The switch by Elmore Leonard

Author:Elmore Leonard [Leonard, Elmore]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780140079241
Publisher: Harmondsworth : Penguin, 1985, c1978
Published: 2004-12-02T00:00:00+00:00

THE SWITCH 189

fight him? Let it happen. She could not imagine letting it happen. She could not imagine that it would be possible for it to happen. He would tear her, injure her—

He rose, pulling her to a sitting position on the side of the bed. “Take your clothes off or I’ll rip ’em off you,” Richard said, and began unfastening the heavy, gold-plated Wells Fargo buckle on his belt.

Mickey looked down unbuttoning her shirt, chin to chest, seeing the whiteness of her bra, still snowy white, and the tiny pink bow between the cups. Little Mickey sitting there. The real Mickey perched above watching, thinking, The pink bow is too much. Thinking, The poor girl. Seeing Frank come in naked from the bathroom with a towel over his arm. Seeing 6–4 Marshall Taylor stoop-shouldered naked, vaguely, Marshall there and gone. Thinking, What would Susan Brown-miller do? Thinking, Get it over with. She took her shirt off.

“Now the bra-zeer,” Richard said.

Her hands went behind her, unhooked the bra and pulled it off. My God, her nipples were sticking out.

“Now your pants and your undies,” Richard said.

He was standing with his uniform trousers around his ankles, showing his round, marble-white thighs, thumbs hooked in his Jockeys, ready to push them down. The Mickey up above said, you poor little thing. I’d take my chances and kick him in the balls.

And was totally surprised when nice Mickey on the bed rolled back, came forward with momentum, eyes on Richard’s crotch, and with a grunt and all the force she had drove her foot into the sagging pouch of his Jockeys.

Unbelievable, Richard saying, “Unnnngh!” doubling over, holding his groin, little Mickey rolling off the bed, grabbing her shirt, doing it almost as a reflex action—the shirt and the bra with it—running through the door and down the stairs, almost down the stairs—

Louis—she remembered his name—was near the bottom, already on the steps looking up at her.

Louis said, “Jesus Christ.” Louis knew. One look at her, bare-chested, holding the shirt, Richard nowhere downstairs. He said, “Come on. Come on!” Reached up and tried to grab her arm as she held the shirt tightly against her. “Where is he?”

“In the room.”

They heard Richard then, from upstairs, screaming, “Come back’n this room! You hear me!”

“Jesus Christ,” Louis said. “Come on.”

She was into her shirt, holding it closed, ran out

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