The details “grisly”, the people “lunatic”, the results, “magnetic”.
The Queen of America
© Russell H. Greenan 1972
Random House USA/Canada 1972
Jacket design by Ken Braren
From Queen of America
So saying, Mooney placed his left hand confidently on Betsy’s dungaree-encased thigh and felt of it gently. From where they sat, neither Knoxy nor Carla could see this gesture, or what proceeded from it. But Ig saw.
Betsy smiled, one end of her mouth higher than the other. Delicately she brought the cake fork down on the invading hand. Then, while gazing straight into her victim’s eyes, she gradually applied pressure to it. The youth’s florid face grew tense and his lips twitched, though he made no outcry. Mesmerized, Ig watched the tips of the prongs burrow into the flesh. Five or six seconds elapsed before the grinning girl withdrew the fork and casually lay it on the table.
Across the back of Mooney’s hand, just below the knuckles, the tines had left three evenly spaced punctures, from which globules of blood welled. They might have been the fang marks of some mythological serpent. Mooney pulled back his hand, clutched it in his other hand and released an almost noiseless sigh.
“I’m not really so interested in the movies,” said Betsy. “But thanks, anyhow.”