by V. J. Banis
“She’s here,” the heavy-set woman who met him at the door answered his question. “But I doubt she’s in condition for visitors. I’ll see if she’s awake.” There was not much hope in her voice.
Chris Langley was indeed awake. Even from the bottom of the stairs Jackie could hear the stream of profanities that answered the landlady’s knock. A second knock resulted in a crash as something, probably an empty bottle, was hurled at the door.
The landlady marched angrily back down the stairs, her nostrils flaring. “I’ll not be insulted that way, not by the likes of her,” she snorted. “If she’s a friend of yours you’re welcome to her. And you’d better see her while you can, because I vow she’ll not spend another night under this roof.”
Jackie took advantage of the woman’s anger to climb the stairs himself. He did not knock at the door but opened it cautiously and stepped in.
Chris Langley was a beautiful girl and her beauty was the type that was not easily destroyed. She was doing a good job of it, however, judging from her appearance, and already the telltale signs were beginning to show. To make it worse she wore no make-up. In fact, she wore nothing but a bra and panties as she sprawled across the crumpled bed.
“Who the hell are you?” she demanded, trying to get to her feet. She was drunk and the attempt was a failure. She fell upon the pillows.
“Just a friend,” Jackie informed her, watching carefully in case she decided to throw another bottle. “I want to talk to you.”
“What about?” she asked, eyeing him suspiciously.
“About your career,” he told her bluntly. “And why it was ended.”
She threw back her head and started to laugh wildly. The sound ended in a choking sob. “Very funny,” she sneered. “If you don’t know why I was booted out of the studio, you’re the only one in the country who doesn’t.”
“The Lesbianism? I know about that. I’m more interested in the fact that you were being blackmailed.”
The statement had the hoped-for effect. This time she managed at least to sit up straight, growing sober almost instantly.
“You know about that?” she asked him in a calmer voice.
“A little,” he admitted. “I’d like to know more.”
She shrugged and looked around for a cigarette. Jackie lit one and carried it to her.
“Thanks,” she said, exhaling the smoke through her nostrils. “What’s to know? They bled me dry for almost a year. Finally I couldn’t pay any more and I told them so. Two days later I was out on my can.”
“Who are they?”
“I don’t know,” she sighed wearily. “It started with some girl, nice looking twitch, very sweet and innocent. Of course, not too innocent. She made all the plays. I was being careful, with my career and all, but she kept coming on like Gangbusters. So I gave in, took her to bed. Boom, next thing I know she’s disappeared and in her place is some apelike worm with a bunch a dirty pictures.”
Apelike—it could only be Bruno Scotto. “Was he the only one you ever dealt with?” he asked.
“Yeah, the only one. And always very discreetly. He’d call and tell me where to meet him. Sometimes in a park, sometimes at a movie theater. Never the same place twice.”
“This all took place here, in Los Angeles?”
“Sure, where else?”
Maybe, he thought, he had been premature in thinking that all the signs pointed to San Francisco.
“Except,” she added impulsively, “That I met the girl the first time in San Francisco, while I was up there for an appearance. She followed me down here though.”
So he had not been mistaken after all. “Thanks,” he said, preparing to leave. “I think you’ve told me what I want to know.”
“Hey, who are you anyway,” she asked again. “You with one of the studios?”
He shook his head sadly. “No sorry, just a friend, like I said.”
He was gone before she had the chance to question him any further.
* * * *
At the C.A.M.P. office, Rich also was up and busy at work. “Any news?” he greeted Jackie.
“Just that I’m going on a little vacation,” Jackie answered, striding into the bedroom.
“A vacation?” Rich asked, following him.
“To San Francisco,” Jackie explained, already opening dresser drawers. “To see if I can get myself picked up and, hopefully, blackmailed.”
Frowning, Rich took a seat on the edge of the bed. “I don’t like that,” he argued. “We’ve got a man in the San Francisco area, why not let him handle it?”
