by V. J. Banis
“Oh, Nasturtia,” Aunt Lily wailed, fighting down an urge to kick her sister bodily. “Get off that floor.”
Miss Temple had returned from the door, and the messenger was gone—and as if things weren’t bad enough, Lily discovered that Nasturtia was not acting. She had really and truly fainted!
“Oh,” she wailed loudly, “she really has fainted”
“Well you surely didn’t think she was just taking a nap, did you?” Miss Temple asked with sarcasm. “Maybe I should get her some water.”
It would have been an ideal time to look about the room, except that, in her concern for her sister, Aunt Lily tried to loosen Nasturtia’s blouse, and managed instead to break the slender chain that held the little locket.
“Oh, dear,” she gasped as she realized the alarm would be sounding downstairs, summoning Jackie to the rescue.
Miss Temple had returned with a glass of water. Abandoning decorum, Aunt Lily tossed it into Nasturtia’s face. Nasturtia revived quickly, sputtering and gasping like a fish out of water.
“Come on,” Lily ordered, virtually dragging the other woman to her feet. “We’re finished here.”
With Miss Temple staring after them in bewilderment, they fled from the apartment, down the hall and into the arms of Jackie, who was indeed on his way to rescue them.
All in all, Jackie concluded as he heard Aunt Lily’s sobbing explanation, it had not been a very successful attempt at espionage.
* * * *
“Well, it wasn’t a total loss,” Craig sympathized when the group had returned to the house. “We at least learned that someone higher up than Miss Temple is called Bigelow.”
“But there must be hundreds of Bigelows in the city,” Jackie pointed out. “How do we find out which one it is that we want?”
“There’s only eleven,” Craig said with a grin. “And we find out the hard way—by checking out each one of them.”
“Oh, then we’ll still be needed,” Lily said with obvious relief.
Jackie frowned in Craig’s direction. He was genuinely sorry he had allowed the others to become involved at all; but Aunt Lily was correct—it would save a lot of time if they all checked out the Bigelows in the city.
* * * *
Honey and Gladiola went together. Honey did not feel quite safe by himself, and it was the consensus of opinion that Gladiola was not bright enough to attempt anything by herself.
The rotting old boarding house before which they found themselves certainly lent itself to an undercover operation. Somewhat isolated from the other houses in the none-too-respectable neighborhood, and exuding an aura of disrepute, it looked the sort of place that would spawn evil of any sort.
“How do you suppose we should go about this?” Honey asked as they lingered outside. Their instructions had been merely to meet the Bigelow at this address, if possible, and size him up as a possible agent.
Gladiola screwed up her face thoughtfully; it was evident that mental concentration was no small effort for her. “I don’t see why we couldn’t just explain to them who we are, and ask them open-like if they are the ones we are looking for.”
Honey sighed and rolled his eyes. “Oh, no, that would never do, even I know that. I suppose we’ll just have to play it by ear, so to speak.”
The house itself offered them one possibility; it bore a sign advertising rooms for rent. If all else failed, Honey decided they could use that as an excuse to get inside.
The ringing of the antiquated doorbell was answered after a long pause by a rather sleazy and plump blonde in a red kimono that was only slightly more faded than she was. A cigarette dangled from her smeared mouth, and she squinted through the smoke to study them suspiciously.
“Yeah?” she asked finally in a nasal voice.
“Mr. Bigelow?” Honey asked timidly. He had little experience in such matters, but this looked to him like what Aunt Lily described as a “painted woman.”
“Whatdoyawant?” the blonde growled in one breath, the cigarette bobbing as her lips moved.
Honey hesitated. Surely this wasn’t Mr. Bigelow? But then, no one had really said that it had to be a mister. And if this was Miss Bigelow, then this was the person he wanted to talk to.
“I’m here to talk business,” he said in a lower voice that he hoped was appropriately conspiratorial. “I think you know what I mean.”
The blonde eyed him slowly, looking him up and down, and then took a minute longer to study Gladiola, who bristled slightly in indignation.
