Slowly, very slowly she began to move down his chest and over his belly then over his side and down his hip and over his thigh.
Terry began to moan as the blood raced through his veins and his malehood visibly throbbed to the rapid beat of his heart.
She was licking up the inside of his thigh. When she reached the top of his thigh she lifted his leg up into the air and pushed it to the side so that her tongue could reach the area at the top most inner thigh.
Terry was groaning and pounding his fists against the mattress. He was going out of his mind with pleasure. This broad must have been tutored by the queen of all French whores, he thought.
Now she began to lick, at what Terry always called, his family jewels.
This was the greatest! This was the ultimate of exquisite agony! He screamed, he twitched.
His entire body was tingling with ecstasy.
Now she moved higher. Flicking her tongue all around the base of his malehood ... Now up ... up ... up ... Tongue constantly working. Now it was flicking and wrapping itself around the flaming coral tip.
Now her lips surrounded the top ... squeezing, pulling ... Teeth gently nipping. Suddenly she had the whole thing in her mouth and her lips were dragging up and down on all sides of his malehood.
CHAPTER ONE
The whole picture was flashing on the ceiling. The action had taken place years ago during the war, but he could see it all on the ceiling just as though it were a movie.
The scene was taking place in gestapo headquarters, or rather gestapo torture chambers.
He had parachuted into occupied France, made contact with the French underground and then with the aide of some very brave Frenchmen, began a successful campaign of sabotage against the Nazis.
One night, when they were about to blow up a ball bearing plant, the Gestapo surprised them. They blew the plant, but all the men were killed except Gateaue and himself.
They were dragged off by the Gestapo and tortured.
The Nazis had been working the mover methodically for a week and neither one of them had betrayed their friends.
Torture was a source of pleasure for the Nazis and they were becoming bored with the two prisoners.
The two men knew that nothing short of a miracle could save their lives. The guards dragged them from their cells to the torture chamber. This was it. This was going to be their last chance to get some information from these prisoners. Whether they talked or not they were going to die. By not informing, they only prolonged the torture.
Gateaue's arms were stretched over his head. Steel bracelets were clamped and locked around his wrists. The chains that were attached to them were pulled up on pulleys so that Gateaue was suspended from the ceiling with his toes just barely touching the floor.
Terry was thrown roughly into a chair and a guard stood behind him.
The door at the left opened and two nude women entered the room with several top ranking Gestapo officers. They were all laughing and joking.
The women saw Gateaue suspended by his wrists from the ceiling.
"That is the first subject," a Gestapo medical officer said. He turned to one of the guards, "Remove his clothes."
The guard approached Gateaue and ripped his clothes off. He hung there stark naked with the bruises from the beatings and the blister from the hot irons reflecting in the light.
Gateaue was a very tall and well built man. He was at least six feet four inches tall with very broad shoulders tapering down to narrow hips. His malehood even in a flaccid condition was of a size that brought gasps of admiration even from the Nazi "supermen."
The women stared at it in amazement and spoke of it in awe struck whispers.
Terry remembered that he wondered why the huns had brought the two women into the torture chamber.
From the way the women acted it was obvious that they were on good terms with these barbarians. Maybe they got their kicks from watching men tortured and killed, and since this was to be the finale for Gateaue and himself they were to witness the finale performance.
The two naked women looked at the Gestapo Colonel. He smiled and nodded his head affirmatively. The two women walked over to Gateaue's suspended figure and walked around him slowly. They spoke to one another about his magnificent build and when they were in front of him they spoke glowingly about the size of his masculine appendage.
One of the women, the blonde, reached out and took it in her hand. She lifted it up and let it rest across her palm.
Gateaue watched her dispassionately through pain filled eyes. The poor guy had been tortured so much that he couldn't get it up.
Terry recalled that he was in a pretty weakened condition at that time too.
The vision on the ceiling continued to reflect the imagery of his memory.
The other girl had a step stool brought to her. She placed it in front of Gateaue, leaving enough room for the blonde to continue petting and stroking his male-hood.
She climbed on top of the stool and turned to face Gateaue. Her huge, firm ballon like breasts were even with his face.
She took her hand and cupped her breasts leaning forward slightly so that the stiff nipple brushed against Gateaue's lips.
The Gestapo officers were sitting on chairs watching intently.
"Kiss it, Sherry," the girl on the stool said. "Kiss it. Take my nipple between your lips. The Colonel wants us to get you all worked up. We thought you would be a bore, but when we saw the size of your thing we became very interested. We would like to see how big you will get when you are hot."
Gateaue looked up at the girl who spoke. Then he looked down at the girl who was playing with his flaccid male muscle.
His eyes looked across the room to Terry. The question was in those eyes. The question was why? Why were the Germans doing it this way? What was behind their game?
Terry did not know the answer and even if he did know the Germans would not let him speak.
The blonde stopped playing with him and got down on her knees and placed his malehood in her mouth.
That was it. Gateaue's breath hissed out and his malehood sprang to life.
The Colonel nodded his approval and told the girl to keep it up.
Gateaue was now licking and kissing the breasts of the woman who was standing on the stool. It looked as though she was trying to shove the whole thing in his mouth. But her breast was too big.
Just as Gateaue was too big for the girl on her knees to get into her mouth.
But these girls really enjoyed their work and they were really getting Gateaue all worked up.
The Gestapo Colonel got up from his chair and stripped off his uniform. He stood there naked watching the girl work her mouth on Gateaue's manhood.
Compared to Gateaue the Nazi Colonel looked like a three year old boy.
The Colonel motioned to the medical officer who rose from his chair and accompanied the Colonel as he crossed the room to Gateaue's now twitching and jerking body.
The Colonel told the blonde to get away from Gateaue. She nodded her head negatively and continued working her mouth on Gateau's manhood.
The colonel grabbed her by the hair and yanked. Gateaue's manhood popped out of her mouth as she fell away screaming.
The Colonel took her place on his knees before Gateaue and took his manhood into his mouth.
Gateaue opened his mouth to object but the girl on the stool shoved her breast into his mouth.
Gateaue was just too worked up and he began to jerk his hips back and forth as he began approaching his climax.
The Colonel began to move his head faster moaning in ecstasy as he practiced his perversion on Gateaue's body.
The Colonel raised his hand. The Nazi doctor standing nearby took a small flat box out of his pocket, opened it, and extracted a scalpel.
Terry tensed in his seat, wondering what the fiends were going to do.
Gateaue's hips were jerking faster and faster. The Colonel signalled with his hand. The scalpel flashed in the doctor's hand and Gateaue was emasculated right in the Colonel's mouth.
Gateaue screamed. The doctor grabbed a hot poker from a burning brazier and pressed it into Gateaue's gaping wound, cauterizing it and stopping the flow of blood.
Gateaue, mercifully, passed out. The Colonel lay on the floor with Gateaue's severed malehood in his hand. His climax spurting for all to see.
The girl who had been on the stool had leaped off it and onto the blonde who closed her thighs around the girl's face.
A Nazi officer walked in front of Terry and spoke.
"You have seen what we did to your friend for not giving us the information that we want. You thought we were going to kill you," he continued. "Well, we are not. You have the choice of a merciful death, or going through life in the same condition as your friend over there."
At that moment there was a blinding flash and a loud explosion. Terry didn't remember another thing until he awakened in a hospital in England.
An MI-5 Colonel explained to him that the underground had sabotaged the Gestapo Headquarters and that he was the only survivor of the explosion.
Terry was grateful that Gateaue had been killed. He knew that Gateaue would have committed suicide had he lived.
Now it was years after the war had ended and he had continued on in Allied Intelligence, until they figured his nerves had had too much strain. He didn't think so, but he had made one big goof, and you are not allowed to goof in espionage.
He tried to wipe the memory out of his mind by turning to the girl who was lying beside him. Her name was Rene Moffet, and they lived together.
They had just finished screwing and her passion swollen boobs cradled his head. They were in bed with just a night lamp on, throwing a tunnel of light across the room.
When the knock came it startled them both. It way sharp and the sound broke the stillness.
Terry uncoiled out-of bed like a snake, slowly, powerfully. His body was slim but wiry, his face craggy without being ugly. He put his feet into bedroom slippers, threw on a robe and walked into the other room.
He opened the door an inch.
There was a man in the hall with a massive build and a head of gray. The man was well dressed. "Mr. Scott?"
"Yes."
"A mutual friend sent me," the man said. "Beyton Howard."
Beyton Howard had been Terry's boss when he had been attached to the British Intelligence.
Terry opened the door wider. "Come in."
The massive man walked in and Terry closed and locked the door.
"Are we alone?" the man asked.
"No," Terry said.
"I'd rather...."
"It's all right," Terry said. "You can talk."
The man hesitated. Then, from the other room, Rene Moffet called out: "I'll be dressed in a minute." She soon came out, dressed for the street. "I'll come back in an hour," she said, walking out the door.
"We're alone now," Terry said. "You can search the place if you wish."
"NO need for that," the man said. "I trust you." He sat down in an overstuffed armchair. "My name is Morris Levine. I'm with U. S. Intelligence. I'm afraid that's all I can tell you about myself."
"Sure," Terry said. He sat down, crossed his arms over his chest. "What can I do for you?"
"Did Beyton tell you I'm persona non grata in espionage because of a mistake?"
"Yes. He also told me that you helped him recently on a case."
"I needed the loot."
Levine extracted a cigarette case from inside his jacket, flipped it open, offered it to Terry. He took a cigarette. Levine stuck a cigarette between his lips and closed the case. "I have two thousand dollars for you," he said. "As a retainer. There will be another three thousand when the job is finished."
"Im listening."
Levine snapped a cigarette lighter, extended his arm. "Treasury agent was murdered two weeks ago. It was in the papers."
Terry leaned forward so that the cigarette between his lips reached the flame of the lighter. "I read about it. He was knifed."
Levine lit his own cigarette, put the lighter away. "His name was Overman. Ray Overman. He was after a safe cracker named Hurtze. Joe Hurtze. Hurtze has disappeared. Without a trace."
"And you think I can help you find this Hurtze?"
"Hurtze and a few others," Levine said. "During the last few years many wanted criminals have disappeared from the face of the earth. Take Hurtze for example. He disappeared a year ago. For one solid year there was no word of him. Then, he appears, blows a bank job, disappears again. Where was he for a year? Where was he hiding? And what of the others? Where are they?
"What about your agent, Overman" Terry asked. "He left no message for you before he was knifed? He must have been on to something if he was killed."
"I thought at first that Hurtze had knifed him," Irvine said. "But I came across a name. Ira Simeon. We found a notebook in his room with just that one name-Ira Simeon. That was the only clue Overman left behind. We looked up Ira Simeon. A hood. Very handy with a shiv. And Hurtze, the safe cracker, had never used a knife in his life. Strictly a rod man."
"So you got stuck with Ira Simeon."
"Yes." Levine said. "We looked up Simeon as I've said. He works for a man named Krakalow, who owns the Club Rondo. We didn't pick Simeon up because we didn't want to scare anyone. We couldn't bring him to court just because his name was on a murdered agent's notebook."
"And what do you want me to do?" Terry asked.
"Find Hurtze. Find the others. Find the hideout where they're holed up in.
"Why me?"
"Because there's organization here," Levine said. "Because I can't take a chance on using an agent who might be recognized. You're freelance. You have no connection with any law enforcement agency. Beyton Howard said you'd be the ideal man."
"And I'm more expendable than Treasury or FBI man," Terry said realistically.
"That thought never entered my mind."
"If you say so."
"I must warn you," Levine said. "You'll be on your own. There won't be an agent behind every door, anxious to save you in case you get in a spot."
"Do I have a contact?"
"There's a coffee house in the Village. Gone Garry's. You'll contact Gone when you have something to report. He's a tall, baldheaded man, with a beard. You'll walk in and ask for a ginsberg gimlet. That will identify you. He'll answer that he only has kervac cocktails. Contact will then be made."
"Do you think that an organization is hiding these criminals from the law?"
"That's the impression I have," Levine said. "Simeon and the Club Rondo are the only leads we have. I suggest you pose as an International criminal, hiding from the law. You play it by ear from there."
"Can I have my two thousand dollars?"
"Then you're taking the case?"
"Of course." Terry took the money, folded it, put it in a dresser drawer. He saw Levine to the door, opened it.
"I wish you luck, Mr. Scott," the big gray-haired man said. He went out and Terry shut the door.
Terry Scott went to the telephone and dialed a number. Within a minute he was talking to Beyton Howard.
"Howard here."
"This is Terry Scott."
"Hello, Terry. Did Levine make contact?"
"Yes. That's why I'm calling. Can you describe him?"
"Have to make double sure, is that it?" Howard laughed. He then described Morris Levine.
"That's the man who was here," Terry said. "Thanks for the plug."
"I thought you could use the contract."
"You know the deal?"
"I've a rough idea," Howard said. "Levine can't give me every single detail of a case. That wouldn't be cricket. They have to have their secrets. We have to have ours."
"All right, Howard. Thanks again.
"Righto."
Terry hung up. He made himself a drink and waited for Rene Moffet.
He was working again. There was the promise of action and ... perhaps ... sudden death. He felt good. The front door opened and Rene Moffet came in. She was young and good-looking. And she didn't ask questions. She was an actress and she was in love with Terry Scott.
"I'm working," he said.
"Will you have to leave town?"
"I don't know. I might have to. I don't know yet."
She came and sat beside him. "When do you start?"
Tonight."
She put her arms around his neck. "I want you to screw me." Her eyes were sad.
"Aren't you satisfied? We had just finished when our visitor arrived."
"You're not going to ration that, are you?"
"No," he laughed. He opened her dress and sought her breasts with his hands and mouth.
She stiffened. "Terry," she moaned.
He bared her to the waist, took hold of her nipple with his lips.
Her fingers dug into his back.
He stripped her completely, picked her up, carried her into the bedroom where he gently put her on the bed. Then he took off his robe.
"Terry," she said, reaching for him. "Terry." Her hands were everywhere.
He touched her belly and breasts and kissed her nipples, then worked his way back down her belly and ended up with his face between her thighs.
"Ohhh," she sighed. "That's what I love, Baby. You sure know how to get a girl hot.
Keep it up ... kiss ... kiss ... tongue ... tongue. Now I'm ready for you to jazz me."
He jumped up and flattened himself over the length of her body. She raised her knees on either side of him. Then she reached down and took hold of his manhood and placed it where she wanted it.
He rammed it all the way in and she screamed in ecstasy.
"Go, Terry, Go," she screamed. "Pound me ... pound me!"
He pounded her until they both went over the cliff together.
CHAPTER TWO
He and Rene had really balled it up all night and most of the next day. They would tear one off and then drop off to sleep. Then he would be awakened by the wonderful sensation of Rene nibbling on his malehood. She kept it up until he came. Then they would drop off to sleep until he woke up and either went down on her or brought her around with his finger.
Rene was a very hot piece and she loved him. Where Terry and sex was concerned she was willing to try anything.
She finally left late in the afternoon to make the rounds of the agents offices and Terry slept on until late that night.
When he awoke he prepared himself to go to work.
The starting point ... Club Rondo.
The Club Rondo was on Fifty Second Street. The interior was dark and smoky and laughter mixed with the beat tempo of a very bad combo.
Terry Scott was shown to a table. He sat, lit a cigarette, and ordered a scotch.
A tall slim redhead in a clinging sheath stepped up on the dais when the combo finished their number. She immediately went into a Rodgers and Hart number. She sang deadpan, her voice emotionless, her face immobile.
A blonde with a way-out body came up to Terry's table. "You alone?" She wore a low-cut gown made of a filmy material. Her knockers were big and round and the tops bunched out the dress.
"Very much alone."
"Want company?" she asked. "Come sit down, do you want a drink?" She sat. The waiter came over and she ordered a whiskey.
The girl singer finished her number. There was scattered applause.
"Like her?" the blonde asked. Terry shrugged his shoulders.
The waiter brought over her drink. "Can I have a sip?" Terry asked. "It's soda and you know it." Terry laughed.
The girl singer started another song.
"There's something fascinating about her," Terry remarked. "She isn't spoken for, is she?"
"That's Hans Krakalow's piece," the blonde said. "So don't fool with her."
"Who's he?"
"He owns this joint. And a tough hombre."
"Does she have a name?"
"Gina Clark." The blonde sipped her soda. "And my name is Alice. "You're supposed to pay attention to me."
"I will, my dear. I will."
"I suppose you have a name?"
"Terry."
"You're pretty tall, Terry. Not very handsome. What do you do?"
"Can you keep a secret?"
"Of course."
"I'm a criminal."
"With that British accent?"
"There are criminals in Britain," he told her. "America doesn't have a priority when it comes to the Underworld."
"Did you just get off the boat?"
"You ask too many questions, Alice." The redhead had stopped singing and the combo went into some dance music. "Shall we?" he asked.
"Sure."
They stood up and walked toward the tiny dance floor. He put his arms around her and they danced. She shoved her body hard against him.
Over her shoulder, he saw the redhead sitting at a table by herself. He danced Alice toward the table. "Hello, Gina," he said to the singer.
Gina Clark didn't know whether to be amused or not. She decided to be amused. She showed small pearly teeth.
"You shouldn't have done that," Alice said, scowling.
"I find her fascinating. How about introducing me?"
"Well, I don't know."
"Come on, be a sport."
"I'll be left in the cold," she complained.
"No, you won't I promise."
She suddenly stopped dancing. "Okay. But don't say I didn't warn you. She's got a tough boy friend." She took his arm and they walked to Gina's table. "He insists I introduce him," Alice told the redhead.
"So introduce," Gina said.
"Gina, Terry."
The redhead laughed. "Are you going to stay awhile? If you do, it'll cost you a bottle of champagne."
"A most welcome sacrifice." Terry held a chair for Alice, then sat down. A waiter appeared like magic. Terry ordered a bottle of champagne.
"He's Limey," Alice said.
"You sing like a nightingale," Terry said.
"And you're a liar," Gina said. "But do go on; I love flattery."
"You're divine," Terry said. "Enchanting."
The champagne arrived and Terry poured.
A big loose-jawed man arrived at the table. He scowled at Terry.
Terry looked at him. "Yes?" he said.
The big man turned on his heels and walked away. He parked himself against the opposite wall and watched them.
"Now what was that all about?" Terry wondered out loud.
"That was Ira Simeon," Alice said.
"He's supposed to be my bodyguard," Gina Clark explained. "He can be a bore at time."
"He's going to spoil the fun," Alice complained.
"Let's get the hell out of here," Gina suddenly said. "We can got to Alice's place."
"Hans won't like that," Alice said. "Besides, I'm just a B-girl. I can't just walk out now, it's too early."
"I'll square it with Hans," Gina said. "What the hell? Terry is your boy friend, not mine. Hans won't have any reason to be jealous."
"Well, I don't know," Alice said.
"It takes you a million years to make up your mind," Gina complained. "Just get up and we'll take off."
"But what'll we do at my place?" Alice wanted to know.
"Well drink," Gina said, "and we'll contemplate our sex organs." She shrugged her slim shoulders. "We'll find something to do." She winked at Terry.
"The three of us?" Alice asked, her mouth agape.
"I see you've led a sheltered life," Gina said, laughing. "Poor kid."
"I like my sex in private," Alice said.
"Okay then," Gina said. "I won't interfere" with you and Terry. I don't think."
"Stop shoving him between my legs," Alice complained. "We just met."
"What? No electric sparks at the first glance?" Gina drank her champagne. "Okay, Alice. I'll let you shove him between my legs."
"Why don't you two girls just toss a coin?" Terry suggested. "Or throw dice for me?"
"We'll think of something when we get to Alice's flat," Gina said. "Unless Alice had cold feet." She looked pointedly at Alice.
The blonde gulped her champagne. "Okay. I'm game."
Terry signaled the waiter, paid the bill, and they stood up to leave. "I have to get my wrap," Alice said. "Meet you outside." She hurried away.
Terry took Gina's arm and they walked away from the table.
The combo started a fruge.
There was an alcove which separated the main floor from the doors that led outside. In the alcove, Gina suddenly turned, put up her hands and held Terry's head while her lips met his. Her lips were cool and moist.
She broke away. "Like that?"
"Very much."
Terry held the door open for her when the big man appeared again. "Gina, you ain't goin' no place. His voice was heavy. Behind him there came the sound of hot music. "You're staying put."
