe took a step away from the photo and started to turn. He heard a footstep and felt something small and hard stab him in the back. He knew instantly it was a gun barrel. His hand went to the .38 in his belt and froze as a voice hard as slate said,"Don't be stupid. Lanscott!"

To be continued...