“Yeah, I guess I do,” she admitted finally. “But we better not talk out here.”
Honey gave Gladiola a triumphant wink. That remark certainly suggested underground activities, clandestine doings. Happily, he followed the blonde inside, Gladiola tagging along behind.
“Who’d you say sent you?” the blonde asked when they were in the dim, musty hallway.
Honey moved still closer to her and whispered “Butterfly.”
“Ah, go on.” The blonde did not appear at all certain whether or not she should take him seriously. “Don’t kid an old bag.”
“I wouldn’t kid you—any more than Miss Temple would.”
“Shirley Temple?” His hostess was aghast. “Look, we specialize in variety here, but I ain’t got nobody of that type. Give me another try, okay? What would you like?”
The conversation seemed, to Honey, to be growing rapidly more confusing. “Butterfly,” he repeated in a more emphatic tone.
The blonde shook her head and gave him a disappointed look. “Boy, I’ve had ‘em in here, they wanted a cow, or a sheep—once even a boa constrictor. But you’re the first one ever went the butterfly route. Come on now, you’re puttin’ me on, nobody’s that small. You’re teasing me.”
Honey stubbornly shook his head no. He was convinced he was on the track now, and he would not be dissuaded.
The blonde shrugged. “Okay, Charlie. Male or female butterfly?”
Honey was unprepared for that question. His instinct was to answer the former, but this was not a matter of personal pleasure, this was business. “Whoever knows the most,” he answered.
“Hell, how should I know how smart it is. Look, have you ever tried ‘around the world?’ It’s pretty great if you never tried it.”
Honey had to admit that he had not, but his instinct told him that this was a clue of some sort, perhaps a password. “I’m game for anything,” he said with a wicked leer.
“Well, that’s better. Why don’t I show your Mammy here into the parlor, and you can go up to see Marie. She’s our best girl.”
“Where he goes, I go,” Gladiola declared emphatically, with a tone and an expression that brooked no argument.
The blonde only shook her head in confusion. “That what you want, sonny?”
When Honey nodded, she shrugged philosophically. “If it’s okay with Marie, it’s okay with me, but it’ll cost more. Five bucks for Junior here, and two dollars each for any extra passengers.”
Honey and Gladiola exchanged glances. “Will you excuse us?” Honey said, and piloted Gladiola just out of hearing range. “I’ve only got five dollars and fifty cents. Can you come up with another dollar and a half?”
“I still don’t see what we’re paying good money for,” Gladiola protested, but she fished a battered change purse from the bodice of her dress and began to count the change it contained.
“Information,” Honey explained, counting with her to correct her inevitable mistakes. “Spies always have to buy information.”
“Seven dollars ought to buy us one hell of an almanac,” Gladiola declared as she handed over the money.
“Room six,” the hostess told them when they had paid their fee. “I’ll ring the buzzer to let Marie know you’re coming up.”
Room six proved to be at the top of the stairs. Honey could not disguise his nervousness as they made their way to the door. With each step, they were traveling deeper into what might be the very nerve center of their enemy’s operation.
Marie was no more stunning than the blonde downstairs, and even more scantily dressed. She wore only a dingy half slip and a worn, all-but-useless bra that allowed her heavy breasts to dangle nearly to her waist.
She was seated on the edge of the bed as they entered the room, obviously waiting. When they came in, she showed some surprise at seeing the two of them.
“You together, or is business just booming?”
“We’re together,” Honey assured her. For that fact he was grateful. There was no telling what might happen next.
Marie did not seem to mind in the least. “Who’s first, or do we make it one big party?”
“We have no secrets from one another,” Honey explained, indicating Gladiola.
“If that’s how you want it. Better take off your clothes, kid, it’ll save wear and tear.”
Honey was aghast. “My clothes?”
Gladiola was even more indignant. “He can do what he wants, but I ain’t takin’ off a stitch.”
“Me neither,” Honey decided.