“I’ve got a personal interest in this one, remember,” Jackie pointed out. From the dresser drawer he had selected a wig, a sandy-haired affair. He laid that aside and removed his make-up kit, with which he was able to change his appearance at will.
“You’ll be where I can’t help you,” Rich said.
Or protect me, Jackie added silently. And many times Rich’s protection had saved his life, but he was not to be dissuaded. “Contact the office up there,” Jackie instructed. “Fill them in on the case. I won’t risk getting in touch with them of course, but it’ll be comforting to know that they’re keeping an eye on things.”
As he talked he was working on his face with the plastic from the make-up kit. By the time he turned back to Rich he was a different person, fuller of face, somewhat older looking than before. He donned the wig and the transformation was complete.
“Also,” he went on, mentally checking off the steps he had planned. “Tell them to create a front for me. Spread a few rumors around some of the bars. The name is Jackie Garden, a wealthy gentleman from a stuffy old family, terrified of scandal. I’m from New York, vacationing here on my way to San Francisco.”
In a short while he was ready to leave. No one seeing him walk toward his car would have suspected that the conservatively handsome man and the pretty blond who had left it a short while earlier were one and the same person.
* * * *
He returned briefly to his apartment to pack and change into a conservative gray suit. As the scion of a stuffy eastern family he would have to forego the more flamboyant clothes he often wore.
Sophie, his miniature white poodle, followed him about the apartment as he made ready. She was accustomed to seeing him come and go at all times but she never failed to become despondent each time he packed a bag.
He was all but ready when the phone rang. Again it was Dingo Stark, this time only calling to see if there was any news.
“Nothing yet, but I’m hoping to have something for you soon,” Jackie assured him.
“I’m just across the street,” Stark said. “Shall I come up?”
Jackie hesitated. He was in his disguise. It could hardly do any harm however if Stark saw him like this, and the rock star was clearly despondent. “Come ahead,” he answered. “But I’ll have to leave for the airport in a few minutes.”
Stark was there in three minutes. He stared blankly at Jackie when the door opened. “Is Jackie here?” he asked.
“I couldn’t get much closer to you,” Jackie said with a laugh. “Come on in.”
Stark was appropriately astonished. “You? But what’s all this get-up?”
“Working outfit,” Jackie explained, leading the way into the apartment. “I’m on my way to San Francisco in a few minutes.”
“Think you’re on to something?” Stark asked.
They stopped as Sophie, spotting the stranger, sprang from the chair in which she had been dozing and bared her teeth menacingly.
“Sit, Sophie,” Jackie told her sharply. The dog seated herself obediently.
“Is she really dangerous?” Stark asked, staring at the harmless looking ball of white fluff.
“Trained to kill,” Jackie explained matter-of-factly. “In my business you can’t have too much protection around.”
Stark skirted the dog with new respect and took a seat.
“How about some coffee?” Jackie asked. At Stark’s nod, he entere
d the kitchen and returned with two mugs of coffee.
“I’m just following up leads,” he explained, seating himself. “By the way, get in touch with me as soon as you hear from your friend Steve. I’ll be staying at the Essex, under the name Jackie Garden.”
Sophie, having satisfied herself that the newcomer was harmless, came to where Jackie was sitting and wagged her tail energetically.
Seeing her twitching nose, Jackie took another swallow of coffee and set his cup on the floor where the dog could reach it. Sophie sniffed and gave him an icy look.
“Sorry,” he said, realizing the trouble. He added a lump of sugar from the tray, stirring it, and returning it to the floor. The dog sniffed and, satisfied that it was now to her taste, lowered her snout into the cup and began to drink noisily.
“She is a bit peculiar,” Stark admitted, watching the dog.
“She’s mad, but sometimes useful.” Jackie glanced at his watch. He would have to be on his way soon to the airport.