"You go to hell!" Gina said.
The man moved heavily toward Terry. "Beat it, Buster," he growled. "While you still got your health." Terry got set to throw a punch. "Be careful," Gina warned. "He goes for the knife."
The man grinned. "I don't need to knife for this punk." He suddenly threw a punch.
Terry came up close, the man's fist brushing the back of his neck and drew his knee up sharply. The man screamed.
Terry hit him hard, then chopped at the back of his neck while he was going down.
"That's the first time I ever saw Simeon get taken ... and stay took," Gina said.
They went outside.
Alice joined them five minutes later. "Somebody slugged Ira Simeon," she said.
"Terry did that," Gina said. "Come on, let's grab a cab."
The three of them got into the back seat of a cab that had been parked on the street in front of the club.
Terry was sitting between the two girls. Alice told the driver her address, and he pulled the car away from the curb and entered the traffic snarl.
Gina reached over to Terry's lap and unzipped his trousers. She reached her fingers around until she found his malehood and pulled it out of his trousers.
"Let's see what you've got to offer," Gina said, smiling, as she began to stroke his malehood up and down.
Terry had no objections and his malehood extended and expanded in her hand.
Alice complained that Gina should wait until they got to her apartment, but Gina said that she was impatient.
"I can also get my kicks by eating you," said Gina, and she lowered her head and took his malehood between her lips.
CHAPTER THREE
The taxi pulled to a stop at the curb in front of Alice's apartment house. The driver pulled on the emergency brake and turned around in his seat and watched, bug eyed, as Terry and Gina both reached a climax.
Gina moaned and sat up breathing rapidly. "Oh, I love to do that," she said breathlessly. "But you're going to have to do the real thing sometime soon."
Terry handed the driver his fare and the three people got out of the cab.
"Hey, Mac," the driver shouted to Terry.
Terry turned and said, "Yes?"
"When I get home tonight," the driver said, "I'm going to punch my old lady in the mouth." He shoved the stick into drive and gunned the cab away from the curb.
Terry and the two girls laughed and went on up the stairs....
Alice's apartment consisted of three rooms; Bedroom, living room, kitchenette. The refrigerator was loaded with beer. She hated whiskey, Alice confessed.
"Do you mean there's no whiskey in the joint?" Gina Clark asked.
"I keep some scotch for visitors," Alice said.
"Thank Goodness for that. Trot it out."
They sat in the living room; Alice drinking beer, Gina and Terry drinking scotch and water.
"Do you do anything besides sing?" Terry asked Gina.
"Now what do you mean by that?" she asked.
"Your interests. Do you paint, model, take dope?"
"I just sing."
"She also does a mean strip," Alice put in. "You shut up," Gina said. "Well, you do."
"Only when I'm high," Gina giggled.
"Have some more scotch," Terry said.
"Come on, liven things up," Alice urged.
"I'll need music," Gina said, weakening.
"I'll take care of that." Alice brought in a record player from her bedroom. She put on a record.
It was a lively number, featuring plenty of trumpet.
Gina had another drink, then got up. She started swaying her hips. "I usually do this just for my friends."
I know, you don't have an enemy in the world," Terry said.
Alice clapped her hands. "Let's go."
Gina lowered her shoulder straps. "I'm not wearing a bra," she announced. Her gown fell to her waist. Her breasts were bare. They were small, tipped with coral. Two firm, jutting swellings. "Disappointed?" she asked Terry, her hips swaying faster.
He shook his head, no.
She pushed the gown down to her ankles, stepped out of it. She wore black panties. Her thighs were slim and milk-white. Her belly was lean and decorated with a navel, which showed above the panties.
Alice put her hand on the back of Terry's neck. "Are you horney?"
"Yes," he said.
"You don't have to see any more," the blonde said. "Let's go into the bedroom."
"Not yet."
Gina started to push the panties down.
The record ended with a final blast of trumpet.
The panties came up.
"End of performance," Gina announced.
"But you didn't finish," Terry complained.
"Maybe next time." There was promise in her eyes.
Alice jumped to her feet. She took hold of his arm. "Let me show you what I can do ... in the bedroom." She pulled at his arm and he got to his feet.
Gina reached for her gown.
Alice and Terry went into the bedroom.
From the living room came the sound of music. Gina had put on another record.
"I've got bigger tits than she has," Alice said, taking her gown off. She moved in close. "I think she's hot for you. She'll probably lay for you too. But not till I get my share." Her mouth was warm and demanding. Her breasts flattened against his chest. She ground her hips against him.
As he began to work on her he thought about Gina. Her slim body and small breasts. He wanted Gina, he wanted her badly. He pushed Alice onto the bed and started to undress.
Alice writhed on the bed like a snake. "Come on," she urged. "Stick it in. I can't wait."
He got on the bed with her.
Her body was soft, her thighs damp with desire. There was the bitter-sweet odor of woman. It was in her loose blonde hair and on her heavy breasts. He kissed the inner thighs and she moaned heavily. Her hips moved frantically. "Please," she begged.
"Please don't tease me. If you're going to tongue me, do it. Put it in there and flick it."
He did just that too, when his tongue entered her she screamed and arched her back so that she brought her body up to meet his face. Terry wiggled his tongue around inside her for a while and then he stopped and mounted her. He had really worked her up and she screwed like a mountain lion in heat. They hit the screaming peak together.
CHAPTER FOUR
Terry Scott went into the living room in his shorts. Gina was listening to some mood music. "How was she?" she asked. "I can't' complain."
"Want a drink?"
"I'd appreciate it."
She poured scotch for him. "What's Alice doing? Recuperating or what?"
"She's taking a nap."
"So you put 'em to sleep huh?"
He drank the scotch. "Have you been singing at the Club Rondo for long?"
"Long enough."
"Who is Hans Krakalow?" Terry asked. "Just a guy who owns a night club."
"Is the jealous type?"
"Very."
"Should I be afraid?"
"You haven't done anything to bring Hans down on you," she said. "Not yet."
"Do you think that chance will come?"
"Could be."
"May I see you tomorrow for lunch?"
"Why don't you call me? I'm in t he book."
"All right."
"Now get dressed," she said. "I'll take you home. Or are you going to stay the night?"
"I haven't made up my mind yet."
"Then I'd better say good night." She kissed his cheek and left the apartment.
Terry Scott went to the window and saw her get into a cab and drive off.
He went into the bedroom.
Alice was awake.
"Hello, baby," she said.
He sat on the bed and put his head on her soft breast. "Alice, Gina just left."
"So what? Who the hell cares? You're a great bang."
"Thank you."
"Why don't you crawl back into bed?" He did as she asked.
She pulled his head down to her breast. He took her nipple between his lips and his right hand stroked the length of her soft body.
She sighed. "That's the way, lover. That's the way.
* * *
Gone Garry's Coffee House was flanked by an art gallery and a swap shop. The windows displayed blow ups from newspapers and photos of well known beat characters.
Gone Garry was tall, bald and bearded, exactly the way he was described by Morris Levine. He was serving a customer when Terry Scott walked in. "Be with you in a minute," Gone told Terry.
Terry wandered around the place, looking at poems written on the walls. Garry left his customers and walked over to Terry. "Yes, sir?"
"I'd like a ginsberg gimlet."
"How about a keruac cocktail?" Garry said. He grinned at Terry. "Silly, isn't it?"
"But sometimes necessary."
"Levine tells me you were a spy during the war."
"I was an intelligence officer."
"Same thing." Garry closed the front door. "We can talk in the back."
The back room consisted of two stuffed armchairs, a chest of drawers, a serving table and an army cot. "Do you want a drink?" Garry asked. "I've a bottle of Old Mustane."
"No thanks. Too early in the day."
They sat. They lit cigarettes.
"Have you made contact with Simeon?" Garry asked.
"I slugged him last night."
"Yes, well...."
"I made contact in a way."
"I suppose you did," Garry supposed.
"I met Hans Krakalow's girl. She's a singer at his club. Her name is Gina Clark and I'm to ring her up sometime today."
"That's something. We've been checking on Krakalow. Absolutely nothing. Levine thinks you should pose as a British Mobster, hiding out from the law. That way, you may get to follow the route Joe Hurtze took."
"What do you think of Levine's idea about a hideout for the underworld?" Terry asked. "Do you think there is such a thing? Seems kind of fantastic to me."
"It would explain a lot," Garry said. "A lot of top hoods have disappeared recently. Tony Talento disappeared just before deportation. Irish Freddy vanished after robbing a bank. They're definitely in hiding, but where? They didn't skip the country. We're sure of that. Ships, trains, and planes have been checked and double-checked. We've added men to the Canadian and Mexican borders. Nothing."
"Tell me, how do I put across the idea that I'm hiding from the police? Do I put a Wanted sign on my back?"
"Levine has an idea."
"You will take me into your confidence, won't you?"
Garry laughed. "Sure. You'll ask Miss Clark to hide something for you. It'll be five pounds of pure opium. Miss Clark, being a woman, will unwrap the package and find the opium. Chances are she'll inform Hans Krakalow. If we're lucky Krakalow will contact you and ask the score. Of course, you'll have to play this by ear. But this is the story you'll get across: you're in this country to deliver the dope to a certain party. You gave the stuff to Miss Clark because you didn't want to get caught with the goods. You already have one rap against you and the fuzz are hot on the trail. Have you, you got all that?"
"I have a vague idea."
"You can't deliver the stuff yet as the man you're to contact is still abroad." Gone Garry continued.
"What if they want to buy the dope?"
"I doubt it. Crooks usually stick to their own particular racket."
"And you've the idea they'll offer to hide me out till my man shows up?"
"That's what we're hoping for," Garry said.
"And how do I pay them?" Terry asked. "Or do you think they do charity work?"
"I'm going to give you a key to a safety deposit box," Garry said. "When you need the money you'll use the key. You'll have ten thousand dollars to play around with. Oh, yes. Each bill is marked. But only ultra violet light will bring it out."
"Once Krakalow accepts the money I've got him."
"If Krakalow is the right contact," Garry said.
"Simeon works for him so we take it for granted he's mixed up in it. Let's hope we're right. And we don't pick Krakalow up either, if he takes the money. He may be the top man or just a small cog. No, what we want is the location of the hideout. We want to know where it is and who runs the organization."
"Let's have the key."
Garry opened one of the chest drawers and took out a small envelope and a package. "There's a key and the address of the bank in the envelope. It's been all arranged. You don't need a signature. Just the key. The opium is in the package."
Terry took the package and the envelope.
They went back to the front of the coffee shop.
"Son of a bitch!" Gone Garry shouted as he saw two men with their pants off playing with one another's private parts. "Get the hell out of here," he yelled, and he threw them out onto the street where a crowd gathered and watched them get dressed.
"Damned Fairys," said Garry as Terry walked past him and out of the coffee shop.
CHAPTER FIVE
Terry was looking forward to seeing Gina again. The job she had done on him in the taxi had been one of the best he'd ever had and he wanted to give her a chance to do it again. He also wanted to return the favor. He walked over to the telephone and dialed her number.
* * *
Gina Clark picked up the phone on the first ring. "It's me," Terry Scott said. "Who's me?" she teased. "Terry. Have you forgotten already?"
"No, honey. How can I forget a man who puts dames to sleep?" she giggled.
"I'd like to put you to sleep."
"That's a beautiful way of putting it."
"Do I see you?"
"Well, I don't know."
"We can have lunch together," he suggested. "Who do we eat? she asked. "One another," he laughed.
"It's a deal. I'll expect you within half an hour." She hung up.
Terry left his apartment and went out to the street and hailed a cab. He gave the driver the address, and settled back. The package was in his jacket pocket, the envelope was inside his jacket, in the lining.
It was noon and the sun was big and hot and yellow. Terry lit a cigarette, spewed out bluegray smoke.
It was one of the newer apartment buildings springing up along Lexington Avenue.
There was a doorman who saluted as Terry went into the lobby. He used the speaking tube to announce himself. "Come right up, honey," Gina said.
He used the self-service elevator.
It was a two room flat, wall to wall carpet, modern furniture, white wood television set, prints on the walls. There was a Hollywood bed at one end of the room with a folded screen nearby. The kitchen was small, convenient, modern.
Gina Clark had on a square-cut polished cotton dress. "Would you like thin steaks fried in butter?"
"I'm not particular," Terry said.
"All right, honey. You sit down and watch television. I'll have a snack ready in a jiffy."
Terry looked through the TV pages. There was nothing on except quiz shows and soap operas. He left the TV off.
Gina put plates on the cocktail table, had Terry open a bottle of wine, brought in a large pan and spread steaks onto the plates with a large fork. They ate with relish. They polished off the wine and lit up cigarettes.
"You definitely are a good cook," he complimented her.
"There was nothing to it," she said modestly.
"There's nothing like a good meal."
"You'd be more comfortable with your jacket off," she pointed out.
"It is hot in here." He took his jacket off.
She took it, went to hang it up. "I'll have to get an air conditioner," she said, sitting down again.
"What would you like to do now?" he wanted to know.
"I don't know," she said. "We can't do anything this evening. I'm working tonight."
"That's a pity," he said. "I suppose I can see you after the show?"
"Sure. Why not?"
"Do we take Alice with us or what?" She came over to him, sat on his lap. "Let's just go off by ourselves." '"That suits me."
"Maybe I'll go down on you again." Her tongue ran across her red lips. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
"I'd love it." He ran his hand under her skirt.
"Don't be impatient." She slapped at his hand. "Can't you wait?"
"It's a long time 'til tonight," he pointed out.
"Go visit Alice."
"I want to save myself for you."
"Sure you do, honey. So suffer a little bit. It'll do you good." She kissed his mouth, then got off his lap. "I've a midnight show. Then I'm free. Meet me outside the Club Rondo at one. Okay?"
"But what about now? Look at all the time we have."
"I want you to pine for me. Now get the hell out of here, honey, before I weaken. You do things to me, you bastard. I won't keep it a secret." She brought him his jacket. "Now get."
He stood up, put on his jacket. "Can you do me a favor?"
"Tonight, baby."
"No, that's not what I mean." He took the package from his jacket pocket. "Can I leave this with you for awhile?"
"What is it?"
He tried to sound secretive. "It's a very personal thing. I can't explain right now."
"Do you have diamonds in here?"
"Look, some other time. You will hold it for me, won't you?"
"Sure."
He kissed her cheek. "Tonight then, honey, at one."
She saw him to the door, locked it. She carried the package to the divan, fingered the string and the heavy paper. Her curiosity got the better of her.
* * *
Terry Scott spent the better part of the day with Rene Moffet. They dined at Ruben's, saw the latest English movie, and he took her back to their apartment around midnight. "Aren't you coming up?" she wanted to know.
"I'm working."
"Such odd hours."
"I know it. Don't wait up for me, Rene."
"I won't." I hope you enjoy yourself," she said bitterly.
"Don't start the jealous bit," he pleaded.
"I'm sorry. I have no hold on you. I only wish I had. Okay, Terry. Just take care of yourself." She went into the lobby and he looked for a cab.
The cab let him off outside the Club Rondo. He smoked several cigarettes before Gina Clark appeared. She took his arm. "My car is parked a block away."
They started walking.
"What did you do after you left me?" she wanted to know. She had a blue fox wrap across her shoulders. She wore a clinging yellow gown and had a beaded bag clutched in her hand.
"I suffered," he answered.
They got into her car. She put her bag between them, took the wheel. "The suffering will soon stop," she promised in tantalizing tones. The car pulled away from the curb.
Terry let his hand fall on the beaded bag. He felt the outline of an automatic.
Before they got to the apartment the automatic was safely in his jacket pocket.
She opened the door, put on the light and they walked in.
Two men were waiting. They were sitting on the divan behind the cocktail table. On the table was the package that Gone Garry had given Terry. One of the men was Ira Simeon.
The other man was about thirty, with very handsome features. His skin was tanned. "How do you do?" he said.
"Good evening," Terry Scott said. "I believe you have my property spread out before you."
"Since I know your handle," the handsome man said, "you may as well know mine. It's Krakalow. Hans Krakalow."
"You're Gina's boy friend, aren't you?"
"I know Gina," Hans said. "Gina, fix us up some drinks like a good girl."
"Sure." Gina went around Terry. She avoided looking at him.
"I believe you've loused up a well-planned evening," Terry said.
"Gina is my piece," Hans pointed out.
"There are so many girls," Terry sighed. "You own a night club. You can probably pick and choose. There's no reason why you can't indulge me."
Hans rubbed his chin. "We'll see," he said. "But let's talk about something else."
Gina put the drinks on the cocktail table.
"Sit down," Hans told Terry. "No reason we can't be civilized."
Terry sat across from Hans, the cocktail' table between them. "What shall we talk about?" said Terry.
"This junk," Hans said. "I believe it belongs to you."
"It belongs to me," Terry said.
"I've examined it," Hans said. "It wasn't refined in this country."
"It was done in Europe."
"Where in Europe?" Hans wanted to know.
"What difference does it make?" Terry said.
"None, I suppose," Hans picked up his drink. He sipped it. "You took a chance, leaving the stuff with Gina."
"So I see."
"Why leave it with Gina? Couldn't you afford to keep it yourself?"
"I don't have to answer these questions, do I?
For the first time since Terry had entered the apartment, Ira Simeon spoke. "I can make you talk, Buster." His face was an angry scowl.
"Do you really think so?" Terry spoke casually.
Simeon got to his feet. "You limey bastard. I ain't forgettin' last night."
"Don't make a fuss," Hans ordered. He finished his drink. "I can help you, Terry," he said, "if you're on the level. But if you're a Fed-" He shrugged his shoulders.
"I don't want any help," Terry said. "I didn't come to you. I didn't ask for you."
"That's true enough," the night club owner said. "But you're using my broad to help you hide this junk. She should get some kind of compensation."
"I don't get it," Terry said. "You have the opium. Why bother with me? Why don't you sell it or use it yourself? There's big loot involved."
"Narcotics isn't my racket," Hans Krakalow said.
"And as for selling the stuff to someone-well, I couldn't strike out on my own. I'd have to consult others. And chances are, they'd tell me to use my head and stick to my own racket."
"Which is? Terry prompted.
"Taking care of jerks like you," Hans said, laughing. "Keeping them on ice for...."
"You're talking too much," Simeon snarled. He looked down at Hans. "We don't know anything about this creep. He may be a Fed. And you're talking your damn head off."
Hans Krakalow got to his feet. He pushed the cocktail table away making room for his young, lanky body. "Ira, you'll never learn." He spoke quietly, calmly, without emotion. Then his right fist shot out, catching Simeon on the point of the jaw. The bodyguard went down in a huddle. He shook his head, sat on his haunches. His eyes glared hatred at Hans.
"Wait for me in the car," Hans ordered.
Simeon's hand started to reach inside his jacket.
Terry whipped out Gina Clark's pistol. "Don't," he said. He pointed the weapon at Simeon. "I'll plant you on the spot."
Simeon's hand came away. He got to his feet. He licked his lips, stared at Terry, then at Hans.
"Go on down," Hans said. "We'll forget this happened. Just don't forget your place next time."
Simeon went slowly to the door, twisted the knob, went out.
"You owe me something," Terry said.
"Do I?" Hans laughed. "Gina would have handled the situation. She has a rod."
Gina Clark was busy searching her bag. "Have I?" she said. "I can't find the damn thing."
"I have it," Terry said. "I'll give it back to you later."
Gina stared at Terry.
Hans grinned broadly. "Well, I guess I do owe you something. I thought you were kind of stupid, leaving that dope with Gina. But you're not dumb at all, are you?" There was open admiration in his eyes.
"I couldn't keep the stuff on me," Terry said, taking the plunge. "I'm hot."
"Fuzz after you?" Hans wanted to know.
"Right."
"What were you going to do with the opium?"
"Sell it."
"You looking for a buyer?" Hans asked. "I have a buyer," Terry said. "I'm to meet him in a couple of weeks."
"What do you do till then?"
"Cool it," Terry said.
"How would you like to cool it in comfort?" Hans asked.
"Hans," Gina said urgently.
"What's the matter now?" he answered impatiently.
"You have to be sure," she said.
"About him?" Hans jerked a thumb in Terry's direction. "I've a hunch he's okay."
"You need more than that," she said.
