Chapter Five - The Warehouse

Kathy put the car in gear and eased out onto the road. Stein sat back and closed his eyes. They drove in silence for several minutes. A soft rain began to fall. She remembered the day when she met Stein at Harry’s Bar in Hawthorne. It was an afternoon much like this one.

“You must be tired after such an eventful morning,” Stein said. “If you wish, you may stay the night at my place.”

She did not answer for a long while. Finally, without taking her eyes from the road she said, “Thank you, Mr. Stein.”

He dozed beside her, waking soon after they’d passed through Claremont. “Look for Sconzo’s Wrecking,” he said. “It will be on your left. Then take the next left after that. It’s an old dirt road that dead-ends at the mine. I’m the only one who uses it now.”

Sconzo’s was a ramshackle wooden garage, which in better days, had been a gas station. Behind it were scattered the rusting bodies of wrecked cars. “Vinnie Sconzo is my only neighbor,” Stein said. “In fact, this is his car. He let me borrow it today.” The garage looked empty but the front window was so dirty she couldn’t be sure. Stein glanced over at her and smiled. “Mr. Sconzo knew how anxious I was to pay my last respects to an old and dear friend. Isn’t that how you introduced me to your late husband’s parents?”

She felt the tears coming to her eyes but held them back. “Yes,” she said.

“Go easy here,” Stein cautioned. “The road is hard to see.” He leaned forward peering through the rain. “Poor Vinnie is burdened with a retarded son. I let the boy work for me and he stays at my place so Vinnie owes me lots of favors.” He pointed ahead and gestured, “There.”

She had slowed down but almost missed the turn anyway. The narrow road twisted, and the old Chrysler lurched through the potholes. “I understand there’s a good deal of evidence to suggest that the airline was at fault,” Stein said.

“I don’t know,” she answered, easing the car out of a rut.

“You mean you’re not going to sue?”

“I hadn’t thought of it.” She was afraid the irritation was noticeable in her voice.

“Well, Mrs. Ryan, you should think of it. You could be in for as much as five million.”

“I’m not interested in the money,” she said. Up ahead she could make out the warehouse, a large rectangle of corrugated steel, dark gray against the barren hillside.

“I think you ought to be interested,” Stein had turned in his seat to look directly at her, “for both our sakes,” he said. “Pull up next to the door at this end of the building,” he directed. “All the other doors are welded shut.”

She followed him out of the car. Beside the heavy metal door, he took out a ring of keys and opened a small steel box set into the wall. He pressed some buttons and she heard a faint clicking noise coming from the second floor, then a louder click on the other side of the box.

“You said your late husband was from Boston?” he asked, pushing open the door. She followed him.

“Yes,” she said.

“Many, many years ago I went to school there, M.I.T., electrical engineering. I designed the complicated locking system for my humble abode here. It also works from the inside.” He stepped back pointing to the narrow iron stairwell that led to the second floor. She started up, noticing that the first floor held nothing but rusted mining equipment.

Stein was behind her. “Tell me, Mrs. Ryan, under your jacket and skirt are you naked?”

She could feel her face redden. “Yes,” she said.

“Say it,” he demanded, “say that you are naked and why.”

“Under my skirt and jacket I am naked, Mr. Stein, because...because you asked me to remove my bra and pantyhose.”

“Did you want to do that for me?”

“Yes, I wanted to do it for you,” she said.

At the top of the stairs was another steel door. Neither it nor the one on the first level had handles or windows. “I unlocked it from below,” Stein said, “just push.” Inside was a dimly lit passageway at least a hundred feet long. On her left was a windowless outside wall. Ahead was what seemed to be a large open space. “Down there,” he said, pointing to the end of the passageway. Her heels clicked on the bare concrete floor. To her right was a series of four doors spaced at equal intervals.

“Storage,” he said, as they passed the first door. “The second is for my hobbies and next is the pet room.” He took her by the arm. “Would you like to see your little playmates?” He inserted a key in the lock.

“No,” she said, pulling back. “Please, Mr. Stein, no more.”

“Of course, you’re tired. So am I.” They passed the fourth door. “And this is Richie’s room, Vinnie’s son. He will be along later. I think you might take to Richie,” Stein chuckled. “He’s probably just a few years younger than you, I would guess. He certainly will be impressed by your intelligence and charm.” The hallway opened into a room about fifty feet square. There were no windows. Kathy wondered how he ever knew what kind of day it was. The air smelled greasy, like fried onions. But in spite of the humid weather, the high ceilinged room felt cool.

