CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Get the hell down here, goddam you!”
The roar fills every corner, every nook and cranny of the house with a terrible sound.
“Jannnn—isss!” sounding like Brando crying for Stella, Hurst’s booming voice knocks settled nerves lose and sends the whole house scurrying.
From every corner of the disquieting place, bare feet tiptoe toward the foyer; down steps, through hallways. Doors open and eyes peek out with curiosity.
Hurst stands in the center of the foyer with a coiled rope in his hand, waiting until the figure of the buxom, black-haired Janis appears. Her flowered dress is short, the top unbuttoned and gaping, her breasts swelling to fill the open space.
“Yes, sir,” she drops to the floor at his feet, grabbing his boots in her hands, and clutching them tightly to her