“I won’t stay,” Stark said, taking the hint. “I just wanted some reassurance. I start my personal appearances in two days and I was hoping maybe this could be straightened out by then.”
“Not unless we’re lucky,” Jackie said. Then, seeing the disappointment on the other’s face, he smiled and added, “I’ll do my best.”
Stark paused on their way to the door, to study the large wood carving atop the credenza. Nearly two feet tall, it was a faithful and at the same time beautiful representation of a particular portion of the male anatomy.
“What on earth…?” he stammered, embarrassed and amused at the same time.
“A trophy from C.A.M.P.,” Jackie explained. “For my work.”
“What are all the scratches?” Both sides of the enormous phallus were lined with deep gouges.
Jackie grinned. “To be honest, I think you’d call them notches.”
“Notches?” Stark blushed. “You mean…?”
“Conquests is the nice word,” Jackie answered him.
“I’d say you’ve been busy,” Stark said quietly, continuing on toward the door.
“A little,” Jackie agreed. His eyes dropped to the buttocks enclosed in the trousers before him as Stark walked toward the door. Halfway conquests didn’t earn a notch. It was too bad, he thought, that he was on his way to catch a plane. He might have been able to complete the job.
CHAPTER FIVE
Jackie boarded the PSA jet with minutes to spare. The plane was not crowded and he took a window seat, sliding his briefcase underneath.
A minute later an attractive blond entered the plane also, starting down the aisle. Jackie gave the newcomer an admiring once over. He was in his mid-twenties and the possessor of the babyish type prettiness that helped one to look young for a few years and then, sometimes it seemed almost overnight, began treacherously adding to one’s years instead. In his teens, his soft, fleshy body, not so much plump as the type described as “cuddly,” and his cute round face had no doubt given him a beauty not possessed by his more gangly contemporaries. He had passed his peak and in a few years the soft curves would turn to fat. At thirty he would be unattractive. For the moment, however, there was enough left of the youthful cherub to make him appealing.
“Is this seat taken?” he asked, pausing near Jackie.
“Not at all,” Jackie assured him. Fortunately, he added silently. There was nothing like an attractive companion to make a trip more pleasant.
The blond fastened his belt as the plane prepared to take off. They roared down the runway and were soon climbing upward, the California coast and the ocean dividing the scenery between them.
“You from San Francisco?” his companion asked when they were at last able to undo the seat belts.
“No, New York,” Jackie answered, sticking to his assumed role. “I’m Jackie Garden.”
“Bruce,” his new friend introduced himself. “Bruce Hamilton.”
They ordered cocktails from the stewardess. Jackie welcomed the opportunity to talk. In the first place he was always grateful for the company of an attractive male. After all, he might have spare time while in San Francisco. In the second place it was a good opportunity to spread the word of his arrival, hopefully so that it would reach the right ears. If B.U.T.C.H. was operating out of San Francisco and looking for rich, vulnerable people to blackmail, the details he was providing to his companion should be of interest to them.
“Tell me,” Bruce asked at one point, in a low voice, “are you gay?”
Jackie started as though embarrassed and frightened by the remark and glanced nervously around, but there was no one close enough to hear. “I don’t think I want to discuss that here,” he whispered. “It’s a dangerous question for one in my position.”
“Don’t tell me you work for the government or something?” Bruce asked him, surprised and a little amused by the tone of secrecy.
“No, nothing like that. But mother…well, you have no idea to what lengths she would go to avoid scandal. That’s why I’m here, you see. I don’t dare, well, let my hair down back home. So once or twice a year I get out of town and have a little fun. But even so I have to be very careful.”
“Seems to me like a lonely way to live,” Bruce decided. “I can’t imagine how you’d manage to have any fun.”
Jackie shrugged and sighed sadly. “If I’m lucky, I meet some nice young man and spend my time with him. I’m afraid I wasn’t lucky enough to meet anyone is Los Angeles.”
“Where are you staying in San Francisco?”
