Chapter Four

Midnight Misdeeds.

Judge Harold J. Hudson leaped to the cabin door and threw it open. "You promised to stay in your cabin. What will everyone think?" he whispered angrily. Her outthrust breasts brushed his nylon pajamas as she sidled past him into the room.

"Everyone who?" she asked reasonably. "There’s no one out there. They’re all watching TV, ’n we’ll be gone tomorrow. At least you will be. And I didn’t promise; you did. I brought you some beer as a peace offering." She pouted childishly. "An’ don’t get any ideas."

"What do you mean?" asked the Judge, taken aback.

"Well, you haven’t agreed to ride me tomorrow, have you? And you can consider this nighty made of iron and welded on. It’s a gift from Michael, so don’t despoil it. See how it stands out? That’s supposed to display my assets temptingly." She whirled around so that the extended camisole lifted to display much more than the Judge cared to see. "Don’t it? Now are you jealous?" she challenged.

Puzzled, he then recalled that while in his own mind he had worked out all the travel alternatives and rejected them, he most likely had never discussed them with her. He assumed that she would accept whatever he decided. Although he had decided that she could make it from Lamar to Reno perfectly well on her own, if he helped her rent another car, he had not bothered to mention that conclusion to her.

"Sit down and we’ll discuss it," he invited, imprudently seating himself in the only chair. "Tell me what you’d like to do."

Instead of seating herself demurely on the edge of the bed as he hoped or sprawling on it as he expected, the girl waited until he was seated, then slipped smoothly onto his lap, leaning her body heavily against him.

"Okay, let’s discuss," she ordered.

The warm little-girl scent of her body struck the Judge more powerfully than a dash of heady perfume, sending his pulse rate soaring.

"I would not let even my daughter, undressed as you are, sit in my lap," objected the Judge. "I can’t discuss like this."

"You’re just being mean," she objected. "You don’t like me." Tears began to well in her eyes.

"Miss... Betty Ruth," he asked carefully, "are you listening?"

"Of course. I always listen to you, Mister Hudson," she answered demurely.

Whatever god protects well-meaning fools, protect me now, prayed the good Judge. "Listen carefully now. I like you. I think you are a fine person. But again, my children are older than you. That does not make you a child, but people simply would not understand. Your parents would not understand. My parents would not understand. My children would not understand."

"They would, too," she interrupted.

"If snoopers went around saying that they saw a nearly naked sexy young woman sitting on Judge Hudson’s lap in a motel room, can’t you understand how that would mistaken?"

"Do you really think I’m sexy?" She wriggled her little bottom in his lap. "Are you really a Judge?"

"Yes I do. I am, or was, a respected Judge before this adventure; and now will you please get up? Are you sure you are old enough to drink that?"

"Of course I’m old enough. Now, about tomorrow. Oh, I like this show." She turned partially to better see the TV set, causing a readjustment of her body and costume and a halt in Judge Hal’s thinking process. "Okay, let’s talk. You talk, I’ll listen." She took a long pull at the beer, coughed, patted herself briskly on the chest, with nearly disastrous results for the baby-doll. "Ohhh. I always forget about the bubbles," she giggled.

In near desperation, Judge Harold J. Hudson began explaining his thoughts about her situation, while she sipped at the beer and pretended to watch the television set.

"The remoteness of this rural city, the uncertainty of bus schedules..." the warm scent of her scrubbed, unperfumed body wafted to his nostrils, more tempting than all her girlish flirtations "...and your limited supply of cash..." the girl settled her body more firmly abainst his... "you cannot afford to rent a car to drive all the way to Reno, and you would need to get to Grand Junction to catch the Reno train." She stirred, folding her legs onto his lap. "I admit I am somewhat uneasy with leaving you on this remote highway. So I guess you had better come with us, that is with me, at least as far as Pueblo, where we should be able to find a bus to Grand Junction or Reno." A remote part of his brain clamored that this was not what he had so carefully and logically reasoned out beforehand.

There was no response from the girl. She had fallen asleep in his lap.

The poor child’s probably exhausted, said Judge Hal to himself. Just because she looked grown up didn’t mean she was. He felt flattered that someone trusted him, relied on him. Mostly he felt pleased that a young woman would trust him enough to show up in her ‘nighty’, without worrying about her honor. He also felt a little disappointed. Maybe she didn’t have much honor to worry about, or more likely she thought he was too old and infirm to threaten her honor.

Privately, when the Judge was not reminded of his age, he considered himself still youthful. In his mind, the years between 25 and 50 were phantom years; they existed, and yet had not really registered. As his tired eyes wandered over the sleeping body, his brain did not really accept that she was half his age. She resembled, more closely than he liked to admit, the college girls he had lusted after a short 25 years ago. Curious, he lectured himself. Perhaps none of us ever really grow old in our minds. She was so young, so pretty, and so vulnerable. She smelled faintly of lilacs and an undefinable feminity.

He returned to reading the book, adjusting around her body, soft and pleasant in sleep.

Once the TV sitcom ended he tried unsuccessfully to awaken her. With a sigh of tired patience, he pried the nearly full beer can from her hand, slipped an arm under her smooth, cool thighs, another around her back, and essayed to lift her from his lap.

