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"Help you get some photo's like you've never got before".They looked at each other. Then back at me."What kinda photo's you talkin' 'bout?" You know. Your privates, in public. That's if it's what you want..."A short pause."Okay, here's the deal. We're trying to get daring pix. Me showing what I got, with regular folks passing by in the background. So people will know what risks we took to snap them. You help us to pose them, you get a ring-side seat. Okay?" Okay."I saw the other sales assistant return from his break. Great! He could look after the other customers while I gave these two some special attention."Okay, lets see what I can do. May I suggest that you first try on some shoes? Wait here a minute".I quickly darted into the stockroom and grabbed a few pairs of ladies shoes at random.I returned, ushered her to a bench and placed a footstool in front of her. The bench was located so that she had her back to people going past. They would be in the shot but not able to see what she. Samantha seldom wore pantyhose and never stockings except on special occasions. Peter had complimented her many times on her beautiful legs and how sexy she looked in stockings. A pair of black stiletto heels completed her ensemble. She had modeled the complete outfit for Peter just before they left for their rendezvous with Alex and Tai Lin."Wow! You look..." he stammered, at a loss for words."Cheap?" she asked."No! Sexy." Maybe we should just say home and I can..." Come on, they're expecting us." I'm just not sure I can do this." Of course you can. Just try not to be so up tight." Will Kimmie be all right with the kids? Maybe I should call..." Honey, the kids have stayed with Kimmie lots of times. She's a great sitter. Now come on, quit trying to find excuses." You don't think this is too much?" she asked turning completely around to model the outfit."Not at all. You're a knockout. Now come on."With that she acquiesced, they walked to the car, got in and drove off."That's some.
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Once or twice I thought I felt phantom claws touching my arm or thigh or hair, grasps that slipped away with the inexorable forward movement of the bike. I could feel no road vibration, and the bike never turned right or left. The broad straight road to hell? Rattlesnake, for all his belligerence and insulting manner, had been the only person to stand up to Deadman or try to save me, and the only one to give me much idea of what was happening. The rider’s name, or title, was the Undertaker. What was an undertaker? Someone who had charge of the dead. Someone who took the dead into his care: prepared them, transported them to their final destination. That almost made sense, strangely, considering what the bartender had said–that I had no choice but to go with Deadman, that the place he wanted to take me to was the place I should go. If I had been dead, that was, it would have made sense. I wasn’t dead and the rider knew it. So what did he want with me? I could not know the answer..

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