"Relax," Hans said. He turned to Terry. "She worries. Can't blame her though. One wrdhg move and the whole setup is queered. But you could have let Simeon kill me. You didn't. I think you're on the level. But I've got to be sure. Gina is right. I've got to be sure."
"I wish I knew what this is all about," Terry said.
"You said you were hot, didn't you?"
"Yes," Terry said. "I'll admit it."
"But why tell me?" Hans said. "You don't know me.
"I knew you weren't going to run to the police," Terry Scott said. "You could have done that when Gina tipped you off to the opium."
"That's a good answer."
"Too good an answer," Gina cut in.
"Why are you against me?" Terry asked her.
"Because you can mess up a good thing if you're a Federal man," she said. "It's not just a question of being against you. Or for you. This is a big operation."
"I'm still in the dark," Terry said.
"You're hot," Hans said. "You need shelter. A hideout. Well, we can provide that. For a sum. But we have to be sure of you."
"I can provide my own hideout," Terry said.
"That's why you wanted to leave the stuff with Gina?" Hans jeered. "Come on, don't hand me that. We can give you cover till your buyer shows up."
"How do I know you won't take my loot and then dump me?" Terry asked.
"Because we have a reputation," Hans answered.
"What will all this cost me?"
"Five big ones a day," Hans said.
"You're on cloud nine," said Terry.
"That includes the best chow and the best nookie," Hans said. "You'll be in heaven."
"Where is this joint?"
"You'll find out in time," Hans said. "Well?"
"I don't know."
"You make up your mind. Contact Gina when you've decided." Hans moved away from the cocktail table. "Look, I'm not even touching your opium. You can leave it with me when you go or take it with you." He moved toward the door. He paused. "I hope you have enough cash in case you decide to become one of our boarders."
"I've got ten grand stashed away."
"Very good." Hans opened the door. "You decide and let Gina know. Good night, Mr. Scott."
"Good night," Terry said.
Hans closed the door behind him.
"I wonder why he left us alone?" Terry said.
"You-said he owed you something," Gina Clark reminded him. "You didn't touch your drink."
Terry moved to the divan. He held out his hand. She took it, sat down beside him. "You set me up," he accused her.
"So I did. Are you going to walk out indignantly?"
"And give up the chance to plow you? I'm not that much of a fool?"
"I opened your package out of curiosity," she explained. "When I saw the powder I figured there might be some money in it for me. I like money."
"More than sex?"
"Sex isn't everything," she said.
"And money is?"
"You're taking a chance with a federal rap because of money," she said.
"To me it's all an adventure."
"Oh, sure. You're out to get some kicks."
"Do I look like a narcotic smuggler?" he said.
"I've met big time pushers before," she said. "They come in all sizes and shapes."
"I'm tired of talking about business and money," he said. He put a hand on the back of her neck and drew her head toward his. Their lips met. His other hand seeked out her small breast and fondled the globe till he felt the nipple harden through the material of her gown. Her lips came away. "Don't take me for granted," she said.
"You've been tossing curves since the first minute we met," he reminded her. "Maybe I like to tease."
"Teasers get hurt."
"Are you the brutal type?"
"I hope not. But I can be. I always aim to please."
"If I can only be sure of you," she said.
"What difference does it make?"
"I'm not the type to consort with the enemy".
"You talk so tough," he said. "But you're not tough at all. I think you're putting on an act."
"I can be real tough if I have to."
"I don't think so." His hand slipped into her gown, found her naked breast. The nipple ticked his palm. He kissed the side of her neck, then pulled the gown off her shoulders, exposing her small breasts. His mouth found a niple.
Her body started to twist. "You bastard. You're taking unfair advantage." Her fingers ran through his hair. "The other one is jealous."
His mouth shifted to the other breast. His lips caressed the warm skin, then slid across the nipple, hardening it to new life.
Her hands tugged at his clothes. "I want to see your lob."
He got rid of his clothes, then carried her to bed. "You bastard," she said. "Where did you learn to make love?"
"From Alice."
"You liar."
"Don't talk."
He placed his head between her thighs opened his mouth, and let his lips encircle her womanhood.
She gasped as he made contact and screamed, bounced and twitched as his tongue flicked around inside her.
"Lick, baby, lick," she moaned. "Oh, I dig your action the most."
"You taste delicious," he said breathlessly. "Ooh, don't stop, baby," she begged. "Keep tonguing me."
He went back to doing what she begged for. "Oh, Baby," she moaned. "You make me boil!"
"It's your turn in the barrel now," he said sitting up.
"Oh, yes lover," she said getting up. "Let me taste it."
"Let me kiss it. Let me get my lips around it."
She bent her head and took his malehood into her mouth.
"Mmmmmm," she moaned as she engulfed it.
He let her nibble and draw on his manhood knowing that it built her up to the point of exploding. It helped him along the road to Valhala too.
When he knew that neither one of them could hold back any longer. He pulled her head away and pushed her down onto the bed. He crawled on top of her and placed himself between her thighs.
"Ready baby?" he asked.
"Go, baby, go!" she whispered huskily.
He rammed it home and she screamed in ecstasy.
He moved his hips up and down ... pumping away like a runaway piston.
She rotated her buttocks like a runaway fly wheel.
It didn't take them long to get there and they both blasted off and passed the milky-way together.
She had on lounging pajamas. She was sipping a drink. The record player was going.
CHAPTER SIX
Terry was dressed except for his jacket. He was nursing his drink.
"I don't even know where you live, baby," she said. "Some dump."
"Where did you pick up so many American expressions?" she wanted to know.
"Was born in the States, but raised in Britain."
"I think you're more American than English," she said. "You certainly don't make love like an Englishman."
"Really? And how does an Englishman make love?"
"He usually goes to bed with his spats on."
"Somebody has been telling you stories," he accused.
"You meant it's not so?"
"Haven't I just shown you?"
"You don't count," she said. "You are an American by birth."
"And on that note," he said, "I think I'll take my departure. You had better get some sleep, young lady."
"Are you going to let Hans hide you?"
"I don't know," he said. "It's an expensive proposition."
"You make up your mind and let me know."
"I'll have to get my money. It's stashed away."
"Will you know by tomorrow?"
"I imagine so."
"All right, baby. You can leave the powder here. It'll be safe."
"I think I will leave it here." He took her gun from his jacket pocket. "I may as well return your pistol." He put the automatic on the cocktail table.
She walked with him to the door.
"Would you like to make a little bet?" she asked.
"About what?"
"I'll bet you're shadowed as soon as you leave here."
"But why?"
"Hans would like to know where you live," she said. "He'd want to check on you."
"A man has to have some privacy," he complained. "I know, baby, but Hans is so thoughtless."
"Thanks for tipping me." He kissed her cheek. "It was a ball, darling."
He went into the hall and she closed the door.
* * *
Terry Scott hailed a cab. "Just drive," he told the driver. He looked back through the rear window. There was a blue Caddy hugging the cab's behind.
After five minutes, Terry said, "Forty-Second Street and Seventh Avenue."
The Caddy stayed close by.
Terry lit a cigarette.
At Forty-Second Street and Seventh he paid the driver and got out. He walked down the subway stairs. At the bottom of the stairs, he paused, looked up.
A short, stocky man appeared. He stopped short when he saw Terry.
Terry, grinning from ear to ear, walked through the station, took the shuttle to the East side. The stocky man was in the other car.
He left the station, walked across the street to the automat where he had a cup of coffee. Then he went back into the station. He took the East 180th Street train uptown. At 149th Street he got off, walked across the upstairs platform, took the downtown train. He glanced into the next car, saw the stocky man. At the 125th Street station he hunched forward on his seat, balancing himself on the balls of his feet. As soon as the doors started to close he leaped through. The doors closed and the train pulled away. The stocky man was at the doors of the next car. His face was deep red. Terry waved at him.
He left the station and found himself in Harlem. He walked to the corner and waited under the street light. A cab came cruising up the street.
Terry hailed the cab, got in. He gave his address.
The cab headed downtown.
He settled back, lit a cigarette.
He looked at his watch. It was three o'clock in the morning. There wasn't much traffic.
The cab went east to Second Avenue turned right and went down town.
Twenty minutes later, Terry Scott was in his flat, opening the refrigerator for a can of beer. Rene Moffet materialized in the doorway. She had on shortie pajamas.
"I'm sorry I woke you," Terry said. "That's all right."
"Do you want a beer?"
"Sure. I'll join you." She sat down at a formica topped table while Terry opened two cans of beer. He got two glasses from the cupboard, washed them, filled them with beer.
"I might be going away for awhile," he said.
"If you have to."
"Maybe it would be better if you took a short vacation," he suggested.
"There might be trouble?"
"You never can tell."
"I can go to Mineola for a couple of weeks," she said. "I'll get paid for it too. I was offered a small part in a show. It meant going to Mineola so I turned it down."
"Can you still get it?"
"I believe I can."
"Grab it," Terry urged.
"I'd have to leave right away."
"That's okay. Everything will be back to normal by the time you get back."
"Normal?" she said. "What is normal?"
"Take it easy, Rene," Terry said. "You don't have to put up with me."
"Can't I gripe a little bit? Just a little bit?"
"Sure," he said. "I'm sorry. You've every right to gripe."
"Let's hit the hay," she said. "I'm horney." He put out the lights in the kitchen and they went to bed.
Terry had been drained by his session with Gina, but he got it up for Rene and plowed her into seventh heaven. This lay was going to have to do her till he finished this job.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The day was starting out lousy. It was bleak, cloudy, with more than a gentle hint of rain.
Terry Scott took a cab to Washington Square, walked aimlessly a few blocks, made sure he wasn't being tailed, then made for Gone Garry's.
Garry was just opening up. He ushered Terry in, closed and locked the front door. "What are you doing here so bright and early?" he wanted to know.
"I've made contact with Krakalow," Terry said. "He's our boy."
"Good."
"He's going to hide me out," Terry said. "I'm supposed to let him know sometime today."
"So things worked out according to plan?"
"They certainly did," said Terry. "Now what happens when I get to this hideout? How do I contact you?"
"You contact the local treasury men in the nearest town," Garry said. "They'll get the message either to Levine or to Washington. The idea is to get to the nearest town. They may keep you as a sort of prisoner till it's time for you cut out. We don't know what's going to happen."
"I guess we won't be seeing each other again," Terry said. He extended his hand.
Garry took it. "Not till it's over at any rate." Terry went out the door.
He grabbed a cab, gave the address of a bank, which had in its possession a safety deposit box which held ten thousand dollars. Ten thousand dollars in marked bills.
After securing the money, Terry Scott dialed Gina Clark's number. She answered on the second ring.
"Terry Scott here."
"Make up your mind, hon?"
"I'll take Krakalow's kind offer."
"Let me buzz him. Give me ten minutes, then call back. Now hang up."
Terry hung up, went to the fountain part of the drug store and ordered a cup of coffee. He drank the coffee slowly, watching the minutes go by on a big electric clock hanging on the wall. After ten minutes went by, he went back into the phone booth.
Gina Clark answered his ring. "Be here in an hour. With five thousand clams, at least."
"Will do." Terry hung up.
He went into the men's room, divided the money in half. He slipped a packet of five thousand dollars into the torn lining of his jacket, the other five thousand went into his inside jacket pocket.
An hour later, he was in Gina's apartment. Hans Krakalow and a tall, slim man were there, waiting for him. Hans introduced the tall man as Nocky Doyle.
"Have you the five thousand?" Krakalow asked.
Terry handed over the five thousand dollars from his inside jacket pocket. "Do I get a, receipt?"
Krakalow laughed smoothly. "What do you want it for? Your income tax?"
Terry shrugged.
"There's a car downstairs," Krakalow said. "Nocky will drive you."
"Where?"
"Portchester."
"So that's the hideout," Terry mused.
"Nope," Krakalow said. "But you'll stay there till everything is ready."
"And when will that be?" Terry asked impatiently.
"Everything should be ready within twenty-four hours," Krakalow said. He refused to say more.
Gina brought Terry his package.
Her cool fingers touched his for a second. "So long, kid," Terry said.
"So long, Terry," Her face was cool, composed.
Terry and Nocky Doyle went downstairs.
"I'm a talker," Doyle said, getting behind the wheel of a dark sedan. "I hope you're the same."
"I have my moments."
Doyle pulled away from the curb.
They lit cigarettes and Doyle started talking baseball, politics, and sex. Terry found him to be an interesting conversationalist.
The sky was still cloudy, still threatening rain.
"The one subject I hate to talk about is the weather," Doyle said. "I mean, what can you really say? It's cold, it's hot, it looks like rain. And that's it. Subject closed. Subject exhausted."
"How right you are."
"Hans told me you're a Limey. You don't talk like A Limey. You do have a slight accent. It's there all right. But otherwise you talk like Joe Blow from Kokomo."
Terry threw his half smoked cigarette out the open car window. He put his head back.
"Why don't you take a nap?" Doyle suggested. "I'll let you know when we get there."
"That sounds like a good idea," Terry said. He closed his eyes and presently he was fast asleep.
Doyle nudged him awake, "We've arrived."
Terry opened his eyes and sat up.
The car was parked in front of a rooming house. It was a two story building with a wide porch. The house needed a painting desperately.
They got out of the car and walked up onto the porch. The front door was flung open before either man could knock. A woman in a faded robe stood framed in the doorway. She was close to forty, very good looking, with red hair falling to her shoulders. She looked at Terry with open, admiring eyes. She said, "So that's the new guest for the Den of Iniquity." She stepped aside and the men walked into the large front room.
There was a big sofa, three overstuffed chairs, a writing table, a dresser, green drapes, and over in a corner stood an oak liquor cabinet.
"He'll probably be here just for one night," Doyle informed the woman. He turned to Terry. "This is Dolly Schubert, Terry Scott."
"How do you do?" the woman said. "I own this forsaken palace. My old man died, left it to me. It's all the bastard left. Except for some rather unpleasant memories."
"How about a drink, Dolly?" Doyle asked.
"Sure." She moved away to the liquor cabinet.
Doyle patted her buttocks as she passed him. "Fresh," she said. But she looked pleased.
"Dolly is a very understanding dame," Doyle informed Terry. "And not bad-looking either."
The men sat down on the sofa.
Dolly brought them over drinks.
"Have you got anything on under that robe?" Doyle inquired. He reached out and pulled the robe open, exposing two soft breasts which sloped slightly. Her nipples were large and brown. "Why don't you wear a brassiere?" Doyle asked.
"You never complained before," she jeered. She pulled the robe closed.
Terry tasted his drink. It was good bourbon.
"Doyle finished his drink and stood up. "I'm leaving you in Dolly's capable hands. I'll be back to pick you up when things are ripe."
"Sure," Terry said.
Dolly showed Doyle to the door.
Terry finished his drink. He watched Dolly to go to the liquor cabinet and bring back the bottle.
"Are there any other tenants?" he asked.
"No one, dearie. No one here except you and me." She poured bourbon into his glass.
"You said something about a Den of Iniquity?" Terry reminded her.
"Sure. That's where you're goin' no?"
"I suppose so," Terry said. "I didn't know it had such a fancy tide."
"That's the name Gall gave it," she said.
"Gall?"
"Donny GalL" Dolly said. "He manages the Den of Iniquity."
"Have you ever been there?"
"No."
"Where is it?"
"Didn't Krakalow tell you?" she asked suspiciously.
"I suppose he thought it wasn't that important," Terry said. "We had to move fast."
"I think I've told you more than enough," she said. "Maybe Hans don't want you to know too much. Hell, you can't blame a person for being careful."
"Sure, I understand," Terry said.
"Maybe Nocky will tell you what you want to know. Nocky is a great talker."
"He sure is."
"You want another drink?" she asked anxiously.
"I hate drinking alone," he said pointedly. "It's kinda early for me."
"I'll wait."
"Okay, hon. Are you hungry?"
"No really."
"Let me know. I'll cook something."
"Sure."
"What's your pitch?" she wanted to know. "No," she admitted. "Didn't Hans tell you?"
"Well, maybe Hans doesn't want you to know too much," Terry said. "Hell you, can't blame a person for being careful, now can you?"
"Giving it back to me, huh?" She laughed. "Okay. Maybe I deserve it. Maybe."
"You know Nocky?"
"Sure. I know him."
"I came with him, didn't I?"
"Yeah. So?"
"So I must be okay," Terry said.
"So you're okay. So maybe I'll talk ... later. But right now I'm getting hungry. If I have to eat alone, I may as well eat out."
"Out?"
"Yeah," she said. "Out. Outside the house. There's a damn good restaurant a block away."
"Maybe you could bring me back, a sandwich." He gave her a five dollar bill. "Have your dinner on me."
"Thanks." She went to the staircase. "I can't go out like this. Pardon me while I get dressed."
He watched her go upstairs. Her buttocks, under the robe, jiggled tantalizingly. He stretched out on the sofa, kicked his shoes off.
He was staring at the ceiling when she came down. He turned his head to look at her. She had on a yellow dress with frills at the sleeves. She looked good.
"I'll be back soon, hon." She opened the front door and stepped out.
Terry's eyes went back to the ceiling. He waited for a good ten minutes before he sat up and put his shoes on. He quickly went to the dresser and searched for anything that would give him a clue to the Den of Iniquity. He came up with blanks.
He contemplated searching the rooms upstairs but gave it up; it would be too risky. She might come back while he was upstairs. He decided he'd get more information from her with some sweet talk.
She was damn good-looking.
After all, it was all in the line of duty.
A guy in his line of work never knew what the next second would bring.
So he wasn't turning down any piece of ass. He would screw anything that had the right equipment on her chest and between her thighs.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Terry sat there quietly smoking until the hot looking redhead came back.
"You got change comin'," Dolly Schubert said.
"Forget it," Terry said. He took the sandwich from Dolly, unwrapped the waxed paper, bit into the sandwich. It was pastrami.
"You want a highball?"
Terry nodded his head. "How's the weather?"
"Fog," Dolly said. "All along the eastern coast." She made two highballs. She sat down on the sofa beside him. "I don't know how Nocky is gonna get you out. He'll have to wait till the fog lifts."
Terry sipped his highball. "Is Nocky a pilot?"
"You guessed it."
"Say, this Den of Iniquity isn't in China is it?"
"Not in China, honey." She put a hand on his thigh. Terry finished the sandwich, finished the highball. She patted his thigh, stood up. "Do you want to see your room?" she asked. "I may as well."
He followed her up the flight of stairs.
It was a small room, with an iron bed, a chest of drawers and a chair.
Terry sat on the bed, tested the mattress. He stretched out. Dolly sat on the bed, took his shoes off. "Are you tired?" she asked him.
"I am."
"You're not too tired, are you?" Her voice was suggestive.
"No, not too tired."
She slipped off his jacket. She unbuttoned his shirt, took it off. She unzipped his pants, drew them down. Her hands crept under his T shirt, stroked his chest gently. Then she caressed his lean belly, slipped a hand under the band of his shorts. Her fingers began toying with his lob.
Terry groaned.
She quickly got rid of her dress, slipped into bed with him. All she had on was a pair of black panties. She took his head and buried his face between her ample breasts.
Terry's tongue started a journey up and down the valley of her breasts. Then he started to tongue her left nipple. The nipple hardened. He felt her fingers playing with the short hairs on the back of his neck. He captured her right nipple, hardened it with his tongue.
He got on his knees and ran his tongue down to her soft belly.
Her body writhed like a snake's under a hot sun. He kissed the soft flesh of her inner thighs.
"Pull down my panties," she told him. He did as she asked.
"I get the feeling, Terry," she gasped, "That you want to eat me. I like to be eaten Terry and I like to eat too. So swing your rear end around up here. You go to work on me down there and I'll work on you up here."
* * *
Naked bodies. Sweat stained bed. Darkened room. Moonlight, streaming through the window, painting the iron bed, the stark bodies, part of the tiny room.
Dolly Schubert ran her hands over Terry Scott's malehood. "I just want to memorize you," she explained. "I wish you could stay here forever." She sighed. "But I know better."
"I wish you could stay here forever." She sighed. "But I know better."
"I wish I knew where I was going," he mused.
"Oh,. I'll tell you, honey. You don' have to play games. Colorado. Near a town called Fleetwood."
"Thanks."
"If you ever get the chance to stop over here," she said, "I want you to drop in on me."
