I couldn’t help but look for the source of the noise, and I noticed the door to one of the shops had recently been forced. Despite the pain in my back and feet, I pushed open the door and heard scuffling and cursing in the back room of the shop so I headed towards it. As I stepped into the room, it only took one glance to see what was happening. The woman who had managed to scream was stretched out on the littered floor, her right leg pointing towards me, her left leg stretched as far the other way as it would go. Her blouse was torn leaving her breasts bare and her skirt was rucked up to her waist. Her stockings were ripped, and the gusset of her panties was in tatters exposing her shaved vulva (funny what you notice in times of stress). The remnants of her brassiere were stuffed in her mouth forming a crude gag. A man was kneeling between her legs, his erect penis in his hand preparatory to driving it into the woman’s unwilling vagina. There were three other men there, one holding. They asked me a lot of questions about myself, and of course, when talking about myself, the conversation naturally turned to the two things I love, reading books and watching football.They were Dallas fans, so obviously they were good peeps.The only question they asked me that seemed related to work was how much experience did I have?Basically none.My Spidey sense started tingling. Was I missing something? There was some silent communication going on between them. That secret talk without words that adults do when they don't want you to know something. Like when my parents say they're bushed and they're going to hit the hay but they seem pumped but they're trying to hide it.What the hell?Maybe I'm imagining it.They asked me to come back tomorrow. Okay, whatever. I guess that went well.I went right to Bevvie's door and knocked. She was eating some Pepperidge Farm milanos right out of the bag. I snagged one as I walked in."Well?" I don't know. They asked me a lot of questions about.
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