“At the Essex,” Jackie said. He wondered briefly if he had a nibble. Bruce, however, did not seem eager to take advantage of any opportunities the conversation afforded.
“Maybe we can get together for a drink while you’re in town,” Bruce suggested in the offhand way that suggested they would probably not see one another again.
* * * *
The flight was not a long one. Less than an hour after takeoff they were landing in San Francisco. “Can I give you a lift anywhere?” Bruce offered.
Jackie was tempted, for personal reasons. He would like to have cultivated a brief friendship with the curvy blond, but it seemed unlikely that Bruce would be any help to his work and that was his first consideration.
“No thanks, I’ll just hop into a cab,” he answered. “But I’ll look forward to that call.”
He found a cab and was driven into town to the expensive and long established Essex House, just right for the conservative sort of visitor.
He had some time yet before dinner. After dinner he would have to start making himself discreetly conspicuous. If C.A.M.P. had planted their rumors successfully, there were already whispers around town about the fabulously wealthy gentleman who was visiting. With luck he would not have to work too hard to make contact. The interested parties would do that for him.
He had time before dinner to see a little of the city, one of his favorite places. The air was brisk, the city alive with activity. The colorful cable cars, clanging and clattering, made their way laboriously up Powell Street, straining themselves as they climbed the steep hills. There was a vague scent of the ocean everywhere. Smartly dressed women and groups of sailors elbowed one another on the sidewalks.
Jackie allowed himself to ramble for an hour, drinking in the sights and sounds of the city. Then, glancing at his watch, he hailed a cab and gave the address of one of the more discreet restaurants in the city that catered to the gay set.
He ate alone although he was aware that he attracted a certain amount of attention. The mere arrival of a stranger in these places was always of some interest, particularly a nice-looking one whose clothes and demeanor suggested money and breeding. To his disappointment, however, there was no direct attempt to establish contact.
He left the restaurant and went on to the next place on his list, a rather smart lounge with soft lighting and deep carpet on the floor. The evening crowds were already beginning to gather. Hopefully he would do better here. Although nei
ther of them gave any sign of recognition to one another, the bartender was an agent of C.A.M.P., primarily working to provide information. By now he would have let discreet hints drop to the regular patrons about Jackie’s visit.
He seemed doomed to disappointment here, as well. He was cruised several times, but nothing appeared to be of any real significance. Jackie started a second drink and was on the verge of deciding to move on to the next bar when a familiar voice greeted him from over his shoulder.
“Well, I see you’re out looking for a little fun,” Bruce said.
Jackie turned around, pleased to be remembered. “Looking,” he agreed. “But not succeeding.”
“Well, no wonder, you pick the stuffiest places,” Bruce kidded him. “I rarely come here myself. It’s usually dull.”
“What brings you here tonight?” Jackie asked, genuinely pleased. If the rest of the evening proved as unsuccessful as the first part of it had done, he might do well to work on the blond after all.
Bruce shrugged and gave him a coy grin. “Maybe it’s Fate,” he suggested. “Come on, why don’t you let me give you the tour? I can show you some of the really fun places.”
Jackie hesitated. His rule was always business before pleasure, but so far he hadn’t managed to do any business. And, he reminded himself, he might do even better in the “fun” places.”
“You’ve got yourself an escort,” he said, polishing off his drink. “But only if I can pick up the tab.”
“Don’t be silly,” Bruce said, but Jackie was adamant.
“I insist,” he said. He produced a twenty with a flourish that was not wasted on the others around them and put it on the bar. “For my drink,” he told the bartender. “And keep the change.”
* * * *
The evening went by quickly in a profusion of bars, drinks and music. Bruce proved a knowledgeable and charming guide and if Jackie seemed to be making no progress he was at least making his presence in the city known, and having a ball while he was at it.
Bruce introduced him to friends in each bar and Jackie made a point of flashing money, buying rounds of drinks for everyone and other such ruses.