"Sure, I will."
"You'd better go to sleep now, honey. Nocky will probably be here early to take you with him." She got out of bed. She kissed his mouth. "You'll be more comfortable sleeping alone." She left the bedroom.
Terry smoked a cigarette, finished it, put out the butt, and went to sleep.
It was five in the morning when Nocky Doyle woke Terry. "Come on, get up. We're taking off in half an hour."
"Did the fog lift?"
"Partly. You're not afraid of a little fog, are you?"
"Yeah."
"Get dressed. I've got the clearance papers."
"Where are we taking off from?"
"A private airport near here."
"And you had to get clearance papers?"
"Sure. The whole coast is covered by radar. It's safer this way."
Terry got out of bed. "Do I have time to shower?"
"Nope. You can't even shave."
"Well, can I put on my clothes?"
"That you can do."
Terry dressed. "How good a pilot are you?"
"I was a pilot of a B-29 during the war."
"Whose side?" Nocky Doyle laughed.
They left the boarding house and got into the car. "Did Dolly treat you right?" Doyle asked, grinning. "Yaeh."
"She's okay," Doyle said, kicking the motor over. "Hot stuff."
"Yeah."
"I dig her kind of woman. There's no silly crap with her. If she's gonna put out for a guy, she puts out all the way. Head, straight or dog. She digs all positions. I'd better change the subject or I won't be able to fly that plane."
Terry laughed.
CHAPTER NINE
The field wasn't that close. They drove out of Portchester and sped down the Parkways to the Washington bridge. Crossed the Bridge to Jersey and pulled onto route 46 to Teeterboro Airport.
Nocky parked the car and they walked to a two sealer warming up in front of a hangar.
They climbed in and fastened their safety belts. Nocky taxied out to the line ... received his instructions and took off.
They made two stops for refueling before reaching their destination.
The plane settled itself on the narrow strip. Doyle climbed out first. He put a cigarette between his lips as Terry Scott jumped from the cockpit.
A mechanic with a greasy rag in his hip pocket came up to them. He jerked his thumb at the plane. "Does this go into the hangar?"
"No," Doyle said. I'll be taking off in an hour." He lit the cigarette. "There should be a car here."
"On the other side of the hangar," the mechanic said, and walked away.
Doyle and Terry circled the hangar. There was a light blue car with a man leaning against the fender. The man looked sullen; he had a thick mustache, small, beady eyes, florid face. He watched the two men approach. "Hi, Nocky," he said. He looked Terry over carefully. "Is this the new border?"
"I guess we can fix you up," Coe said. "I can always get something from town." He turned to Doyle. "Have a good flight?"
"Not too bad," Doyle said.
Coe opened the car door, said to Terry. "We may as well get started."
Terry said to Doyle, "Take it easy," and got into the car.
"Sure," Doyle said. He winked at Terry. "You're going to have a ball."
Coe got behind the wheel and gunned the motor. The car made a tight U turn and took off.
"Have you got a rod?" Coe asked.
"Nope. Why?"
"You'd have to hand it over," Coe explained. "Only the guards are allowed to carry guns."
"Guards?"
"Sure. Guards. I'm a guard. It's our job to make sure there's no trouble. You can't run the den without guards. And we have to keep the girls in line. They get kind of wild. Leona can't handle them by herself."
"Leona?"
"Leona Gay. She's in charge of the broads. If you want a particular piece for the night you go see Leona."
"Why can't I see the dame myself?" Terry asked, more out of curiosity.
"Some joker may have already asked for her. It's up to Leona to dish out the dames. Otherwise the guests might fight among themselves for some particular broad."
"How many girls are there?"
"Six, not counting Leona."
"And ... guests?"
"Eleven. Twelve, with you."
"Twelve. That's not much."
"A couple are on vacation." Coe turned to Terry, and winked. "Get it?"
"You mean they're on a job?"
"That's exactly what I mean. They ran out of loot so they went out on a job. They need fresh bread."
"They must plan to stay with you forever."
"They got it made. They're safe at the Den. Sure, they take a chance going out to do a job but it's necessary if they want their comfort."
"What if a guest wants to leave the country?"
"It can be arranged. We don't keep anyone against his will. You come and go as you please."
"In other words," Terry said, "I can visit the nearest town if I choose."
"Uh uh. That's out. Too close to home. The Feds would get curious about what some big shot mobster was doing in a town like Fleetwod. They'd send some investigator to Fleetwood and snoop."
"Why send an investigator? Isn't there a local Fed in the town?"
"Nope. Just a Marshall. Nearest Feds are in Denver. That's a good thirty miles away."
"So what happens to a guest when he wants to depart?" Terry wanted to know.
"One of the pilots flies him out."
"You have more than one pilot?"
"We have two. Nocky and Tailspin Tommy."
Terry saw a town sprawled out to his right. There were shacks, cabins, yards, wooden fences, yelping dogs. "Is that Fleetwood?"
"Yep. Doesn't look like much, does it?"
"No. It looks like North Zulch."
"There are some modern buildings in the center of town," Coe said. "The bank, the post office, one hotel, an insurance company, two drug stores. There are thousands of towns like Fleetwood spread across the country."
Fleetwood was left behind and ahead of them was desert.
The sun was high and glaring.
The car rounded a hump and there, ahead of them, was the Den of Iniquity. It was a sprawling ranch-type-structure. There was foliage, lush and green. There was a heart-shaped pool with a high diving board. There were men and women in lounge chairs around the pool. Terry counted six men and four women. One man was in the pool. Some faces turned to stare as the car went past and stopped in front of the main house. There were two other buildings flanking the House.
Terry later learned that one of the buildings housed the girls and the other one housed the guards.
They climbed out of the car and Terry followed Coe into the house.
There was a big front room with divans, overstuffed armchairs, snake plants, cactus, thick rugs. There was a door marked private. Coe knocked on the door and a gruff voice said, "Come on in." Coe opened the door and he and Terry walked in.
"It was a small room with a desk and two chairs. Behind the desk sat a man about fifty. He had dark hair, a pushed-in nose, wide eyes. There was a long slim cigar in his mouth.
"Okay," the man said, and Lonny Coe left the room.
The man stood up. "My name is Donny Gall," he announced. "I run this dump." He put out his hand and Terry shook it. "Sit down. Make yourself at home. Want a cigar, a cigarette?"
Terry Scott sat. He took out cigarettes. "I have my own, thanks."
"Did you give Coe your rod?"
"I wasn't carrying one." Terry lit his cigarette. "Oh?" Gall sat down. "Is there anything you want me to keep for you?"
"Like what?"
Gall shrugged his shoulders. "Bonds."
"I can manage, thank you."
"I've a strong safe."
"It's okay."
"Suit yourself." Gall rolled the cigar about in his mouth. "You're paid up for ten days. I hope you enjoy your visit."
"I'm sure I will."
"Do you have luggage?"
"No," Terry said.
"One of the boys will go into town and get you what you need." Gall said. "It's extra. We don't provide extras. But we do provide bathing suits and trunks. Take advantage of the pool. The water is changed every day."
"I know I'll be happy and comfortable."
"I call the place the Den of Iniquity. Naturally, after you leave here, I'll have to trust you won't say anything about this place."
"My lips are sealed." Terry said.
"Good. You have room 69. Just go along the corridor and you'll find it. One of the guards will be with you shortly; you'll tell him what clothes he should buy for you." Gall stood up and so did Terry. They shook hands and Terry went out.
It was a nice-sized room. The bedroom set was light wood. There was a bathroom connecting, with blue and white tile and a shower stall.
To the left of the dresser was a liquor cabinet. Terry filled a glass with bourbon and sipped. He sat in a deep armchair and waited.
Presently, there was a knock on the door. "Come in," Terry said.
A guard walked in. He had on cord pants and a short sleeve polo shirt. "Hi," he said. "My name is Rocky Cirboni. You want something from town?" He was tall, slim, black-haired.
"Clothes," Terry said.
"Just give me the measurements," Rocky said. He produced a pad and pencil. He wrote down Terry's measurements. "Two pairs of slacks, four shirts, one pair of loafers, underwear, and a dozen handkerchiefs. Okay. I'll lay out the dough; you can pay me when I get back."
Terry watched him leave, then went back to his bourbon. He finished the glass, filled it up again. There was another knock on the door. "It's open," Terry said.
A woman about thirty walked in. She was tall with black hair cut short. She had on a pair of slacks and a white blouse. "I'm Leona Gay," she said. "And you're Terry Scott." Her voice was cool, aloof.
"Yes," Terry said. "Won't you sit down?"
She sat. "Do you know my function here?"
"I've been told," Terry said blandly.
"There are two girls available tonight," she said.
"DO you want one?"
"I don't think so."
She cocked an eyebrow. "It's part of the service."
"I'm not in the mood. Perhaps tomorrow night."
She suddenly smiled. "You stopped off at Dolly's didn't you? I should have guessed sooner."
"I won't commit myself," Terry said firmly.
"You don't have to," she said. "All right, Terry. Is it all right if I call you Terry?"
"Certainly."
"I have a room in one of the small houses," she informed him. "Whenever you want a broad, come and see me. I'll fix it. You noticed the two smaller houses, didn't you?"
"Yes".
"The girls have their rooms in one of them. The gray one. My room number is 34. Just knock. If I'm not in I'll be either at the pool or in the recreation hall."
"Where's the recreation hall?"
"In this building," She said. "There's billiards, card tables, dice tables, and a roulette wheel. If I'm there I'll be at one of the card tables." She stood up. "You will let me know if you want a broad, won't you?"
"Of course."
"We aim to please, and the broads swing anyway you want."
"Would you like a drink?" Terry started to get up.
"It's all right; I'll help myself." She went to the liquor cabinet and found a bottle of scotch. "You have better manners than the others," she observed.
"I'm an educated crook."
"How nice," She sipped at the scotch. "Why didn't you let Donny keep the hop for you? He won't steal it."
"Don't I have any secrets"
"If Hans knows, then Donny knows."
"Who's the boss of this outfit?" Terry asked. "Donny or Hans? Or is there someone else?"
"Why so curious?"
"I was born curious?"
"Does it really make any difference?"
"I suppose not," Terry said.
"Well, I'd better be shoving off." She finished the scotch, put the glass aside. She went to the door. "There is someone else. You'll meet him tonight." She went out.
Terry looked around the room. Well, he thought to himself, I'm a lonely Daniel in a den full of ferocious lions.
CHAPTER TEN
Terry Scott wandered out to the pool. The water was aquamarine under the sun. A girl, about twenty, dove into the water from the diving board. She sliced cleanly into the water, disappeared for a few seconds, then bobbed up to the surface. She swam to the lip of the pool, to where Terry was standing. "Hi," she said. She put up her hand.
Terry took it, helped her out of the pool. Her head was encased in a bathing cap. She wore a two-piece outfit which clung to her slender figure. "New here, aren't you?"
"Yes," Terry said. "What shall I call you?"
"Terry."
"I'm Marsha. Marsha Hale."
"Pleased to meet you, Marsha."
"Do you have trunks?"
"No. But I can get a pair."
"Why don't you? Come on, I'll show you where to go." She took his arm and they walked to one of the smaller houses. "This is where the guards sleep." She opened a door. "This is a locker room. You'll find what you need here. I'll wait for you outside."
Terry went in.
A small man sitting in a chair looked up. "You the new guy, huh?" He was about fifty, balding, and his face was peeling from too much sun.
"That's right," Terry said. "Can I get a pair of trunks?"
"Sure. My name is Scotty, by the way." The small man opened one of the lockers with a key. He gave the key to Terry. "Leave your clothes in there. I'll get you a robe and trunks." He went to a foot locker where he rummaged around. He finally came up with a terry cloth robe and a pair of black trunks.
Terry undressed, left his clothes in the locker, put on the trunks and the robe, put the locker key in the pocket of the robe. He" thanked Scotty and left the building.
Marsha was waiting for him.
They walked to the pool.
A short blonde girl was getting set to dive into the pool from the high board when she spotted Terry and Marsha. "Hi," she greeted them, waving. She dived into the pool.
"That's Helen Walker," Marsha informed Terry.
Helen climbed out of the pool. Introduce me," she said.
"Helen, this is Terry."
"Hello," Helen said. She was a short, cute girl with an upturned nose.
"Let's go for a swim," Marsha said. "Do you want to dive?"
"Not from up there," Terry said. "I'm frightened of heights. But I'll go up if you'll give me a parachute." He took off his robe.
Marsha laughed. She dived into the pool.
"Excuse me," Terry said to Helen, and followed Marsha.
Helen watched them swim for awhile, then reclined in one of the lounge chairs under a sun umbrella.
She was almost ready to fall asleep when Marsha and Terry joined her. Marsha took off her cap and shook her hair out. Her hair was deep red.
"What sort of plans do you have for the evening?"
Marsha asked Terry.
"I haven't made any plans," Terry said.
"They're showing movies tonight," Marsha said.
"Yeah," Helen said. "The real stuff." She winked at Terry. "Shall we all go?"
"I was thinking of a quiet evening, then bed," Terry said.
"I'm thinking of bed too," Marsha said wickedly.
"You'll have to leave me out," Helen said. "I'm spending the night with Lester. He arranged it with Leona."
"Who invited you?" Marsha retorted. She linked her arm with Terry's. "I'm free for tonight. How about fixing it with Leona? You won't be sorry."
"I'm overwhelmed at the offer," Terry said. "But not tonight. I need rest."
"You'll rest much better after...." Marsha winked at him.
"Let's make it tomorrow night," Terry said.
"Okay," Marsha said, giving up. "I'm certainly not going to beg. I have feelings, you know."
Terry saw a car coming up the driveway. He saw Rocky Cirboni getting out with packages under his arms.
"If you ladies will excuse me?" Terry said, and hurried away to meet Rocky.
"You think he isn't interested in sex?" Helen asked.
"I don't know," Marsha said. "But I got a sudden yen for him."
"Funny," Helen said. "But I got the same yen."
"Too bad you've got an appointment with Lester."
"I'll still go with you two to the movies," Helen said. "I can see Lester after."
"Maybe you can even satisfy that yen," Marsha said. "Then you can duck out."
"You don't mind?"
"Maybe it'll be fun," Marsha said. "The three of us."
"What if one of the guests puts in a request for you?" Helen asked.
"I can always say I'm ... uh ... indisposed"
Helen nodded her head wisely. "I get it."
"We'll go to the movies after dinner," Marsha said. "Terry doesn't know it yet, but he's going to have company when he eats."
"And afterwards," she giggled, he will have to eat his company."
Both girls laughed out loud.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Helen and Marsha joined Terry for dinner.
The dining area was a huge room filled with tables and chairs. Off to one side was the kitchen with busy cooks and waiters. The main course for dinner was chicken a la burgandian. There was side dishes of buttered Lima beans and sauteed mushrooms. There was a variety of wines; rose, sauterne, rhine, sherry, and port.
After dinner, Helen and Marsha escorted Terry down the corridor to a room where there were rows of divans facing a screen. In the back of the room stood a table with a projector on it. Scotty the man from the locker room, was handling the projector.
"Let's get started," a gruff voice said.
The audience sat and Scotty selected a reel of film.
"These divans are used for other purposes than just sitting," Helen whispered in Terry's ear.
The lights went out and reel number one came on.
The players were a plumber, his helper, and a female who couldn't pay her bill. The helper and the plumber finally came up with a solution on how to get payment. The female quickly agreed. She took on the plumber and his helper at the same time.
"I can do better than that," a female patron of the arts hooted from the audience.
A male voice laughed, then said, "Show me."
Reel number one came to a close. The lights came on and Scotty got busy selecting reel number two.
Terry turned and saw a man undressing a girl on one of the divans.
The lights went out and Helen put a hand on Terry's knee. Anytime you feel like the real thing," she whispered huskily.
Marsha was on his other side. "Don't forget me."
Helen's fingers ran up and down Terry's thigh as she watched the movie. Her breathing was far from normal. She made a claw of her hand and clutched at Terry's lob.
The suddeness of the movement made him jump slightly. Then he relaxed while her fingers worked their magic. He put his arm around her shoulder and dipped his hand into the opening of her dress. He encountered a bra-filled breast. He captured the mound and his other hand swept under the skirt of her dress. He smoothed her thighs with his palm.
"You two better not leave me out in the cold," Marsha whispered furiously.
Terry's hand came away from under Helen's skirt and fumbled for Marsha's breast.
"That's better," Marsha said.
There was much movement in the projection room. There were sighs of passion, giggles, laughter. An orgy was going on.
"Shall we join them?" Helen asked.
"Can't we go to my room?" Terry asked.
"We sure can," Helen said.
The three of them got up and walked out. Behind them were passion cries and groanings.
He kept his hands on the girl's breasts as they made their way to his room.
Helen bounced on the bed. "I'm first," she announced. "I have a later date, that's why."
Marsha started to strip. "Let's get in the mood."
"You keep your clothes on," Helen told Terry. "We'll attend to you ourselves." She quickly stripped, then she and Marsha forced Terry to lay on the bed. They started to strip him.
It was a new experience for Terry; being stripped by two naked girls. He suspected that they had worked as a team before. When he was naked, Helen clutched at him, grinding her hot body against his. He squeezed her ample breasts while she got on top of him.
Marsha lay on her side, watching. When it was over, she said. "Now watch me."
Terry shook his head. "I need time to recuperate."
"I wish I could stay the night," Helen said, getting out of bed. "But I've a date with Lester." She dressed, waved goodbye, and left the room.
"There's no real hurry," Marsha said. She got up and examined the liquor cabinet. "I see you've got a full stock. What do you want?"
"Scotch."
She poured, brought the glasses over to the bed.
Terry sat up, took a glass, and critically examined her. Marsha Hale was tall and well-built. Her hair was a deep red, and it hung down to her slender shoulders. Her breasts were small but well rounded with coral nipples at their summits. Her belly was lean and smooth. The thighs long and sleek.
"Like what you see?" she said.
Terry Scott nodded his head, yes.
"What kind of racket are you in? she asked. "Or should I keep my mouth shut?"
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
"Try me," she urged.
"I'm in the bubble gum business."
"What?"
"Sure. I was doing okay till I got greedy. I tried to take over all the bubble gum business in town. I'd approach a little kid and ask him where he was getting his bubble gum. If he mentioned a rival firm I'd smash him around. My ruin came about when...."
"Oh, shut up."
"Don't you want to hear the rest of it?"
"No."
"Don't you want to hear how I hijacked bubble gum trucks?"
"No."
"Or the time I was selling hot bubble gum?"
"No, you idiot." She sipped at her drink. "What are you doing here anyway?"
"I can ask you the same thing," he pointed out.
"I'm here to keep you amused."
"And I'm here for the obvious reason; I'm hiding out."
"What did you do, pull a stickup?"
"Nothing as crude as all that," Terry said. "When I became known as the bubble gum king my rivals got very jealous and forced me to flee town."
She finished her drink. "What did you think of Leona Gay?" she asked.
"A shrewd female."
"Smart as a whip," Marsha said. "But she's got a problem."
"Haven't we all?"
"This problem keeps her here," Marsha said. "She hates the Den of Iniquity. But her craving keeps her under Gall's thumb. She needs loot to satisfy this craving.
"Is it dope?"
Marsha shook her head. "Gambling. She's got the gambling fever. That's why she has to put up with a lot of crap."
"How did she get mixed up with Gall?"
"He had an interest in a gambling joint in Vegas," Marsha said. "Leona was a customer. She got in over her head, owed the clip joint a pile of I. O. U.'s. Gall put her to work. When he took this joint over Leona came with him. I suspect he uses her in other ways too." She winked at Terry. "If you know what I mean?"
"I guess I do."
"Gall isn't the real boss," Marsha said. "He just fronts for him."
"Who is the real boss of the outfit?"
"I heard he'll be around tonight. He usually comes around to greet the new guests."
"Doesn't he have a name?"
Marsha shrugged. "I never heard anyone mention it. Maybe he's the cautious type."
Terry handed her his empty glass. "You can bring me a refill."
She took his glass and deposited it and hers on top of the liquor cabinet. She came back to the bed holding a full bottle of scotch.
Terry looked at her wondering what she was going to do.
She unscrewed the cap and tipped the bottle so that the liquor spilled out over his chest, belly, thighs and then over his malehood.