To her right there was a kitchen sink and some cupboards along with a thick round table and several mismatched chairs. To the right of the stove stood a metal partition. The open door revealed a sink and toilet. In the far corner of the main room were a huge unmade bed and several old chests. Before them was an area which contained a soiled maroon couch and a large vinyl chair with a hassock. There was also a television set and, beside the chair, a large wooden desk. A few dirty rugs were scattered about, but most of the floor was bare concrete. Two large steel columns supported the ceiling beam. She noticed eye-bolts about ten feet up on either side of the column. She was surprised to see several small TV cameras suspended from the ceiling. Also, in front of Stein’s chair, a TV monitor hung down from the ceiling.

On the floor, near the center of the room, was a large foam rubber pad and on it stood what looked like a big nail keg, heavily padded on the top and sides. The keg rested in a metal cradle, which stood on four angle-iron legs, the pair at the front shorter than those at the back. These supports were anchored to the floor and welded to the base of each leg was an eye bolt similar to those in the column.

Stein had lowered himself into his chair and propped his feet up on the hassock. “I’d like a beer, Mrs. Ryan. The refrigerator is over there.” He pointed. “And bring a glass.” She went to the kitchen area, found a bottle of Iron City, opened it and set it, along with a glass, on the desk beside his chair. Stein looked up at her. “I think you should go to the bathroom and freshen up,” he said. “Do you have your lipstick?”

“Yes, here in my purse.”

“Use it. You have a nice mouth.” She crossed to the bathroom. “Leave the door open,” he called. “No matter what you do in the bathroom, leave the door open. In my house, you have no privacy, none at all.” She did not close the door.

“I’m not accustomed to waiting around in cemeteries all morning. My feet are hot and tired,” he called to her. She had to urinate. He did not look in her direction. She splashed her face with cold water and applied fresh lipstick. “Do you remember,” he asked, “how you made me comfortable on the night of our meeting in your house?”

“Yes, I remember,” she answered, crossing the room to stand before him. She experienced, just as she had on that night, the sinking sensation in her stomach. He smiled up at her. His beady eyes stared into hers, and then he slowly raised his pudgy hand and with a blunt forefinger he pointed to the floor.

She got down on her knees. Against her bare skin, the cement floor was cold and gritty. She began to untie his laces. He wore the same black shoes as before, dirty and cracked. “Ahhh, yes,” he sighed, leaning back. She rolled down his socks and carefully slipped them over his heels and slid them off. His small white feet were warm and damp. As before, mixed with the fetid odor was the smell of baby powder. He smiled slightly, his eyes closed. “Mrs. Ryan,” he said, “what were you doing at eleven o’clock this morning?”

She stared at his small fat toes, not looking up at him. “I was attending the funeral of my husband.”

“I see. And did you love your husband very much?”

“Yes, I did. I loved him very much.” She swallowed, holding back the tears.

“And am I at least partially responsible for his death?”

It was several moments before she could answer. “Yes, Mr. Stein, you are.”

He opened his eyes and peered at his watch. “It is one o’clock, just two hours after your husband’s funeral. What are you doing now, Mrs. Ryan?”

“This,” she said. She quickly wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. Then, she bent over his toes and tenderly pressed her soft mouth to them.

He closed his eyes again and smiled, “Yes, Mrs. Ryan, on your knees to kiss the feet of your husband’s murderer. Penance, Mrs. Ryan. You need that, don’t you?”

For an answer, she lifted his other foot to her lips.

“A few more questions, after you unbutton your jacket.” She fumbled with the button. Her jacket fell open. With his eyes still closed, he motioned for her to lean forward. He pressed his right foot against her breasts. His toes were almost even with her chin. “Mrs. Ryan,” he said quietly, “do you know what it means to French?”

“Yes,” she looked up at him, her arms at her sides.

“Would you explain?”

“You put your tongue...” she began.

“Ahhh, the tongue,” he interrupted, “a remarkably sensitive instrument. I seem to recall that you use yours extremely well.” She looked down at his foot resting lightly against her breasts. “Your tongue, Mrs. Ryan,” he said softly.

She could feel the sticky wetness between her legs. The pressure against her breasts increased slightly. She held his foot in both hands and bent her head down to it. She sucked his toes as if they were tiny cocks. Her pink tongue slid over and around each of them. “Between, Mrs. Ryan, lick between.” And she did.

“Good, Mrs. Ryan,” he said. “You have a loving mouth.”

She licked and sucked the toes of one foot, then the other. When she finished, she removed her jacket and dried his feet with it.

“Exquisite, Mrs. Ryan.” He placed his feet on the floor and looked down at her. “We will have to indulge ourselves in that delightful way more often.”

A ringing bell startled her. Quickly she put on her jacket and buttoned it. “That will be Richie,” he switched on the TV monitor above his head. “Yes,” he said, “it’s Richie.” He pushed some buttons on the side of his desk. She heard the metallic clicking of both doors, then someone climbing the stairs and shuffling, it seemed, down the hall. Both she and Stein waited.