“Suit yourself. I’ll take mine off, if you don’t mind.” Marie’s clothes were few, but she began without any show of modesty to remove them, starting with the bra.
“No!” Honey’s face was beet red. “Leave them on, please.”
“All of them? Are you sure you don’t want me to wrap up in a blanket?”
“I just want to talk to you.” Honey’s voice was virtually a wail.
“Talk?”
“Yes. We’re not the first ones who have come to see you, are we?”
“Not by a long shot, but you’re the first ones who ever wanted to talk.”
Despite the fact that she was not too bright, it was Gladiola who began to understand the situation first. A look of comprehension slowly formed on her face as she looked at the puzzled girl, then at Honey.
“Honey,” she began finally, grinning. “I think I’m beginning to understand. I think this here is a house of pleasure.”
“Well, I don’t know if I’d call it that,” Marie said drily. “But it’s a cat house, if that’s what you mean.”
“Oh, no.” Honey was at a complete loss.
“Oh, yes.”
His eyes wide with horror at the thought of what might have happened to him, Honey backed toward the door, ready to bolt when he reached the hall.
“I think you better give her that money,” Gladiola said as she followed him more calmly. “After all, we’ve used a lot of her time, and she is a working woman.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
The list of Bigelows was being rapidly shortened, without any appreciable success. Craig felt a bit of hope when he learned that one of them was a butterfly collector, but that proved to be only coincidence.
He returned to the house as agreed, to wait for the others to report. Jackie was checking out the last of the Bigelows, so there was nothing to do now but wait and see.
Mari was there when he arrived. “Any luck?” he asked, without much hope. She shook her head glumly.
“That man I went to see wouldn’t have enough sense to come in out of the rain,” she told him. “Let alone assassinate anybody.”
Craig lit a cigarette and seated himself on the couch. Mari went into the kitchen and returned a moment later with a cup of coffee. She had changed clothes on her return home, donning a filmy negligee that did little to conceal any of her ample charms. She walked with a natural suggestiveness that, despite the fact that she was not Craig’s type, he was hard pressed to ignore.
This had been a peculiar case for him anyway, working with not one but two fairies. Not that he found them as repulsive as he had originally expected; the initial shock had worn off quickly. In fact, it was the opposite that was true, and a puzzling new experience. As he was around Jackie and Honey, he was not only becoming accustomed to their mannerisms, but even found that he liked them. In the past he had always thought of such fellows as freaks, and although he read enough to know that they were all around, he had never knowingly associated with any, so that his prejudice had remained intact.
He was beginning to understand that men in prison, or the military service, who were around such men all the time, might weaken and try things that would otherwise be unthinkable for them. Even after such a short time, he was beginning to suspect that his own resistance had weakened somewhat.
It occured to him now, as he watched the indolent swing of Mari’s hips crossing the room in front of him, that here was the perfect opportunity to restore his masculine self-image. The bosomy blonde was hardly first class stuff, but unless his judgment was failing, she would probably be a wild romp in the hay. Anyway, he was in a horny mood, and he believed in taking advantage of an opportunity when it presented itself.
“Cigarette?” he asked, giving her the benefit of his nicest little-boy-lost smile.
Mari was appropriately surprised. As a rule, this cute little Irishman was always very cool and aloof toward her. “Sure,” she answered, returning the smile with one of her own intended to rapidly melt any ice.
Craig walked over to where she was sitting and handed her a cigarette, lighting it for her. Then, boldly he bent down, tilting her chin up with his hand, and kissed her warmly on the mouth.
She was not the coy type, that much was readily apparent. Mari responded to the kiss by scorching his mouth with her flicking tongue. He shivered as one of her fingers ran lightly up the inside of his leg and brazenly tickled his bashful flesh.
“Looks like we’re both in the same mood,” he said when the kiss was ended. “Do we have time to go upstairs?”
Mari put out the recently lit cigarette in an ash tray. With one hand, she pulled the negligee open. There was nothing under it but her, naked and luscious. “Why go upstairs?” she asked, leaning back on the love seat. “We can hear them coming in plenty of time.”