She placed the empty bottle on the table next to the bed and leaned her head over his chest and began to lick up the liquor. Her tongue was flicking in and out the way a cat laps milk.
Slowly, very slowly she began to move down his chest and over his belly then over to his side and down his hip and over his thigh.
Terry began to moan as the blood raced through his veins and his malehood visibly throbbed to the rapid beat of his heart.
She was licking up the inside of his thigh. When she reached the top of his thigh she lifted his leg up into the air and pushed it to the side so that her tongue could reach the area at the top most inner thigh.
Terry was groaning and pounding his fist against the mattress. He was going out of his mind with pleasure. This broad must have been tutored by the queen of all French whores, he thought.
Now she began to lick, at what Terry always called his family jewels.
This was the greatest! This was the ultimate of exquisite agony! He screamed, he twitched. His entire body was tingling with ecstasy.
Now she moved higher, flicking her tongue all around the base of his malehood ... now up ... up ... up ... tongue constantly working. Now it was flicking and wrapping itself around the flaming coral tip.
Now her lips surrounded the top ... squeezing, pulling ... teeth gently nipping. Suddenly she had the whole thing in her mouth and her lips were dragging up and down on all sides of his malehood.
He couldn't hold back. He screamed as he exploded, but she didn't release him. Her lips kept pulling, her mouth kept drawing, her tongue kept slashing, so that there was no let down at the end of his orgasm. He was right up there ... hot ... excited ... stiff ... ready to keep on going.
She let his malehood slip out of her mouth and snaked her way up his body.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her lips against his, ramming her tongue down his throat.
She pressed her sharp breasts against his chest. His hand slid along the skin of her cool, naked back.
He felt the firmness of her buttocks. Her eyes, deep like bottomless pools, looked into his. Then there was animal hunger mirrored there, raw animal hunger.
Her mouth came away from his "Touch my tits."
He touched them. He felt the hard nipples the smooth cool skin of the thrusting mounds.
"Suck them," she commanded.
He bent his head and feasted on her breasts.
She watched him feed. "That's it. Take the nipple in your mouth. She ran her finger through his hair. She took his hand and put it on her belly. "Touch me. Feel me. Finger me." She closed her eyes as his finger entered the moist crevice between her thighs.
Terry suddenly raised his head, kissed her throat, "I can't wait," he groaned.
"Then screw me baby," she crooned. "Screw me." She looked up at him. She felt his stiff spear. "Stick it in me, honey. I'm ready to cream out now."
The sky exploded. The sun moved.
The flames rushed forwards, sweeping them along, man and woman, till the fires were doused with waves as smooth as glass and the surface of the oceans showed hardly a ripple. Man and woman floated, exhausted, drained.
"Oh, baby," Marsha said. "Oh, my baby."
"I must be dead." Terry said.
"It was great." She kissed his chest. "I'm still tingling. I wish it could have lasted longer. Much longer.
"We have no control over that."
"Yes, I know, damn it."
"You must ask Leona for me for tomorrow night," she begged. "Don't disappoint me."
"It'll take me at least a week to recover," he said. "No it won't. And you know it."
"I'm not made of steel."
"I'm staying the night," she said.
"If you want."
"And I'm going to work my magic tongue on you," she promised.
"Oh, no," he groaned.
"Yes. I want more. I want...."
There was a knock on the door.
Terry raised his head. "Who is it?"
"It's Rocky," the guard said "Mr. Gall wants to see you in his office."
"Tell him I'll be right there," Terry said.
They heard Rocky's footsteps fade.
"I guess it's your turn to meet the owner of the Den of Iniquity," Marsha said.
"That's something I don't want to miss," Terry said, getting out of bed. He started to dress.
"I'll be here when you get back," Marsha said. She watched him walk out the door.
He turned to look at her. She did something with her tongue and he knew that he wasn't as tired as he thought he was.
CHAPTER TWELVE
He was a big man wearing a Palm Beach suit. His face was round, and his nose was broad, almost set against his face as if someone had punched and flattened it. He didn't get up as Terry Scott entered Gall's office but nodded his head pleasantly as Gall said: "Terry Scott, this is Elvis. Elvis is my boss."
Terry nodded his head.
"Sit down," Gall said.
Terry sat. He shook his head when Gall extended a humidor. Gall took a long slim cigar from the box and lit it.
"I always welcome new members," Elvis said. "You're British, aren't you?"
"Yes," Terry said.
"And you're also a very careful man," Elvis observed. "How so?" Terry said.
"The opium," said Elvis. "I know about the opium; Hans Krakalow passed the information on. It's only natural that we try to get a complete shake down on you. Or as complete as we can. We can't know everything."
"You wouldn't be interested in the hop," Terry said. "You have your own little racket."
"Your interests are our interests," Elvis said. "We have no wish to cut ourselves in, that's true. On the other hand, for a small percentage, we can be of some service."
"How do you mean?"
"You're in this country to sell the stuff," Elvis said.
"All right, suppose we find you a buyer?"
"I have a buyer."
"I don't know what arrangements you have with this person," Elvis said, "but I'm sure that we can find someone who will top his offer, whatever that offer may be."
"The deal has been arranged," Terry said adamantly.
Elvis shrugged his massive shoulders. "You mean to say you're an honorable man? There was a trace of amusement on his face. He studied Terry with shrewd eyes.
"Strange, isn't it?"
"Very. But I'm sure, with the proper inducement, you can overcome that sickness."
"Meaning?" Terry said dryly.
"I hope you don't think I was threatening you," Elvis said. "I was talking about money. Bigger men than you have been persuaded by that green stuff. Isn't that why we exist? To make money? To enjoy life and life's pleasures? Money makes the world go round, my friend. After all, if you can get a better deal, why not take advantage?"
"I'll have to think about it."
"Of course," Elvis said. "And the decision will be yours. We are also honorable men, in a fashion. We could have silenced you permanently and taken possession of the stuff. But no, that is not the way we do things. We have a reputation. So the decision is yours."
"And if I do business with this friend of yours?" Terry said. "What's your cut?"
"A mere ten per cent," Elvis said. "A trifle."
"And ten per cent from your friend?" Terry guessed.
Elvis laughed. "You are a shrewd one. Yes, you have me there. But it's all business. You can't lose. In fact, no one loses."
"Well, I'll let you know," Terry said.
"There's no hurry," Elvis said. "You're registered with us for ten days."
Terry got to his feet.
"Want a drink before you go?" Gall asked.
"No, thanks. I've a cabinet full of booze."
"We do take care of our guests," Elvis said. "Liquor and women. And safety."
Gall got to his feet and opened the door for Terry.
"Good night, Mr. Scott," Elvis called out.
"Good night," Terry said, and walked out
* * *
When Terry closed the door to his room, Marsha was on her knees in front of him. She had unzipped his trousers and had his malehood in her mouth before he could even say hello.
They never made it to the bed for the rest of the night.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
It was morning.
Marsha set up and yawned. She got up off the floor and walked into the bathroom. When she finished washing, she went back into the bedroom to dress. Terry Scott was sitting up.
"Are you going to have breakfast with me?" she wanted to know, putting on her bra.
"I'm skipping breakfast," Terry said. "I'm going for a dip in the pool."
Marsha stepped into her panties. "Well, enjoy yourself, Terry. I'm too tuckered out to go swimming."
He got off the floor, started for the bathroom. "A good swim will give you more of an appetite."
"No, thank you. I'm going to eat and then sleep."
He stepped into the shower, turned on the cold water to wake him up. Then he shaved. She was gone when he came out.
The pool was deserted.
Terry dived in, swam for awhile, then turned on his back and floated. The sun was on his face and chest. He closed his eyes and felt sleep invading his body.
Suddenly, he heard a splash. He turned on his side and saw Leona Gay's head bobbing on the surface. "Hello," he greeted her.
"I love the water," she said. "It cleans everything away ... almost everything."
"Do you take a swim every morning?"
"Oh, yes. It's a ritual with me."
They swam to the lip of the pool and climbed out. Her short hair had curled into ringlets from the water.
She had on a two-piece suit. She saw Terry admiring her tall, trim body. "There are better shapes floating around," she said. "Do you want to get fixed up for tonight?"
"Oh, no," Terry groaned. He picked up his robe, put it on.
"Are you a fairy?" she asked bluntly. "Right now, I wish I were."
They sat on the beach chairs. "I suppose you met Elvis last night?" she said. "Do you have a cigarette"?
"I met him." Terry fished a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his robe's pocket. "Does he have a last name?" He offered her the pack.
She took a cigarette and he lit it for her.
"I've never heard him called anything but Elvis," she told Terry. "I think he's from Fleetwood. He usually arrives by car."
"How would you like to go for a drive later? he asked.
"Where?"
"To Fleetwood. We'll see what the town's like."
"Gall won't like it."
"He doesn't have to know," Terry said.
"I work for Gall," she reminded him. "How do you know you can trust me?"
"What can I really lose, whether you tell him or not?" Terry reasoned. "So I want to see Fleetwood. He can't shoot me for that."
"He can if he gets into his mind you're a fink."
"I'm just restless. But skip it if you're scared."
"I was just giving you a good piece of advice," she said. "I'll provide you with a car if you're so anxious to go."
"You mean that?"
"Sure. When do you want to go?"
"This afternoon will be fine," Terry said "Meet me in back of the house which the girls use," seat and keep down till we're out of sight from prying sea tand keep down till we're out of sight from prying eyes."
"You're going with me?"
"Yes. What the hell! I have to get away. This place reeks with perversion. I'm stifled."
"All right. This afternoon.
"Around one," she said.
"Want to go for another swim?"
"No. I'm going to my room." She touched his arm with long cool fingers. "So long, Terry, till one." She got up from the beach chair and walked away.
Terry studied the movement of her slim thighs and small buttocks. When she disappeared into the house where she had her room he lay back on the chair and closed his eyes. This time, he fell asleep.
Terry Scott put on a pair of powder blue slacks, a cotton shirt, and his jacket which still had five thousand dollars in the lining. He went to have lunch.
Helen and Marsha saw him, joined him. The girls had on halters and shorts. "They're putting on a special tonight," Helen said. She rubbed her knee against Terry's. "How would you like to go with Marsha and me?"
"A special?" he said, bewildered.
"Yum, yum," Helen said. She forked a piece of fried fish, shoveled it into her mouth. "Two of the girls and two of the guests. They're going to put on a show."
"Don't act naive," Marsha said.
"Sure," I'll go with you girls. If that's what you want." Terry finished his lunch, stood up. "I'll see you girls tonight then."
"Wild," Helen said throatily.
"Crazy," Marsha murmured.
Terry left the restaurant. He walked casually about the grounds, innocently found himself behind one of the smaller houses. There was a Bentley sedan idling, motor running. Terry slipped into the back seat and settled down low.
The car jerked forward, took off.
Leona said. "You're sure nobody saw you?"
"Quite sure."
When they were at a good distance away, she stopped the car and Terry got into the front seat. He lit two cigarettes and gave her one.
"Tell me about yourself," he said.
"There's nothing to tell." She concentrated on her driving. "I'm just an ordinary madam."
"Tell me about the gambling."
She jerked her head at him, her eyes narrowed. "Who've you been talking to?"
"Does it matter?"
She looked straight ahead again. "I suppose it's no secret. Yes, I like to gamble. I get pleasure out of it. Some women have their sex or dope ... or children. I have my gambling. Why are you so interested? Are you trying to reform me?"
"I'm just interested."
"Well, don't be. My private life is my own. I don't interfere with you; you don't interfere with me."
"Sorry."
"We all have some sort of a quirk," she said. "I like to gamble. I'd rather gamble than do anything else."
"Are you sure about that?"
"You're talking about sex, aren't you?" she said. "I'm disgusted with sex. Do you want to know why? Because it's forced on me. Donny Gall, my lover. I have to give in to his demands. And I have to work myself into a frenzy to please him. But I don't get anything out of it. Nothing, not a thing. But I have to pretend or he'll get sore. So I pretend I'm enjoying myself and the bastard is happy. He thinks he's giving me pleasure. He thinks he's a great lover. What a laugh!"
"Is Gall your only lover?" Terry asked.
"Yes," she said bitterly. "I don't have anything to do with those mugs. Oh, they've approached me, all right. But I fend them off. Bad enough have to screw for Gall. But hell, another slob to wrestie with? No, thank you."
"Maybe one of those mugs could change your mind about sex," Terry said. "All you need is the right partner."
"And you may be it, is that the idea?" she sneered.
"I wasn't thinking of myself," Terry said. "I've enough on my hands."
"Oh?" Leona glanced at him. "So you've been busy, is that it? And I was beginning to think you wore panties and a girdle under your pants."
"I'm as human as the next guy," Terry said.
"Who's the girl?"
"That would be telling."
"Can I take a guess?"
"Go ahead," he said.
"Marsha Hale."
"Correct."
"It was an easy guess."
"I know," Terry said. "She was the only girl without an escort for last night."
"How was Marsha?"
"Delicious."
She laughed delightedly. "I'm glad she pleased you. We want satisfied customers."
"Well, I'm more than satisfied. In fact, I'm actually sated. And tonight I'm supposed to witness a special."
"The special was my idea," she said. "Your idea?"
"Of course. I'm die social director. It's my job to keep the boys happy. There's nothing like a special to send them to cloud sixty nine."
"And you watch the special yourself?"
"Sure. Why not?"
"Do they ever excite you?" he wanted to know.
"Sometimes," she said. "And then Gall puts his lob in me and the excitement dies down."
"Then it could be Gall you're disgusted with and not sex," Terry said.
"Perhaps."
"You're missing out on a great deal."
"Am I? She laughed. "I still think you're trying to make me."
"Are you kidding? After Marsha and Helen...." He stopped, realizing he had said too much.
"Helen?" Leona said, interested. "Helen too? My gosh, you must be quite a stud."
"Don't take it out on her," Terry said. "She just had a yen."
"But she spent last night with Lester."
"She went to Lester after a little session with me," Terry said.
"And then you took on Marsha?"
"Well, she was there. And the proximity was too much for me."
"I know," Leona sighed. "You're only human."
"I have to have some sort of interest. You have your gambling and I have...." Terry shrugged his shoulders.
"You think you could cure me of my revulsion for sex?"
"What?" Terry frowned. "Listen, I'm not curing you of anything. Go pick on someone else. Try one of the guards if you're seeking a cure. Leave me out of it."
"What's the matter?" she asked, angrily. "Am I ugly or something?"
"Of course not. You're lovely. But I'm pooped. And I have no wish to be used for experimental purposes."
She started to say something, then changed her mind. She was obviously angry. "We're coming into Fleetwood," she told him. "Take a good look. It isn't very big. We'll be through it in a little while."
"Do you have to do any shopping?"
"I could use a few items," she said. "But I didn't bring any money with me."
"That's all right." He took a twenty dollar bill from his wallet. "Will this be enough?"
She looked at the bill suspiciously. "What's going on?"
"What do you mean?" he asked innocently. "You're trying to get rid of me," she said, accusingly.
"Don't be silly."
"Okay, have it your way." She took the bill. She parked in front of the general store. She slid out from behind the wheel, slammed the door shut, marched into the store.
Terry Scott waited five full pregnant minutes, then got out of the car. He wandered around, till he found the building which housed the Marshals office.
The Marshall's office was on the ground floor in back. There was a partition with a desk and a deputy scowling at something in the paper he was reading. Behind the desk was a door which said: PRIVATE.
The deputy put the paper down, stood up. He was lanky, young, and his hair was the color of straw. "What can I do for you?" he asked.
"I wanted to see the Marshal," Terry said.
The deputy jerked his thumb over his right shoulder. "Just go right in. The Marshall don't believe in bein' formal." The deputy stuck his paper under his arm. "Do me a favor and tell the Marshal I went out to eat." He brushed past Terry. "Haven't eat nothin' since breakfast."
Terry watched the deputy leave the outer office, then lit a cigarette. He opened the door to the Marshal's office.
The Marshal's back was to Terry. He was busy at a filing cabinet. He was a big man. He had on a gray uniform and a Sam Browne belt. There was a holstered gun at his side. He turned slowly, smiling. "I heard your voice outside, talking to my deputy. I recognized it immediately." His hand went to his holster.
The Marshal was the man known as Elvis. The Marshal was the boss of the Den of Iniquity.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Terry lunged at the big man as he cleared his revolver from the holster. They tumbled to the floor.
Terry grabbed Elvis' right wrist with both hands, exerted pressure to keep the gun's muzzle away from his head.
Elvis' left hand chopped at Terry's neck.
Terry winced. He exerted more pressure. Then he lowered his head and sank his teeth into Elvis' fleshy hand. The Marshal screamed. His hand opened and the gun fell from paralyzed fingers.
"You bastard," Elvis screamed.
Terry scooped up the gun as Elvis' hands found his throat. Terry managed to get the gun between them. Elvis' fingers were digging into his windpipe. Terry dug the gun into Elvis' belly and squeezed off a shot.
The pillowly stomach muffled the explosion.
Elvis' eyes opened wide in amazement. His fingers started to relax. He licked his lips. "You ... you...."
Terry got free of the Marshal's hands, struggled to his feet. He took deep breaths, forced air into his lungs.
Elvis tried to rise. Blood started to pour from his mouth. Then he fell back, twitched slightly, then was still.
Terry knelt on one knee, felt for the man's pulse. There wasn't any.
He quickly left the Marshal's office, walked calmly out of the building. He found Leona waiting for him in the car. There were no packages. He got in beside her. "Didn't you buy anything?" he asked.
"I couldn't find what I wanted," she replied. She turned the motor over and the car pulled away. Terry lit a cigarette and was silent. "Where did you go?" she asked idly. "I just took a walk."
"Did you enjoy your walk?" She stared straight ahead.
Terry studied her face but couldn't determine if she knew anything or not. "It was a walk," he said indifferently. "It was just something to do."
"Just passing the time of day," she said. "Just killing time. Just felt like taking a walk. You wanted to go to Fleetwood so you could take a walk, is that it?"
"Nobody has to know I went to Fleetwood," Terry said.
"I won't tell," she said.
"Besides,' 'Terry added, "Gall wouldn't like it if he knew you took me."
"Are you going to hold that on top of me?"
"Of course not," he snapped. He put his hand in his jacket pocket for cigarettes and felt the Marshal's gun. His fingers glided over the cold metal. Here was insurance. Good insurance. He took out the pack of cigarettes and lit a fresh one after throwing away the butt he'd lit before.
"You smoke too much," she commented.
"I know."
"Give me a cigarette."
He gave her one, lit it.
"Just who are you?" she said.
"Don't you know?" Terry felt apprehension. Leona was suspicious of him because he'd let the car. But there had to be more than that. Why didn't she believe him when he'd told her that he'd taken a walk? For a wild moment he had the urge to seize the wheels of the car and drive off in the opposite direction at the maximum speed.
"No, I don't know," she answered. "I don't think you are what you say you are." She glanced at him for a fleeting second. "You're playing with dynamite, do you know that?"
"Why don't you get to the point?"
"Forget it. I guess you know what you're doing."
"Thanks. For nothing."
She drove the rest of the way in silence.
Soon, they could see the Den of Iniquity.
"I'll leave you off where I picked you up," she said.
"Okay."
"I like you, Terry. I don't know why. You must believe me. I do like you."
"All right, I believe you."
"I hate Gall. You must believe that too."
"What are you leading to?" he wanted to know.
"The point is ... what are you leading up to?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Okay, Terry. Just remember. You can trust me."
She stopped the car and he got out. He walked around the building, crossed the grounds, went into the House. He went to his room and opened the door.
There were two men seated on his bed.
One of them said, "Come on in, Terry. My name is Flager. This is Joe Hurtze."
Terry walked in, closed the door, leaned his back against it. "What's the idea?"
"We have a business proposition," Flagler said. He was a slim man. His lips were thin his jaw pointed. "It's about that opium of yours."
Joe Hurtze said, "We want to buy it." He was a big man with sandy hair.
"Are you boys in the narcotics game?" Terry said.
"I am," Flagler said. "Joe is in the banking business, if you know what I mean."
"I'm just puttin' up some dough," Hurtze said. "I have some extra cash and figured I'd let it work for me.
"I suppose you gentlemen have talked to Gall and Elvis?" Terry said.
