The Necrophiles Have Your Wife

Allison Moore had just stepped out of the shower when the phone began ringing. She groaned, grabbed a towel off the rack and trotted into the bedroom to pick up the receiver.

"Hello," she said, clutching the towel around her and sitting down on the unmade bed, crossing her shapely legs.

There was no response for a moment, and she was about ready to chalk it up to a crank call, when a raspy male voice said, "I know what happened to your friend, Karen."

Allison froze. The towel dropped from her hand, leaving her naked.

Karen was one of her best friends. She had disappeared without a trace six weeks earlier. No one had heard from her since. The police were baffled.

"Who is this?" she asked, with sudden intensity.

"Who I am," the raspy voice replied, "is not important. What is important is that I know what happened to your sexy, little friend."

The offhanded crudeness of his remark shocked her and filled her with disgust. "How could you possibly know anything about Karen?" she asked, restraining an impulse to shout at him.

She heard him chuckle. Let's just say I'm in a position to know. Are you interested?"

"What do you mean?"

"In finding out about your friend?"

"Of course I am," she answered, sensing something in the tone of his voice that told her he wasn't playing games.

"Good, but first there's several things you have to agree to or you get nothing."

"What?"

"First, you must tell no one--and I mean no one, especially that lawyer husband of yours--about this call. Is that clear?"

She resented his domineering tone. He made her feel like a child being dictated to by its parent.

"OK," she said, "that is if you really have something," she added reprovingly. Touche!

"Granted," he said. "Second, I want you to meet me at Chez 69. If you bring anyone with you or I see any pigs or anything at all suspicious, you'll never hear from me again."

"Why can't you just tell me what you know over the phone?"

"Because it's going to cost you, lady, and I like my cash up front and personal, know what I mean?"

"How much cash?" Allison asked warily.

"A couple of thousand ought to do it. I'm not greedy."

"That's a lot of money."

"Not for a classy, hot-shot lawyer's wife. You keep that much in the cookie jar."

"How do I know I can trust you?"

"You don't. But if you don't like what I have to say, you don't have to fork over the money."

She thought about it for a moment; she knew she would have to agree to his terms, no matter what. She had no choice, if she wanted to find out what happened to Karen.

"All right," she agreed reluctantly.

"But there's just one more thing," he continued. She heard him inhale sharply as if he were drawing on a cigarette. "I want you to wear an overcoat with nothing on underneath and high heels."

It was Allison's turn to inhale deeply. "I can't agree to that. That's crazy."

"Then you'll never see Karen again."

"What do you mean, you bastard?" she cried, her voice rising. Is Karen all right? What have you done to her?"

"I haven't done anything to her," the raspy voice replied. "but there are others who might."

"Others?" Allison was stunned by this announcement. Her worse fears had been realized. Karen had been abducted.

"Don't puzzle your pretty head over it. Just do as I tell you and everything will be all right. Otherwise..."

Allison didn't stop to wonder how he knew she had a pretty head--or how he knew her husband was a lawyer--or anything else. All she could think about was Karen. She couldn't desert her.

Then she heard him speak again in that irritatingly raspy voice.

"Think about it. I'll call back at noon tomorrow, and you can give me your answer." With that he hung up, and stunned, she sat listening to the dial tone for a long time without realizing he'd done so.

To Be Continued...