Was the big blonde a willing victim to the sadist with the whip, or did she hold the key to the Communist spy ring?
Johnny had to know.
Through a mess of murder, mayhem, lust, and sadism he smashed his way to the Chinese Keyhole, where hell was set to music.
DEATH WARMED OVER
She screamed. It came suddenly, a scream that filled the taxi and hung in the air like an echo in a cave.
She had begun to cry quietly before the sound of the scream had faded.
“Take it easy, baby. You’re all right now. You’re all right.” I let her cry it out.
“It was awful, Johnny.” She shook her head. “That look. You’ve never seen anyone look that way.” She shook her head again. “He had so much time. If he had wanted to kill me he could have used a gun. But he was playing with me, Johnny. He had a razor and he was playing with me, enjoying it. It was awful, awful. He had the queerest expression-so depraved. It was.
“Never mind, little one. I know.” She cried harder and she began to shiver. I pulled her roughly to the floor of the cab and held her tight against me so that the heat of my body would warm her and the strength of my arms would stop her shivering.
“I’ll never forget it,” she whispered. “I’ll never forget the look on his face. I’ll see it always.
I’ll live in fear of it.”
“No, you won’t. He’s going to be dead. I’ll personally see to that. He’s going to be dead. I’ll show him to you when he’s dead, little one.”
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