"We have," Flagler said. "We know you already have a deal cooking. Well, so what? This character is abroad someplace. And we're here. With money. Remember that old saying? "A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush?"
"Give me time to think," Terry said.
"I can't give you too much time," Flagler said. "I want to start operations soon. I have my pushers and a good mixer all lined up. They're waiting for me now in Chicago. I either come up with some good hop or buy myself some marijuana. So what do you say, Terry?"
"I still need time," Terry said. "I'd feel like I was double-crossing this chap."
"I see his point," Hurtze said. "Let's give him a few days to make up his mind."
"Sure. Just a few days."
The men got up. Terry ushered them to the door, showed them out, closed and locked the door.
He sighed. Things would have to come to a head soon. That opium wasn't his to sell. Here was just another complication.
Terry felt that with Elvis' death things would have to move and move fast.
He hid the Marshal's gun under the mattress.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Marsha and Helen joined Terry for dinner.
"Damn!" Helen exploded. "I can't sit with you during the special," she informed Terry. "Leona assigned me to one of the guests. And I have to be with him during the special."
"Same with me," Marsha complained. "I tried to beg off but Leona said every girl would be needed for tonight. Some of the girls will have to take care of two guests instead of one. I'm glad I got out of that assignment."
"It looks like we've got a new guest," Helen said, looking up.
Two men walked past their table. Terry looked up, recognized Ira Simeon. The other man wore fatigues.
"He's no guest," Terry said. "He works for this crowd. Who's the other man?"
"That's Tailspin Tommy, one of the pilots," Marsha said. "I guess he just flew this joker in."
They finished their dinner and got up to leave. "We'll have to join the guys we've been assigned to," Helen said. She looked at Terry with longing. "But tomorrow is another day, baby." She and Marsha moved away.
Terry walked into the corridor and bumped into Leona.
"I have to talk to you," Leona said. "Sure."
She took his arm and led him outside. They walked around the grounds, passed the swimming pool. "The boss man is dead," she informed Terry.
"You mean Elvis?" He tried to put surprise into his voice. "What happened?"
"You shot him."
"What?"
"You heard me," Leona said. "I followed you to the Marshal's office."
"Why didn't you tell Gall?"
"I hate him. I told you that."
"Did you know Elvis was Marshal of Fleetwood?" Terry said.
"No. I just found it out. Gall called me into his office, told me about Elvis getting shot and how Elvis had been Marshal. Everything is up in the air right now. One of the boys from the east just flew in. I guess he's here to straighten things out."
"He's a bit dumb for something like that," Terry said.
"What are you going to do?"
"I have to get away."
"They don't know you did it."
"They'll find out I have to get away anyway."
"To report to somebody?"
"Yes," he said.
"Can I help?"
"You'll be getting in pretty deep," he warned. "Anything to stop Gall. You have no idea how I hate that man."
"You're part of the setup," Terry said. "You're liable to get a stretch."
"I'll take my chances, Terry. What do I have to do?"
"Get a message to the Treasury Boys. Mention the name Levine, and give thet exact location of the Den of Iniquity."
"All right, Terry," she said, squeezing his arm
"Afterwards."
"What do you mean, afterwards?"
"First we're going to see the special," she said. "Then we're going to your room. You're going to cure me of my revulsion of sex."
"What if I don't want to play?"
"You have no choice," she told him. "And you know it."
Terry was anxious to get the information to the Tresaury Department, but he couldn't deny that the thought of throwing one into Leona was exciting. The added danger of being discovered only heightened the excitement.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
It was a bigger room than the one Terry had viewed the stag films in the night before. There were sofas and chairs set against the four walls, leaving the middle of the floor bare except for a thick rug. All the guests, except two, were seated, with the girls either on laps or on the floor.
Terry didn't see Gall, Simeon, or any of the guards. He was on one of the divans with Leona on his lap. Her dress had hiked up above her knee.
"When's the action?" A male voice shouted.
A door opened and two couples walked to the middle of the floor. They were all nude. The girls were both small, with sharp breasts and boyish hips. The men were tall and good-looking.
"I asked the two best looking men I could find," Leona whispered in Terry's ear. "They were eager to cooperate."
"Tall men and small girls," Terry observed. "Contrast."
"One of the girls was a natural redhead. She twined her arms around her partner's waist and started to nibble on his chest.
The other girl, dark haired, sat down on the rug and pulled her man down to her. She pulled his head down to her breasts and he started to kiss the thrusting mounds.
"Go to it, fellas," one man in the audience encouraged.
The redhead's hands started to wander over her partner's body. Soon he became visibly aroused. He put his hands on her buttocks and she clung to his neck, lifting her legs and wrapping them around his waist. They started to make love, he on his feet, she clinging to him like a monkey.
"They say that's very tiring," Terry murmured in Leona's ear.
"Don't you know by personal experience?" Leona whispered, her hand unbuttoning Terry's jacket. "Never tried it that way." The couple on the floor soon became one. Both girls started to moan.
Leona got Terry's shirt opened, slipped a cool hand in to venture over his chest.
"Are you excited?" he asked her. "Yes," she said. "Very." Terry put a hand on her knee.
The couple on the floor finished their gyrations. The man and girl still standing slowly sank to the rug, exhausted.
Terry's hand crept under Leona's dress. He caressed her thigh. The skin was soft, but cool like marble.
One man in the audience got up and ran to the middle of the room. He stripped off his clothes and joined the redhead on the rug. He kisser her knees and thighs.
"This place will be a madhouse soon," Leona said.
"Shall we get out of here?"
"I think we'd better," he said. They got up and walked out of the room.
Terry looked over his shoulder and saw two men start to work on one another. He was glad they had decided to leave. Male to male action made him a little sick. He was strictly a nookie man.
Terry took off his jacket and shirt while Leona made two drinks.
She sat on the bed beside Terry. They drank, then he took her glass and she lay back on the bed. He put the glasses aside and slipped off his shoes. He leaned over her, put a hand against the side of her face. He kissed her lips.
He put up a hand, palmed her nipple.
"Be gentle with me," she whispered.
"I will," he promised.
"Gall is brutal. He only looks out for himself. Never one thought about me. He uses me. He takes me brutally. Don't be like that."
"I won't." Terry started to undo her bodice. He opened her dress and exposed a white brassiere. He bent his head and kissed the shadowy valley which showed just above the bra. He made her sit up and took her dress off. She lay back down in her bra and panties.
He stripped off his pants and shorts.
"What are you going to do to me?" she asked looking up at him.
"I'm going to tongue your body. I'm going to make you hot. I'm going to lay you."
"My body?" You're going to tongue my body."
"Yes."
"Where? Exactly where? Tell me."
"Your knockers," he said. "I'm going to tongue your knockers, your belly, your thighs and then I'm going to stick my tongue inside you and flap it around."
She closed her eyes. "Do it. Please, do it."
He pulled down her bra straps, exposed her breasts. They were small and round with light pink nipples. He kissed the left one, then the right one. He tugged at a nipple with his lips.
She moaned. Her soft lips opened slightly and moans escaped from between them.
He kissed the area below her breasts, then wandered down to her lean belly. He pulled down her panties, exposing her navel. He kissed the navel, dipped his tongue into the aperture. He drew the panties down her thighs, off her feet, tossed them aside. He kissed a knee, then the length of her thigh felt the tip of his tongue. Her knees opened and he slid his tongue into the soft, moist, texture of her womanhood. His lips clinging to the soft surrounding flesh.
"I want to touch you," she moaned.
He knelt on the bed by her side while her hands wandered over his body. She touched his belly and thighs, his hips and buttocks. She stroked his lob where she knew he would get the most pleasure. "I want it," she said. "I want it now."
He climbed over her, measuring his body against hers. He felt her fingers rake his back and her teeth sank into his shoulder. Her body was his. The warmth, the softness, the passion was his. It was for him. And he responded by being gentle and striving to bring her to climax.
Her scream of passion told him he had succeeded.
They were resting her arm across his middle, when the door was flung open. Donny Gail and Ira Simeon walked in.
There was a cry of outrage from Leona. She sat up, crossed her arms over her breasts.
"What is this?" Terry asked, showing annoyance. "I want you to come with me," Gall said. "Where to?"
"My office," Gall said. He looked at Leona. "I thought you didn't like to screw around." Leona didn't answer him.
Ira Simeon looked at Leona and licked His lips. "I could eat her," he said.
"We'll see," Gall said.
Terry got out of bed and started to dress.
"Make it snappy," Gall said.
"Go to hell," Terry answered. When he was dressed, he said, "Okay. Let's go." He started for the door. "Wait a minute. Is it okay if I kiss Leona good night? You boys might want me for a long session."
"Sure," Gall said.
"Maybe you'd better kiss her goodbye," Simeon suggested.
Terry sat down on the bed, kissed her neck, managed to whisper in her ear, "Under the matress." He got up and walked out the door with Simeon and Gall.
Leona quickly slipped into her panties. She then lifted the mattress and found the Marshal's revolver. She put the gun on the bed and thoughtfully finished dressing.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The Marshal's deputy was nursing a glass of whiskey when Simeon, Gall, and Terry entered Gall's office. Simeon jerked a thumb at Terry, asked the deputy, "Is he the crud who wanted to see the Marshal?"
"That's him," he deputy said.
"You fink," Simeon snarled. He threw his right fist at Terry's jaw. Terry fell to the floor. He shooked his head, started to rise to his feet. Simeon's shoe caught him in the temple.
Terry Scott rolled gently toward the edge of an aperture, then toppled down into a black mist. A heavy thick fog kept him from falling to the bottom. He was not completely out. Voices, faint as if from a distance, came to him.
Slowly, his faculties returned.
He opened his eyes, saw Simeon sitting on the edge of Gall's desk. There was a bottle of gin in Simeon's hand. He lifted the bottle, took a slug.
Terry started to get to his feet.
"There better not be any funny business," Simeon said, taking an automatic from his jacket pocket. He took another slug from the bottle.
Terry sat on the divan.
There was no one else in the office, just he and Simeon. Terry took a pack of cigarettes from his jacket, lit one. "Where's Gall?" he asked. He blew out blue-gray smoke. He wondered where Leona was.
"Worry about yourself,, sweetheart. You ain't long for this world." He lifted the bottle, thrust the neck of it into his mouth, took a long swallow.
The door opened and Gall walked in. Joe Hurtze and Flagler were with him. Gall had the package in his hand. "You boys have met Mr. Scott." Gall said.
"We've met," Hurtze said.
"You boys know the deal," Gall said. "Get rid of him and the opium is yours."
"How do we know the stuff is genuine?" Simeon asked.
"It is," Flagler said. "I examined it carefully after we found it in Terry's room."
"I don't know why we have to knock this jerk off," Hurtze complained. "You've got guards here. Simeon is handy with a knife. Why pick on us?"
"You want the dope, don't you?" Gall said. "All you have to do is take him out in the mountains and bury him."
"I knocked that agent off, didn't I?" Simeon said. "You were shaking 'cause he was on your tail."
"That's your calling," Hurtze said. "It's not mine. I'm a heister. I never had to kill anyone yet. To deliberately kill someone ... well, I can't see it."
"You yellow bastard," Simeon snarled. "I'll do it myself. It'll be a pleasure, anyway."
"No," Gall said. "You're going back East right away. I have a plane waiting with Tailspin Tommy at the hangar. I want you and Hans to double check into Terry's background. I have to know who sent him."
"I could get that out of him," Simeon said. "You'd be surprised at what I could do with a knife."
Gall studied Terry. "I don't think it'll be so easy getting anything out of Mr. Scott. He's an experienced man or he wouldn't have been sent on this mission. And Mr. Scott is a limey. The limey's love to be heroic. It's their nature."
"I'm not the heroic type," Terry spoke up. "I'm as yellow as they come."
"Really?" Gall said, amused. "All right, Mr. Scott who sent you?"
"James Bond."
"Wise guy," Simeon sneered. He slid off the desk, advanced toward Terry. He drew his automatic back, ready to pistol whip the man in front of him.
"Forget it," Gail ordered.
"Why all the fuss?" Flagler broke in. He looked at Joe Hurtze. "You drive the car; I'll do the rest."
Simeon went back to die desk, leaned against it.
Hurtze licked his lips. ""You'll ... you'll do it?"
"Yes," Flagler said. He turned to Fall. "When do we get the opium?"
"When you come back," Gall said
"All right."
Gall opened a drawer in his desk, scooped out a .32 Automatic handed it over to Flagler. "It's fully loaded," he said. "Use the full clip."
"Pump him good," Simeon chimed in.
"You'd better tie his wrists behind his back," Gall suggested. "Don't take any chances. A man will try anything when he faces death."
Hurtze found some rope, ordered Terry to stand up. He tied Terry's wrists.
Flagler opened the door and motioned for Terry to walk through.
"So long, girls," Terry said, and left Gall's office.
"Nice night for a picnic," he said, and his two captors laughed.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
There was a full moon over the mountains.
Terry and Flagler were in the back seat of the car; Joe Hurtze was behind the wheel. There was a cool breeze sweeping through the valley. "I wish we didn't have to go through with this," Hurtze said. "I don't like it."
"Shut up," Flagler said.
"Murder isn't my racket," Hurtze said.
"You just stand by and watch," Flagler jeered. "If you don't have the guts for it then turn your head."
"Gall will have something over us if we go through with it."
"He's in it as deep as we are," Flagler said. "Now shut up and relax."
"I don't like it," Hurtze whined.
"Crap! "Flagler turned to Terry. "Did you ever see such a sister Mary?"
"Never," Terry said.
"Afraid of his own shadow," said Flagler.
"Why don't you knock him off?" Terry suggested.
"Maybe I will."
"I'll be glad to take his place," Terry said. Flagler laughed. "I'll bet"
"I'll turn crooked if you let me go," Terry said. "You know you're going to die," Flagler said. "Yet you take it so lightly. Aren't you afraid?"
"No," Terry lied. "Are you uncomfortable?"
"Very," Terry said. "I'm sorry."
"Can't you untie my wrists?"
"I'm afraid not," Flagler said.
"It's all right," Terry said. "I'll hold the gun for you."
"You are very thoughtful," Flagler said. "But I can't oblige you. You understand, don't you?"
"No, I don't," Terry said. "Why can't you untie my wrists? Why won't you let me hold the gun for you? Don't you trust me? I'm a gentleman. I wish I could show you my old school tie."
"Are you crazy back there?" Hurtze shouted. "You're acting like we're going on a joy ride."
"Sorry, old chap," Terry said. "We didn't mean to rattle you. But, obviously, you're suffering from nerves."
"Shut up," Hurtze snarled. "Shut up or I'll plug you myself, I swear I will."
"Be careful," Flagler warned Terry. "You're bringing out the animal in him." He laughed.
"The man has no sense of humor," Terry said.
"Definitely not," Flagler said.
"I wish it was all over with," Hurtze said.
"Turn off the road," Flagler said. "Just a few yards."
Hurtze made a sharp right turn. He braked when Flagler tapped his shoulder.
"Shall we all get out and stretch our legs?" Flagler said. "It's a beautiful night and the moon is full."
They got out of the car.
"Get it over with," Hurtze said.
"Don't be impatient," Flagler said.
"There's a car coming," Terry said. He distinctly heard a car's motor.
"There it is," Hurtze said. Now what?"
It was a Bentley sedan. It stopped alongside Flagler's car and Leona got out. She had on a sleeveless bolero with very wide pockets. She had her hands in the pockets.
"It's the gay dame," Hurtze said.
Flagler took out the gun Gall had give him. "It better not be a trick or she'll get it too."
Leona approached the men. Terry stepped to one side.
"What is it?" Flagler said irritably. "It's all off," Leona said.
"Really?" Flagler pointed the gun at Leona. "I'm not a fool. Gall didn't send you."
"Gall found her in his room," Hurtze said. "She's Terry's nookie."
"I didn't come here to argue," Leona snapped. "Gall sent me. He changed his plans. Are you going to listen to me or not?"
"No, my dear," Flagler said, shaking his head.
Leona took a deep breath, then squeezed the trigger of the gun in her bolero jacket. The impact of the bullet sent Flagler reeling. The gun flew from Flagler's hand.
Hurtze stared at the gun now laying in the dirt. He looked at Leona. "You're going to kill me, too." He reached for the gun. He scooped it up, Leona shot him in the stomach.
Hurtze screamed, pitched forward.
Leona stared at the two fallen men. "I've killed them. I ... I've never done anything like this before."
"Snap out of it," Terry said sharply. "Look through their pockets for a knife and cut these ropes. Come on now."
Leona did as she was told.
Terry was rubbing his wrists trying to get the circulation going in his hands.
Leona stretched out on her back and pulled her skirt up. She wasn't wearing any pants.
"You've got to screw me, Terry," she said. "I'm suddenly so horny I can't stand it."
Terry looked at her. "It's just the excitement of the killing," he said. "Now get up off your back. We've got work to do."
She pointed the gun at him and said, "I wouldn't want to hurt you Terry, but if you don't screw me I'll shoot you."
Terry knew by the sound of her voice that she meant what she was saying. He also knew it would take less time to screw her than to talk to her.
He walked over to where she was sprawled on her back, dropped his pants and underwear and kneeled down next to her.
She took his malehood in her hand and stroked it until he was ready.
Then he placed himself between her knees, entered her and began to pump away.
From the minute he started on her she screamed. And she didn't stop screaming until the bomb went off inside her.
When they finished, Terry got to his feet and dressed himself.
"You could have taken the gun any time you wanted to," she said. "Why didn't you?"
"Because I knew you couldn't help yourself. That you had to get off the nut or die. Now let's not waste any more time ... let's move."
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Terry Scott scooped up the gun from the dirt and stuffed it into his pocket. He got into the Bentley, Leona slid under the wheel and gunned the motor. "Where to?" she asked, her voice tiny.
"To the airfield," Terry said.
She didn't question him; she made a sharp right and fed the motor gas.
"How did you know where to find us?" Terry wanted to know. He searched for cigarettes, lit two, gave her one. "I wish I had a drink."
"There's a flask in the dashboard compartment," she said. "As for knowing where to find you ... I followed you. I saw you leaving with those two. I saw your hands bound I knew what they were up to."
"Thanks," he said.
"I couldn't let them kill you."
"Don't worry about shooting those two. That'll be our little secret. Just get a message through to Denver. That's the nearest town where you'll find a Treasury office."
"And I mention the name Levine. Yes, I remember." She tossed her cigarette out the car window. "I can call them from town. I can put the call through from the the local post office. It'll be safer that way."
"All right," Terry said. "Do it any way you wish."
He made sure the gun he had was fully loaded, then put it back in his pocket.
When the airfield was in sight he said: "Slow down. I'll walk the rest of the way. You wait here for me."
She braked the car. She didn't ask questions. He got out and started for the hangar.
When he was near the back of the hangar, he walked slowly and softly. He circled the hangar till the field was in full vision. There was a Reliance, waiting for takeoff, its motor idling. Terry peered into the hangar, saw a cubicle in a corner, with Simeon and the pilot, Tailspin Tommy, talking and smoking. Simeon was talking animatedly.
Terry made his way to the plane without being seen. He spent five minutes with the plane, then managed to get back to the car. He got in, said, "Let's go back to the Den."
Leona made a tight turn, headed for the Den of Iniquity. "I didn't hear any shots," she said. "What did you do, give them poison? Shoot them with a bow and arrow?"
"I tampered with the planes feed line," Terry said. Leona shuddered. "How could you be so cold-blooded?"
"You'd be surprised at the things I did during the war," Terry said. "I was an O.S.S. officer."
"But that was during a war," she protested.
"This is a war, too," he said. "Perhaps not on such a grand scale, but a war nevertheless."
"Don't talk to me about good and evil," she said sharply. "I find hypocrisy on both sides."
"I had no intention of preaching. I never preach."
"What are you going to do with me once this is over?" she wanted to know.
"Nothing. In fact, after you put through the call, I'd advise you to drag your ass out of here. Sell the damn car in the first big town you come to and buy a plane ticket for Timbuktu."
"I think I'll do exactly that."
"And don't think it hasn't been fun," he said. "It has."
"Do you think we'll ever meet again?" she asked wistfully.
"I don't know. I hope so."
"I ... I wish we could screw just one more time," she said. "I want you to tongue me. I want it very bad. I want to feel you inside me. All naked."