He rose, surprised at how little she weighed, automatically reacting to the cool soft thigh against his palm. As he gently deposited her on the bed, she curled on her side. The hem-stay lifted the thin baby-doll camisole, creating a one-ended tent within which her navel and breasts were fetchingly displayed. The Judge tossed a corner of the coverlet over her, effectively crushing the hem wire and covering the healthy young body. It was the least he could do, he told himself. He returned to his reading.

Gradually he himself grew drowsy and turned off the TV and the light, deciding to sleep in the chair. It didn’t work. The light from the neon sign and the street lamp still shone through the window covering. It had been a long day and he was too tired to sleep easily. He carefully folded the off white chenille spread over the sleeping girl and lay down on the vacant side, safely separated from her by the coverlet. He slept.

Sometime in the middle of the night he awoke with a married feeling. His wife was snuggled up to him the way she used to long ago, her head on his chest, one leg across his body. He patted her naked body familiarly, then he awoke fully. This was no wife!

The woman/child had freed herself from the coverlet and from her nighty. She now was not only on his side of the bed, but snuggled up to him, one little hand inside his pajama top and resting intimately on his chest. Her body was hot, she was breathing heavily. One thigh was casually draped across his pajamaed legs. His body was beginning to react. Hurriedly, he slid out of the bed, and stared down at her.

What could she be thinking, he pondered. Did she think that sex was part of the payment for a hitch? Was she a nymphomaniac? Or did she think that by seducing him, she would bind him to carry her to her ultimate destination?

Certainly, she could not be attempting to seduce him for his own sake. He was more than twice her age, and the face that stared back at him from the bathroom mirror was not one at which nubile young women threw themselves.

He realized that while he could fathom the devious reasoning of felons and miscreants, he had no notion of how the mind of ordinary young people, female or male, operated these days. Young women of his youth would have wrapped themselves in blankets and demanded continuous assurances of safety. Or would they have? Is it possible that he, who so sanctimoniously passed judgment on others, didn’t even understand his own peers? Judge Hal remotely recognized that staring at the curving expanse of pale, smooth flesh was awakening his libido. He tossed the cover back over her and turned away to close the gap in the window curtain, to better obscure the tempting vision.

Shadows were flitting across the parking area.

Glancing at his watch, he noted the time to be about 2:20. Very late for new arrivals. The shadows were attached to the heels of two skulking men. They darted from building to building. Vandals? Burglars? the Judge’s academic interest changed when he saw them hovering at the door to the girl’s cabin. While he debated whether to call the management or the police, they pried the door open and entered. Since the girl was safely(?) here with him, he decided to see what they would do when they found the cabin empty.

They closed the door, flashed a light about, then turned on the cabin lights. Pretty bold, thought the Judge. The lights went out and one of the men drifted out of the door. The lights stayed out after he closed the door, but the flashlight came back into play. The skulker looked about and selected the Judge’s cabin for his attention. The Judge quickly double checked the locks, and prepared to call for help. First, he again parted the curtains and saw that the skulker had disappeared, but not toward the Judge’s cabin. Possibly he wanted to check the Jaguar.

Sudden fear struck the Judge. The boot was locked of course, and the thief would probably break the lock. Or ruin the aluminum lid. Forgetting to be afraid, the Judge unbolted and unlocked the door to his cabin and rushed out, shouting, "Get away from that car!"

A dark figure detached itself from his Jaguar, and rushed behind the building. The Judge retreated to the cabin again, dancing from the gravel attached to the bottom of his bare feet and berating himself for his stupidity in challenging possibly armed thugs. He saw the skulker return to the door of the girl’s cabin and disappear inside.

By the time he had re-locked his door and resumed his spying from the window, all was quiet outside. He decided to wait until they showed themselves again before calling the authorities. He pulled the chair up to the window, opened the curtains wide, and settled down to wait, telephone at hand. The girl was sleeping soundly through it all.

Shortly after the Judge settled himself in the chair to watch, the skulkers left empty handed. All was quiet.

The Judge awoke suddenly. It was 4:00. He had drifted off to sleep. The girl was still sound asleep. He now realized how foolish his action to protect the Jaguar had been. Fully aware of the danger he was now courting, he slipped his feet into slippers, and taking both the girl’s key and his own, slipped out, letting the door latch behind him. His heart was pounding. He first checked the car, noting with anger that someone had indeed been prying at the lid to the boot. He sneaked across the parking area to the girl’s cabin, holding his breath, listening and watching all the way for signs of movement.

The door had been pried open, but was latched now. He released the stale breath, accusing himself of rank stupidity; he could asphyxiate himself if he kept forgetting to breathe. Breathing deeply and using the girl’s key, he unlatched the door and pushed it open. Nothing happened. He had been expecting something, some sort of trap, or bells. He flipped on the light switch.

There should have been bells, or better still, sirens. Police sirens. Bits and pieces of cloth were scattered throughout the room. A man lay flat on his chest across the bed, a very large and sturdy knife protruding from the middle of his back; a large amount of blood discolored his lavender shirt and the off-white chenille spread.