Michael Malone - Weebly

to the secret of their owner than all the things collected
downstairs. They were certainly more personal things,
at least in the sense that none of the men who looked at
them now had been meant to see them. In the opened
door Smalter and Hayes stood, staring. Joe
MacDermott, by a closet, held up a Nazi military jacket
with bewildered dismay in his bland face.
Shoddy pictures torn from magazines, the articles
known as sexual "aids" and those designed for sexual
"discipline," cheap, false-colored, shiny plastic and
rubber objects flashed stark bright with the hissing eye
of the policeman's camera.
Hundreds of dollars in self-improvement equipment
lay on the floor, instruments for all the muscles of the
body. And prominently in the center of the room was a
full-length mirror hung on swivels inside a heavy, ornate
wooden frame; its feet were clawed balls, and an eagle
was carved into the top piece. The glass of the mirror
had been smashed. The photographer with a grin drew
the attention of MacDermott to a picture taped to the
wall of a man forcing a bound woman to fellatio him.
Smalter felt angry and ashamed of his sex, ashamed