"How can you think of sex at a time like this?" He wondered aloud.
"We women are funny that way," she laughed.
"There's no chance of it happening," he said, "You're taking off for town as soon as we see the Den."
"We could go to my room," she said. "It will probably be our last time together."
"I don't know," he said weakly.
She sensed his weakening. She quickly took off her bolero and opened the front buttons of her dress. She did it all with her right hand, keeping her left hand on the wheel. "Look at me," she commanded.
He looked at the pale bra in the moonlight.
She reached behind her and unhooked her bra. "Look at these knockers. Look how firm they are. How round. Can you resist them? Don't you want to touch them, kiss them?"
"You she devil!"
She laughed wantonly. "Shall we go to my room?"
"Yes, damn you. Yes."
They saw the Den of Iniquity coming into view.
"I'll park in front of the house where I have my room and you'll sneak in," she said.
"Better park in back of the house."
"Yes. You're right, of course. Now button my dress." She let the bra fall to the rubber mat. "That's right. Can't you button my dress without touching my tits?"
You can't, can you? Yes, touch them if you have to. Play with them. No, no. Not any more. You're getting me too hot. I'll make you eat me in the car if you don't stop. There. Now button the dress." She parked the car.
Now he was the one who was caught up in the heat of the action and couldn't control his emotions. He was so damned horny he just had to have her.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Her room was spacious, with a thick rug extending under the bed. There was a dressing table to the right of the bed with bottles of perfume, cologne, and toilet water; jars of cold cream, hand cream, bottles of body lotion, shampoo, bath oil and various other toiletries necessary for the well-grooming of the fastidious female.
There was a sette, two boudoir chairs with brocade skirts, and a writing table. There was a big closet and a chest of drawers. The room smelled of Lanvin.
"The lap of luxury," Terry commented.
"Gall wanted mirrors on the walls," she said. "I drew the line at that. He made me douse myself with perfume before we'd start making love."
"I don't need an aphrodisiac," Terry said. "Just the sight of you sets me off."
"It would be an added attraction," she said. She took off her dress and stood there in, garter belt and nylon hose. She sat down in front of the dressing table and took off the hose. She stood up and got rid of the garter belt. Then she poured cologne in a cupped palm and spread it over her breasts. "Shall I douse my entire body?" she asked Terry.
"No, that's enough." Terry put his arms around her and pulled her in close. He cuppled her buttocks and glued his mouth to hers. His fingers sank into her warm flesh.
She snaked her arms around his neck and gyrated her pelvis against him. They stood like that for quite awhile. Then they drew apart and she helped him undress. When they were both naked they went to bed.
With their arms around each other, they kissed. She stuck her tongue between his lips, between his teeth. His teeth sank softly into the red tongue and she squirmed on the bed, her thighs openings, capturing one of his thighs, holding it prisoner.
She put one hand between them, felt his lean belly. Her hand dipped lower, examined him intimately. Her fingers were strong and sure, groping, feeling, giving pleasure.
They didn't talk. There was no need for talk. Enough was being said by touches, kisses and caresses.
Soon his mouth found the warmth and firmness of her pulsing breasts. He kissed each pink nipple, felt each jewel come alive under his probing tongue. He felt the softness become hard. He felt the rigidity of the nipples under his crushing chest as he leaned his weight against her, devouring her neck and shoulders with his mouth.
Her fingers ran up and down his back quickly like small spiders spinning a fast webb. Then her body was receiving and she was moaning for him to come to her and take her without further delay.
He did so.
The room was still.
He got up and put out the light so that only moonlight bathed the room. He went back to bed and kissed her face and neck and touched her hips and belly.
"It was good," she said. "So good."
"Yes."
"I could fall for someone like you. Maybe I already have. But it's no good, is it?"
"No. No good."
She said the words that many women have uttered. "I'll never forget you."
"I wouldn't want you to forget me."
"Stay with me for a while," she begged. "Of course."
"Just hold me."
The room was still except for their even breathing.
"Wouldn't it be wonderful if the world suddenly stopped still and we could be like this forever and ever?" she said. "No one could disturb us. No one could interfere. We can spend the rest of our lives here, together."
"It's not practical," he said, with cold male logic. "I suppose not," she sighed.
"Soon we'll be getting up and getting dressed," he said. "You'll go to town and make that call. And then you'll take off for parts unknown. It's not what you want. But it's what has to be."
"I know," she said.
He looked at his wrist. His watch said 5:04. "The post office will be closed. You won't be able to make the call."
"It's open. There's a man on duty all night. There are phones in the lobby. I'll make the call. And then ... it's good-bye A dead episode. I have a feeling we'll never see each other again."
"Don't get sobby." He slapped her backside, climbed out of bed. "Let's get dressed before you start crying."
"Men just aren't sentimental," she complained.
They dressed, then she packed a suitcase. He took it out to the car. She climbed in behind the wheel She held his hand. "I think I'm a little in love with you," she said.
He leaned over, kissed her lips. "Good-bye, Leona."
"Good-bye, Terry." She turned the motor over and, without a backward glance, drove off.
He watched the car drive out of sight, then he shook his head as though to break up the cob webs and said out loud, "Now, to work."
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Donny Gall's office was empty.
Terry Scott left the Den of Iniquity, crossed the swimming pool, and entered the house where the guards lived. He tried the first door he came to. It was a bedroom, two metal beds, a foot locker at the foot of each bed, two metal closets, one big fan going at top speed.
Terry saw that one of the sleeping guards was Lonny Coe. He stepped to the head of the other bed, hefted the gun in his fist, and crashed it against the head of the guard. There was a pitful moan, then silence. A trickle of blood appeared at the man's temple. Terry examined the man's wrist: the pulse was slow but steady. He then turned to the sleeping Lonny.
Lonny Coe was rudely awakened. He sat up, his brain alerted. "What the hell?" Then he saw Terry Scott in the moonlight. He looked contemptuously at the gun in Terry's hand. "You haven't got a chance, buster. Better hand that toy over to me before you get hurt."
Terry swiped at Lonny's face. The guard yelped. "Dirty Bastard!" he snarled. "Any more suggestions?" Terry asked coolly. "Yeah," Lonny said. He made a suggestion. Terry grinned. "I'm not a contortionist," he said. Then his face became grim. "Where's Gall's room?"
"Go to hell."
"You're the one who'll be going to hell if you don't speak up," Terry warned. "I'm not going to play around with you. I've already killed your roommate," he lied.
Lonny stared at him. "I didn't hear no shot"
"I clubbed him to death."
"How do you expect me to trust you?" Lonny said. "How do I know you won't give me the same treatment if I talk?"
"You have the word of a gentleman."
"Oh, yeah?"
"I'm not going to waste any more time with you," Terry warned. "Now let's have it."
"He's got a room in the Den," Lonny said. "You don't think he'd stay here with us low life, do you?"
"What room?"
"Room 69."
"You'd better not be telling any fibs," Terry said. "You know what happens to little boys who tell fibs?" Lonny cursed.
"I'll come back and put you to sleep permanently," Terry Scott said grimly. "Now put your head back on the pillow and close your eyes."
"Why?" There was a sudden fear in Lonny's eyes.
"I'm going to give you a love tap."
"No, thanks, I'm not having any." Then Lonny got set to scream. He took a deep breath and opened his mouth.
Terry was on him like a shot, his gun arm swinging. He hit Lonny twice. He got off the bed, studied the guard. "You got guts," he said aloud. "I'll give you that." He then found some rope in one of the foot lockers and tied both men.
"Good night, ladies," Terry said, and left the house where the guards slept.
He made his way to the Den of Iniquity, walked in and went down the corridor to room 69 without encountering anyone.
The door was locked from the inside. "Damn!"
Terry muttered. He was about to turn away, to search Gall's office for keys, when he heard a phone ringing in the room. He heard Gall's voice answering. He put his ear to the door but couldn't hear anything distinctly.
Then there was the sound of the phone being banged on the rest bar. The sound of a body getting out of bed. Footsteps neared the door.
Terry flattened himself against the wall.
The door opened.
Terry flung himself against the door, heard a grunt as Gall was forced back into the room. Terry closed the door behind him. The lights were on.
Gall was in pajamas. He recovered his balance, then looked with amazement at Terry. He sputtered, "You're supposed to be dead."
"You should have done the job yourself," Terry said. "You have such a capable way about you."
Gall stared at the gun in Terry's hand. "You're a very enterprising man, aren't you?"
"I have my days," Terry said.
"I just had a call," Gall said. "Simeon's plane crashed. Both he hand the pilot were killed. Are you responsible for that too?"
"Between you, me, and the lamp post ... yes."
"What happened to Hurtze and Flagler?"
"Dead. Both dead."
The fear was starting. It came slowly into Gall's eyes. His body started to tremble. "Are ... are you going to kill me, too?"
"I haven't made up my mind yet," Terry said, playing with him, the way a cat plays with a mouse.
"I've ... I've got money. I've got a lot of money."
"I'm sure you have," Terry said. "But where are you going to spend it? You can't spend it in hell."
"Give me a break," Gall begged. He licked his lips. "Let me get away. You can have it all."
"Just go sit on the bed and wait," Terry said. "Wait? Wait for what?"
"For the fun to begin," Terry said. "Just do what I say. Maybe I won't kill you."
Gall sat on the bed. He stared at the floor between his feet and didn't say anymore.
Terry found the liquor and helped himself.
An hour went by. '
Gall was still, like a man made of stone.
Terry had drank a third of a bottle of scotch and was feeling a glow spreading through his body. He finally put the bottle down, sat on an armchair and lit a cigarette.
Suddenly, there was the sound of shots.
Gall jumped. "What was that?"
"The beginning of the end, I guess."
Gall looked at Terry. "Feds?"
"I'm afraid so."
"I guess a good thing can't go on forever." There was banging on the door. "Open up in there," a voice shouted.
"Who is it?" Terry said. "Treasury Agents," open up."
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Morris Levine and Terry met in the back of Gone Garry's in the Village.
"So many deaths," Levine sighed.
Gone poured out three tumblers of whiskey. Each man took a tumbler and drank.
"It couldn't be helped," Terry said.
"We located Miss Leona Gay," Levine said. "She's in a hotel in Los Angeles."
"Are you going to pick her up?" Terry asked.
"I haven't made up my mind," Levine said. "She's not too important to us."
"You know the five thousand dollars in marked bills I returned to you?" Terry said.
"Yes," said Levine. "What about them?"
"Do you think you could dig up five thousand in good money and send it to Miss Gay?"
"What on earth for?"
"She saved my life," Terry said. "That should be worth at least five thousand."
"Well, I don't know."
"If it hadn't been for her," Terry said, "this gang wouldn't have been smashed. She's responsible for it all."
Levine sighed. "I suppose I could manage it."
"You're very generous."
"Not at all," Levine said. "I may call on you again. You never know. I have to keep in your good graces."
Terry grinned. "Next time make sure I don't come across such luscious women."
"You're complaining?" Levine said.
"It's distracting," Terry said. "I didn't always have my mind on my work."
"Too bad," Levine said dryly. He handed Terry an envelope. "Your money."
"Thanks." Terry pocketed the envelope.
Levine finished his whiskey. "Well, gentlemen, I'm afraid I can't linger. I have things to attend to." He shook hands with Terry and Gone let him out by the front door.
Terry was pouring a second drink when Gone returned to the back room.
"How did this dame help you?" Gone asked. "I said she saved my life."
"Our agents found a skirt in Leona Gay's room when they went through the place," Gone said. "There was a hole in one of the pockets. There was burnt powder around the hole. Someone had shot off a gun in the pocket."
"Wonderful how the lab boys find out things," Terry commented. He finished the whiskey. "I guess I'll be shoving off."
"You didn't kill Hurtze and Flagler," Gone said. "It was the Gay dame."
"That's pure guess work."
Gone shrugged his shoulders. "We're not going to press it. We couldn't prosecute anyway. She did it to save your life.
"I just don't want her name dragged through the papers," Terry said. "Let her have her chance."
"Sure."
Terry took Gone's hand, shook it. "Tell me, do you really know something about beatnicks and their poetry?"
"Sure, I do. My old man used to sell zoot suits in Brooklyn during the Thirties."
"Okay. I just wondered."
"The place makes a good blind for contacting agents," Gone said. "But I do know my beatnicks."
"And that's what really counts."
Gone saw Terry to the door. "Take care of yourself," Gone said.
"Sure. So long." Terry walked out of the store, turned a corner. The sun was high.
It was going to be a nice day.
He went to a phone booth and called Rene. Then he hailed a passing cab and drove to his apartment.
He ran upstairs ... the door was open ... Rene was standing naked on the other side of the room.
Terry looked at her for a moment ... Then began to walk toward her very slowly undressing as he approached her.
When he stopped in front of her he was stark naked.
Rene was breathing rapidly. Her breasts bobbing up and down. Her nipples were rigid.
Terry put his arms around her and kissed her on the lips pushing his tongue into her mouth.
She pressed her body hard against his.
Slowly they both began to sink to the floor.
Rene was on her back and Terry was in her ... long stroking her.
For a while, there, he thought, I didn't think I'd ever see you again, baby.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Rene was asleep now, and even though Terry was relaxed and sated sexually, he still couldn't get to sleep.
He was staring up at the ceiling and thinking. Thinking not about this most recent contract, but of his many years in the fields of Military Intelligence and counter espionage.
He wished that he could get back into the regular service and not have to rely on this free-lance crap.
True ... the money for a free-lance operator was very good, but he was an organization man and he was much happier as part of a team.
The "Team" had a special meaning in Terry's memory. The faces of the men he had worked with at one time or another began to flash on the ceiling.
There was Gateaue again. Gateaue who was mutilated by the Gestapo and then killed in the ensuing rescue operation.
Then there was Howie Engle. Betrayed to the black-shirts in Italy by his own wife. They burned Howie alive. His wife survived the war and became an International figure in world politics.
She was a beautiful woman. Her sudden disappearance from the face of the earth was a complete mystery to everyone in the world except Terry.
The scene began to unfold on the ceiling.
It was in India that he had accidentally seen her walking casually up the street toward his hotel. He was standing at the window staring at the throngs of people that milled about the streets of New Delhi.
He remembered feeling hot and uncomfortable even in his air-conditioned hotel room. When suddenly he saw her and his blood turned cold sending a shiver through his body.
She was a very beautiful woman. An exceptional figure. Olive complexion ... natural blonde with blue eyes. The type of woman that's usually found in Northern Italy. Her type of beauty, though, is very rarely found. Tall ... about five feet eight Big knockers, but not so big that they were grotesque. Hips that seemed to swivel a man to insanity. Buttocks that made men and women turn and stop to watch them as they jiggled down the street. And legs that would make Dietrich put a gun to her head.
Her voice was pitched low and even when she only said good morning, it sounded like an invitation to the bedroom.
Terry remembered all of this as he watched her turn and enter the lobby of his hotel.
He couldn't help but wonder what she was doing in India. Whatever it was, he was sure it was something that would cause him trouble.
Despite his report to Allied Intelligence about her betrayal of her husband, and of her association with the enemy, she had been able to gain the confidence of important people and assume a position of importance in post war military government.
She had done this by attaching herself to a big allied General. Terry had told the General about her activities but he had refused to believe him.
The General never had a chance to regret his stupidity. He was assasinated. Terry was sure that Howie's wife had arranged the whole deal, but he couldn't prove it and once more she came out of the whole stinking mess smelling like roses.
It had been years since he had seen her. Now the police action in Korea was on and he was engaged in a caper with the Chinese Reds that had taken him from Berlin to New Delhi.
She was here, too. He wondered if she was involved with the Commies.
Terry knew that there was no difference between the extremists on the far right and the extremists on the far left, so that she could make the transition from Facist to Communist without even turning over.
Should he keep an eye on her without letting her know he knew she was here?
No! If she was a figure in the caper he was working on, then she already knew that he was here.
If she was involved and didn't know about him, then exposing himself to her could shake her up.
Terry turned away from the window and walked toward the closet. He opened the door, reached in and picked up a gladstone bag. He put the bag on the bed, took the end of his keychain out of his pocket and inserted a small key in the lock. The bag opened.
To a laymen's eyes the bag would appear to be empty.
Terry took out his pen knife and cut two rows of stitches on the inside side of the bag. The hide separated. Terry closed the pen knife and put it back in his pocket.
He reached back into the bag and grabbed the end of the leather that he had just cut loose.
Holding the bag with one hand he yanked at the leather. It ripped around the inside of the bag from one side to the other.
When all the stitches were ripped, Terry was holding a shoulder strap, with a holster containing a .45 automatic.
He strapped it to his body and took the gun from the holster. He checked the clip and shoved it back into the gun.
He looked into the bag. All along the area that was now bared were fully loaded clips held in place by leather thongs. There were fifty-eight rounds in each clip plus one clip in the gun meant four-hundred and eight rounds.
He removed four clips from the bag putting two in each side pocket of his jacket that was hanging on the head board of the bed."
He put on his jacket and looked into the mirror. He smoothed out the jacket as best as he could hoping that the bulge of the gun wasn't too obvious through the light weight white linen.
When he was satisfied with his appearance he walked out of his suite, locking the door behind him.
He could have walked down the one flight to the lobby, but the elevator had opened to let an old lady out and Terry walked in.
The elevator doors opened on the main floor and Terry stepped out and walked to the cigarette counter. He ordered a package of Players. Since he was posing as a British Enginer it was only natural that he should smoke British cigarettes.
He turned around and began to case the lobby. It was crowded, as usual. For some reason that Terry could never understand.
The lobby of every hotel in India was always mobbed.
He nodded to several people that he knew. Spotted a Russian agent who still did not know his cover had been broken. Smiled when he saw the redheaded mistress of a British Embassy Official.
Terry smiled on seeing her because the stupid Embassy Official was laying out a lot of loot for what he thought was his private piece of nookie. The redhead would put out for anybody who would lay down with her.
His eyes continued around the room seeing everything. They stopped when they settled on the blonde head he had been searching for.
It was her alright ... Howie's murdering wife. She was talking to a Sikh Officer.
Terry began to stroll casually across the lobby.
When he came within hearing distance, he sat down in a stuffed chair that was convenient.
They were conversing in Hindi.
Whatever they had been discussing was at an end and they were saying good-bye.
The Sikh Officer turned and walked toward the elevators.
She turned and started to walk past Terry. She didn't notice him sitting there and he waited until she was two steps by him. Then he stood up and spoke.
"Hello Sunda," he said softly.
She turned. There was a smile on her face, as though she was about to greet an old friend.
Then she saw Terry. The smile vanished instantly and her beautiful olive complexion turned sallow.
Her lips moved,, but no sound escaped them.
That was when Terry knew that she was up to some dirty work. Otherwise her seeing him would only have been a slightly unpleasant experience for her.
Terry stepped toward her smiling as he did so, "Let's go to the lounge and discuss old times."
She regained her composure immediately and they both walked through the lobby talking quietly and smiling at one another. Neither one of them could afford to attract attention.
Although the way Sunda's buttocks jiggled when she walked it was impossible for her not to attract attention.
They sat down in a booth. The waiter took their order for two gin and tonics.
"What brings you to India, Sunda?" Terry asked.
She laughed, softly. "It could be pleasure." Then her eyes narrowed as she said, "It could be business. But for whatever reason I am here, we do know why you are here. Don't we Terry Darling?"
"You and I both know," Terry said softly, "that the only pleasure trips you take are laying down. You wouldn't come all the way to India just to get laid so you must be here on business. Business for you means that someone is going to die. Who is it Sunda?"
Her face suddenly became hard.
"I hate you Terry Scott. I hate you more than any other human being on earth. If anybody is going to die it is going to be you!"
Terry laughed. "Do you want to have me killed because I know that you betrayed your husband and had him killed or because I know that you are now working for the Reds?"
The latter part of Terry's question was a shot in the dark, but it paid off.
"Both reasons, are good," she snapped. "You are the only person living who can hurt me. Therefore you must be put out of the way."
"You will have to get me first, Sunda," Terry said. "This time I am not going to let you escape. I want to kill you for what you did to Howie. Those black-shirt friends of your slowly roasted him over an open fire. It took him eight hours to die."
"Twelve," Sunda said smiling.
"What?" Gasped Terry.
