Free 1968 - An Ear to the Ground by James Hadley Chase

impatiently, ‘take me.’
    A half an hour later, Harry came out of an exhausted doze and stared up at the big, white moon. He felt as if he had been put through a wringer. Never before in his sexual life had he ever had such an experience. Making love with Lisa was like making love to a buzz saw. It had been a shattering session and Harry had hated it. When he laid a girl, he liked to be in charge.
    He liked to regulate the tempo, but he had had no chance to do anything but to submit to Lisa’s terrifying passion.
    ‘Give me a cigarette,’ she said. She had pulled down her dress and was lying placidly by his side. As he lit the cigarette for her, he was surprised to see in the flame of the lighter how relaxed she was now. The hardness had gone. As she looked at him, smiling, her eyes limpid and kind, in spite of the size of her nose, she looked beautiful.
    Not knowing what to say, still feeling torn to pieces, Harry said nothing. He lay there until Lisa had finished her cigarette, then she crushed it out into the sand and sat up.
    ‘I must get back. They’ll think I’ve had an accident or something.’ She got to her feet and walked across the sand to the car. Harry followed her. It was an effort to drag one foot after the other. He had never felt so drained out.
    As she slid under the steering wheel and as he dropped heavily into the passenger’s seat, she looked inquiringly at him.
    ‘Was it good?’ she asked.
    Harry could have said it was sheer hell, but he remembered his job. After all, he told himself, she would soon be gone.
    This was something not to be repeated, so he lied: ‘The best ever.’
    She nodded, slid into gear and sent the car roaring back along the beach road towards the lights of the City.
    Three days later when Harry had recovered his virility and had had no word from Lisa, he decided he was out of danger.
    This was just a passing thing, he assured himself, and he wouldn’t have to face that ordeal again.
    When Lisa had said goodbye to him, she had looked intently at him with those big, glittering eyes and had smiled. ‘It was good, wasn’t it, Harry? It was the best ever for me too.’ Then she had driven away.
    Well, that was that, Harry thought with heartfelt relief. What an experience . . . phew!
    But how wrong he was.
    On this third day, he was in his office working on reorder sheets when the telephone rang.
    ‘This is Miss Selby,’ a cool, crisp voice informed him. ‘Mr. Cohen’s personal secretary. I am calling from San Francisco. Mr. Cohen wants to see you at three o’clock on Friday, the 11th. I have mailed you your return air ticket. It will reach you tomorrow. Please be punctual,’ and the line went dead.
    Right then and there, Harry laid an egg. The few times any store manager had been summoned to the holy of holies, he had got the gate. Could the old bastard have heard about Lisa? Harry wondered, really sweating it out. If he got the gate, what was he going to do? He hadn’t saved any money . . . damn it, he owed money! Hell’s teeth! He would be fixed!
    By the time he reached Frisco and had been shot up seventeen floors in the express elevator to Sol Cohen’s palatial office, he was practically a hospital case.
    He was met by Miss Selby who he had heard about. She was tall and willowy and gorgeous, with eyes like ice pick points and a smile that would have frozen a glacier. She took him to Sol Cohen’s office door, tapped and half-opened the door.
    Harry heard a voice talking with vicious anger. The sound of the voice sent a chill up his spine.
    Sol Cohen was on the telephone.
    ‘German?’ Sol Cohen was shouting. ‘Listen, Sam, don’t tell me lies like that! That consignment comes from China! I know! You can’t fool me! I’m not handling any crap from China!’ There was a click as Cohen slammed down the receiver.
    Miss Selby raised her beautiful eyebrows at Harry, her face expressionless.
    ‘You may go in.’
    Sol Cohen was a small, fat, balding man with a