Any tendency he might have had to argue was quickly overpowered by the view. Unlike some, Mari looked better in the raw than she did clothed.
Her breasts were as huge as they had seemed, large melon-shaped beauties, but they were firm and youthful, in need of no support or embellishment. The bright cherry-red tips were surrounded by wide, burnt umber circles in sharp contrast to the stark whiteness of her flesh. Her stomach was a gently rounded mound that led the eye downward. It was all climaxed with silken gold, that caught and held Craig’s eyes. And, she was a natural blonde
She wasn’t waiting for him to agree with her suggestion. He was still staring down at her, licking his lips at the sight, but Mari was already at work. He jumped as he felt her seeking fingers inside his trousers, making their way to him and caressing him hungrily.
He came to her in a hurry. Even the risk of being interrupted only added to his ardor. Mari’s velvet thighs opened to him, welcoming his already ardent manhood to her. She moaned with pleasure as he worked avidly, crushing her back against the needlepoint.
There was no romance, no affection, no beauty. It was like two wild animals in desperation, trading flesh for flesh. Mari’s hands slid beneath the seat of his trousers, raking the naked skin of his moving buttocks, urging him to greater excess.
It was fast and furious. Craig let go with a white-hot torrent, unable to hold back the finish that rushed from him. He was afraid he had been too quick, but she was ready. The frenzy of his release was all that she needed to reach her own peak, a groaning, shuddering experience that left them both exhausted and drained.
There was the sound of voices from outside, and the rasp of a key in the front door. Craig barely had time to dive for his seat across the room, putting his trousers back to order as he moved. He saw in dismay that the front of his trousers was soiled. He opened a magazine and put it in his lap.
Mari was curled up lazily on the love seat by the time the others entered, looking demure and innocent. Even Craig, glancing at her, could hardly believe that seconds before the girl had been squirming and moaning in the throes of paradise.
“You two enjoying yourselves?” Jack
ie asked as he accompanied Aunt Lily and Aunt Nasturtia into the room.
“Just waiting quietly for the rest of you,” Craig explained innocently. “Thought I’d read while I was waiting.”
Jackie made no comment, and Aunt Lily looked away, but Aunt Nasturtia was never one to display tact.
“How can you be reading?” she asked innocently. “Your magazine’s upside down.”
* * * *
Although Jackie found Craig’s embarrassment amusing, he could hardly criticize Craig for what had obviously taken place. After all, Jackie often used sex as a tool in his work, and regarded the pleasures derived therein as a natural reward for his efforts. In fact, he had used just such a modus operandi only a few minutes before, with amazingly good results.
It began with his visit to Mr. Bigelow, the last of the Bigelows on their list. Thus far all of the visits had been unsuccessful, and he had not entered the waiting room of the office marked A. Bigelow with any great hope.
Things began looking better, however, the moment he saw the handsome young man behind the desk there. Much more hospitable, he thought with approval, than the usual gum-chewing female.
“Is Mr. Bigelow in?” Jackie asked, allowing his eyes to make a round trip tour of the dark-haired stranger—via the scenic route. And a very scenic route it was, too. He was probably Greek, dark and romantic looking. He was short, not more than 5 feet 8 inches, and built rather stockily, with powerful, thick legs and wide hips, a thick waist and chest, and what was described as a bull neck. Definitely an armful, Jackie concluded with a wistful sigh.
“What do you do?” the handsome youth asked.
It seemed rather a direct approach, but Jackie was about to answer in detail when he realized that the young man might not be cruising. “Do?” he asked, playing it safe.
“What kind of act do you have? You are a performer, aren’t you? Most of Mr. Bigelow’s callers are, in any case.”
So that was it—Mr. Bigelow’s door had said nothing more than REPRESENTATION AND MANAGEMENT. He should have realized that smacked of an entrepreneur of some sort or another. And here was his golden opportunity to really check out Mr. Bigelow.