"It took him twelve hours to die," she answered. "I know because I watched it from the start to the finish. My people learned well from the Gestapo. He never lost consciousness for one second during those twelve hours. He screamed, he moaned ... he begged for mercy. He was scorched from head to toe. A mass of bleeding blisters It was a pleasure to watch Terry."
Her eyes began to sparkle as she recalled the agonizing death of her husband.
"He was chained, like a pig, on a spit over a fire," she continued. "Just close enough so that he would cook slowly. Do you know what I did while my darling husband was being tortured, Terry? I had an orgy with his tormentors. I let them do every thing they wanted to do to me right in front of him. Each orgasm I experienced seemed better than the one before. His torture was ecstasy for me. He never thrilled me in bed the way I was thrilled being sexed and watching him die."
Terry wanted to lash out at her, but he controlled himself.
She was being carried away by her own narrative of Howie's death and little beads of perspiration were dotting her forehead and upper lip. Terry could tell she was experiencing orgasms the way her body twitched from time to time.
She sipped the drink she was holding and continued her story.
"Oh, what exquisite agony he endured. He begged ... he pleaded ... he told me he would forgive me everything if only I would kill him and relieve his pain But why should I have killed him and put an end to the most pleasure I had ever experienced. The hours passed by. Slowly for Howie, quickly for me. My orgasms were now continuous. I didn't even need a man in me to come. Just watching Howie burn and listening to him scream was enough to send the greatest of sensations running through my body. Then I had the idea that made all my sexual experiences seem like child's play.
Just the thought of it made me come. I sent the guard to find a knife, fork, plate, salt and pepper. I got as close to Howie as I could without burning myself. Every hair on his body had burned off. He was roasted from top to toe. The juices from his own body dripped into the fire making the flames lick higher. The blood was boiling in his veins but he was still alive and still conscious. He couldn't talk anymore. Only scream. But he was still aware of me. The guard returned with the utensils I had requested. I had the guard put them on a bench and move the bench close to Howie. I had the guard stop the spit when Howie was on his side. He didn't know what I was going to; do. The obvious question was in his blood shot smoke filled eyes.
I found my panties on the floor and picked them up. I took the knife from the table and walked up to Howie. He thought I was going to kill him. He would have liked that, but I didn't want him to die ... not yet.
He watched me as I moved to the lower part of his torso. I wrapped my panties around my hand. His body was to hot to touch.
I grabbed his malehood with my panty wrapped hand and sliced it neatly close to his body. His blood was so thick from cooking that it oozed but like thick syrup.
The look of horror on Howie's face sent lightening bolts through my body. When I had control of myself again, I placed Howie's malehood on the plate and sat down. Howie could see everything I was doing now.
I sprinkled salt and pepper on his severed and thoroughly cooked malehood. I placed the fork into it and sliced it into small pieces. Then I ate it ... very slowly chewing it deliberately ... savoring every morsel. It was very tender ... cooked to a turn. It must have taken me half an hour to eat it ... and while I ate it I was experiencing atomic shock waves ... orgasm on top of orgasm " ... I never had them so good before or since.
When I swallowed the last piece of his malehood, he died. It was timed just right. If I had come again it would have killed me."
Sunda stopped talking and collapsed against the back of the booth. She had received sexual gratification just by relating the story.
Terry had to exercise all of his self control to keep from taking his gun out and shooting her on the spot.
Sunda opened her eyes picked up her drink and finished it.
The waiter automatically brought them two more.
Sunda swallowed half of the second drink before she had the energy to speak again.
"You, my darling Terry," she said. "You will not be so lucky as to die as quickly as my late husband."
"I take it that you have plans ... special plans to bring about my demise," Terry said.
"My friends are expert at the art of torture. They have made it into a fine art. You should see some of the magnificent agony they have designed for your United Nations Prisoners of War."
She took another taste of her gin and tonic.
"Let me just tell you of one beautiful sight that they performed on a Turkish Private."
Terry did not interrupt her. She was all wound up. This beautiful but perverted woman whose sexual gratification was involved with sadistic torture.
"I was in North Korea," she whispered. "The Chinese troops had marched in some U. N. Prisoners. They were a mixed group of men. There was one Turkish Private, a tall handsome man with a great deal of pride. His confidence in himself as a man gave him the bearing of an aristocrat.
Chinese Military inteligence always looks for the outstanding man among the P. O. W.s.
If they can break down that one strong man, and do it in front of his comrades, they then usually get complete co-operation from the rest of the prisoners.
This Turkish Private was obviously the man they had to break. They made their preparations immediately. The prisoners were tired, cold and hungry. They were given no time to refresh themselves or to think.
The Turkish Private was pulled out of line and brought to the center of the compound. His comrades were made to stand at attention.
It was bitter cold and a light snow was falling. The guards stripped him of his clothing and hand cuffed him to a whipping post. His body was beautiful. Tall, dark, muscular and he had a flowing black moustache.
First they gave him twenty lashes, using a barbed bull whip. His back and buttocks were ripped to shreds. He didn't utter a sound. He didn't even flinch."
His stoicism angered his captors and they turned his body around so that his back was up against the whipping post.
He looked around the compound. Smiled at his comrades and in a strong loud voice shouted encouragement to them. Then he spied his tormentors, laughed in their faces and spit at their feet, defying them to do their worst.
His arrogance angered his Chinese captors and they ordered that he should receive forty lashes on the front side of his body.
The first lash slashed across his face, tearing the flesh from his right cheek to his left ear and ripping out his left eye. Still he did not beg for mercy.
They beat him unmercifully. His chest, stomach, abdomen, malehood, and thighs were slashed to ribbons. They didn't stop at forty lashes. They continued to seventy. When they realized that whipping would not break the man, they brought out a diabolical device that consisted of a long table, an open topped cast iron kettle with straps, and a rat in a cage.
They removed the hand cuffs from the Turkish P. O. W. They thought he would collapse and that they would have to drag him to the table. But he fooled them all. As soon as his hands were free he attacked his guards. Before they could subdue him he had broken the neck of the soldier who had whipped him, and permanently disabled two more of his tormentors. Then, when he realized he could do no more damage, he calmly strode over to the table and laid down upon it.
The soldiers tied him to the table securely. While they were tying him he shouted to his comrades in his native tongue. A Turkish Officer translated his remarks and was shot dead on the spot for his efforts. Another Turkish Officer took over the translating. The guards were going to shoot him, but the Chinese officers realized that someone else would take his place so they spared his life. They had an ace in the hole, they thought, with the torture they had planned for the Turkish Private.
So far, the Chinese plans to completely demoralize the U. N. P. O. W.'s had not been successful. In fact their torture of the Turkish soldier had angered the prisoners and they were becoming hard to handle. The Chinese had to order out more guards. But they were confident that the atrocity that was about to take place would destroy the prisoners morale.
They approached the Turkish soldier who was tied to the table. One of the guards placed the cast iron pot upside down on the Turks belly. Straps from the hp of the pot hung loose over the sides of the Turk's body and the table.
Another guard approached the table with the caged rat. It was an ugly looking beast. The prisoners became silent as the first guard tilted the pot on the Turk's belly and the second guard opened the rat's cage close to the tilted pot. The rat scooted out of the cage onto the Turk's belly. The guard let go of the pot. The rat was now trapped, surrounded by a cast iron pot and the soft flesh of the Turk's belly.
The first guard tied the pot straps under the table. The second guard took hot coals from a nearby fire and placed them on top of the pot. Then both guards stepped away from the Turk.
Nothing happened for a minute or two and then the Turk's one good eye flew wide open and he gasped.
It was obvious to everyone now what had to take place inside that pot. The fire was making it very hot in there and since the rat couldn't claw through cast iron he could only get out one other way. Through the Turk's belly.
Blood was running out from the side of the pot. The Turk must have been in agony, but he never screamed.
Suddenly the blood gushed from between his legs and the bloody rat leaped from the gaping hole he had clawed through the Turk's body.
The Turk screamed out in English, "Kill the Communist Bastards," and died.
The P. O. W.'s turned on their guards and there was mayhem in the compound.
An American non-com. killed the nearest Chinese soldier to him and grabbed his rifle He charged toward where I was standing with the Chinese Officers. He was shot several times but he kept on coming. Before I could turn and run he was on us. He sliced the Chinese Colonel from crotch to gizzard with the bayonet and then a bullet in the head put a finish to him.
I escaped into the Officers quarters and ran to the second floor and watched the whole riot. The U. N. soldiers fought like tigers. They were outnumbered and unarmed but they were winning.
The guards in the towers surrounding the compound finally opened up with machine guns killing all the prisoners and many of their own men. When it was all over we counted one hundred U. N. prisoners and two hundred and fifty Chinese soldiers dead. The U. N. had won a decisive victory at this camp.
The rat didn't fare too well either. Through the melee I spotted the trail of blood left in the snow by his blood soaked body. Other rats came scurrying out from beneath the building to follow his bloody trail. They caught him at the fence at the end of the compound. They killed and ate him."
Sunda stopped speaking and finished her drink.
Terry stared at her, unable to speak, unable to believe that he was looking at a human being.
"You, my Darling Terry," Sunda said smiling. "I can assure will undergo torture that will last for months, and I will never leave your side for a minute."
Terry got up from the table and looked down at the beautiful but revolting female and spoke in a voice that made her blanche. "If it is the last thing that I do," he said softly. "I'm going to rid this world of you and send you to hell where you belong!"
He turned and began walking out of the bar. When he came to the door, he turned and looked back to where Sunda was sitting.
A man had taken Terry's place at the table. An oriental man. Sunda was speaking to him and he was staring hard at Terry. He hadn't known about Terry before, but he sure as hell knew about Terry now. And Terry knew who the oriental gentlemen was. He was General Lao Tsung Tse, Head of Chinese Intelligence.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Terry was stretched out on his bed smoking a cigarette and thinking ... wondering if exposing himself to Sunda had been the right idea.
Right or wrong, he thought, it was too damned late to change things. His cover was off and General Tse probably had his entire organization alerted to the fact that a known allied agent was in India.
They didn't know why he was there, so they wouldn't try to kill him ... not yet anyway. They would just keep him under surveillance until they could figure out his assignment and then, if it was to their advantage, move in for the kill.
The big problem was that General Tse was his assignment. British intelligence had come up with some information about an atomic spy plot. They, in turn, informed American intelligence. Since Terry was an American working for the British Intelligence, Washington requested that the British assign Terry to the case. This kept the British happy, since it was their baby to begin with, and Terry was on their payroll. And at the same time Washington knew that Terry would protect the American Interests with zeal.
He was called in for a briefing on the case by his superior. From the little information the British had he surmised this much, the plans for the atom bomb had been copied ... they had to be smuggled out of the states ... who had them and where they were was a mystery ... they only knew that delivery was to be made to General Tse in India ... General Tse's involvement gave the case triple A priority. Terry was shown some photo's of General Tse ... and off he went to India.
He had been on the search for Tse, and did not even know he was in India until he saw him sitting at the table with Sunda.
Two things were obvious at this point to Terry, one: General Tse's appearance meant that delivery of the bomb secrets was imminent. Two: Tse's sitting at the same table with Sunda meant that she was involved with the plot.
It was safe to say that she did not have the bomb plans. If she had, General Tse would have been on his way home and would not have stopped off for a tete-a-tete at Sunda's table.
So, Terry knew who Tse was and why he was in India.
Tse knew who Terry was but did not know the reason he was in India.
How would he be able to carry off his assignment successfully? Only through contact with General Tse, and the key to General Tse was Sunda.
How could he possibly use Sunda? They were on opposite sides of the fence and to make matters even worse they hated each other with a vengeance.
Hate, thought Terry, hate ... hate! I wonder, he thought, hate is supposed to be akin to love. I wonder ... it might be possible....
He jumped up off the bed and jerked the phone off its cradle He asked the operator for Sunda's suite number. She gave it to him. He thanked her and hung up, put on his jacket and started out to Sunda's suite.
***
He knocked on the door wondering if she was even in. She could still be down stairs talking to General Tse.
The door opened ... Sunda was standing there wearing a transparent negligee with nothing underneath it. The white negligee in contrast with her blond hair and dark complexion, seemed to make her even more beautiful.
Terry's eyes moved from her gorgeous face to her magnificent breasts. They were bare except for the flimsy covering on the negligee. They were so firm ... the nipples hard and stiff trying to push out through the material.
Terry couldn't help wondering how her knockers were able to hold themselves up without any help.
Then his eyes moved down the rest of her body and he noticed she shaved places other than under her arms.
"What do you want?" Sunda asked viciously.
Terry was so astounded by her beauty that he could not speak. Her naked charms had gotten to him and being a normal man, she excited him.
It is almost impossible for a man to hide his passion when he is wearing a white linen suit; and Sunda noticed the growing bulge in his trousers.
As much as she hated Terry, she was flattered that he could want her body and before he could answer her question, she stepped aside, smiled and invited him in.
She closed the door and ushered him into the living room of her suite. She waved him to the sofa and walked behind the bar and began mixing drinks.
Terry watched her silently. Neither one of them spoke a word until Sunda approached Terry holding two drinks.
She handed one to him and said, "I still remember your favorite drink. Vodka Gimlet, right?"
"Right," said Terry in between sips at his drink.
Sunda sat next to him on the sofa. The proximity of her nearly naked body was driving Terry crazy. "We are enemies," Sunda said. "That is correct," answered Terry. "One of us must destroy the other," she continued. "Right again."
"Then let me tell you what I plan to do to you," she said. "First of all I am going to destroy your masculine ego. When I have done that, then I will kill you. I will destroy your ego with sex. You are the kind of man who has always made out very well in bed with women. You have always been able to keep up and go beyond them so that they would do almost anything to crawl back into the sack with you. Well, Terry my Darling, I am going to let you use my body. The only thing I am going to tell you is that no man has ever been able to keep up with me. I am too good. I know tricks that no other woman in the world knows. My tricks will destroy you. I can only receive satisfaction by torturing someone. Your destruction will give me satisfaction. Shall we begin now?"
She placed her drink on the table next to the sofa, stood up and let her negligee drop to the floor.
She was so beautiful that Terry could not speak.
She took the glass from Terry's hand and set it on the table next to hers.
Taking his hands in hers, she pulled him to his feet. She put her hands behind his head and pulled his face towards hers until their lips met.
When his lips touched hers it was like touching a live wire. Sparks danced inside of Terry's head. Her probing tongue sent bolts of electricity charging down to his toes.
He threw his arms around her, grabbed her buttocks with his hands, squeezed them and pressed her body closer to his.
She pushed him away from her and said, "Please Terry, take off your clothes.
"The linen is scratching my body."
Terry needed no second invitation. He pulled the clothing from his body in record time letting it drop haphazardly to the floor. His shoulder holster and gun were close to the bottom of the pile of clothing.
Sunda was lying on the thick carpet with her arms stretched out to Terry.
Her breasts did not even flatten out when she was lying down.
"Come to me Darling," she said huskily. "I am very excited."
Terry stretched out on top of her and placed his mouth over her breast. He could feel her muscles rippling up and down the length of his body.
Sunda spread her legs, reached her hand down, grasped Terry's malehood and placed it where she wanted it.
Terry slowly pressed his hips down and entered her. She immediately did something inside her body that forced an ecstatic moan from Terry's lips. Sunda laughed.
Terry suddenly felt fear. She was something he had never had before and if he couldn't keep up with her it could mean his total downfall.
Whatever it was she was doing in there felt wonderful and he was finding it difficult to hold back.
He was groaning and moaning with the effort, and Sunda was enjoying his agony.
Then Terry thought of the atrocity she had performed on Howie and the Turkish P. O. W. and from that instant on Terry gained the upper hand.
She was good, all right ... damned good ... and she had movements that Terry never even knew existed.
But, he was in complete control of himself now. He could enjoy what she was doing and still win the battle.
The battle waged for a half an hour before Sunda began to weaken. She had used every trick she knew and he still had not lost control. In fact she felt the stirring of an orgasm beginning to build inside of her. If she did have one this way, it would be the first time in her life that torture was not involved.
When she began to moan Terry knew he had her licked. She was beginning to twitch involuntarily now. Terry knew that the only reason this had never happened to her this way before was because no man had ever been able to keep going long enough against her exciter lamp.
She was bouncing up and down very fast now. It had taken him an hour of steady in and out long strokes but she was ready now. Terry increased his tempo and she began to scream and they both hit the target together.
When Sunda was finally able to catch her breath, she said, "you have beaten me Terry. No man has ever before made me come like that. I don't think there is another man alive, who could do it that way except you. You have made it impossible for me to kill you."
Terry had not rolled off of Sunda when he finished. He was still in her and was ready to go again. He began to move inside her.
She was so surprised and pleased at the prospect of experiencing that wonderful thrill again that she threw her legs around Terry's back, making it impossible for him to get into action when the door flew open.
A man stood there, shocked momentarily at the sight of Terry and Sunda making love on the rug.
Then he ran across the room and kicked Terry in the ribs with the point of his shoe.
Terry groaned in agony and rolled off of Sunda when she unwrapped her legs from around his back.
Terry tried to roll out of the stranger's way, but the man was quick and this time he caught Terry in the crotch with his foot.
Terry collapsed to the floor, retching and gagging.
The man aimed his toe at Terry's head. Then a shot blasted the silence. The man gasped and fell forward over Terry.
Terry dragged himself out from under the dead man and looked around the room.
Sunda was sitting next to his clothing with a smoking .45 in her hands. It was Terry's gun.
She dropped the pistol and crawled rapidly across the room to Terry.
"Are you hurt, Darling?" she asked.
She didn't wait for an answer. She looked toward the dead man and continued talking.
"I couldn't let him kill you. You make me feel so good when you screw me. You were getting me going a second time and that fool had to interrupt. Can you continue doing it to me now, Darling? I'm so hot! Please cool me off with your hose!"
A voice from across the room interrupted them.
"There is no time for that now!"
It was General Tse and he was pointing a pistol at them.
He walked to the body of the dead man ... never taking his eyes off of them.
He kneeled next to the dead man and put his hand under the man's body and turned him over onto his back. The dead man's jacket opened up. There was a white envelope sticking part way out of the inside pocket.
Gen. Tse removed the envelope and opened it. It contained micro-film. General Tse smiled and said to Terry. "This is the Delivery we have been waiting for. You will both please get dressed as we are leaving now."
"You have what you wanted," Terry said. "Therefore you don't need me. Why don't you just kill me now?"
"No," said Tse. "You may have some information that we can use. After that ... well ... maybe we will kill you and maybe we won't Now please dress, you are both coming with me."
Terry put his clothes on in the living room. Then he and General Tse went into the bedroom and watched Sunda dress.
She didn't put on any underwear. Just a sheath dress and some pumps. She brushed her hair into place and then they were ready.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The Chinese driver opened the door of the car and they stepped out and climbed into the waiting jet aircraft.
General Tse told them where to sit and then he sat two rows behind them. A sign in Chinese flashed on and off over the door to the pilot's compartment and Sunda told him to fasten his safety belt.
They were in the air and flying north.
Terry opened his safety belt and stood up to look around. They were the only people on board.
He looked at General Tse, who held a pistol up in the air to indicate to Terry not to try any funny business.
Terry sat down next to Sunda. "Do not worry darling," she said. "I will not let them kill you. I need you too much. Just tell them what they want to know and with my influence we can both survive and live in China."
The prospect of living in China did not appeal to Terry, but he did not voice his thoughts.
Sunda reached her hand over to Terry's lap and unzipped his trousers. She put her hand inside and pulled out his manhood.
Terry did not try to stop her.
She stroked it ... kissed it ... spoke to it. Then she stood up and pulled the dress off over her head.
She turned and faced Terry. Then she straddled him placing her knees on the seat at each side of her body.
Then she lowered herself on top of his manhood until he was all the way inside her.
She was primed for this experience now and they both had several orgasms before she stopped for a rest.
"Oh my Darling," she said. "You are just magnificent. I could do this to you forever. When we get to China...."
"Do not make any plans for China my dear," General Tse interrupted. "Your infatuation for this enemy has destroyed your usefullness to us and we may kill you too."
There was fear in Sunda's eyes and she turned toward Terry.
Terry didn't say anything, he just began to move his manhood inside Sunda's body and that was enough to get her mind off of their present problems.
* * *
They had been flying for about two hours. Sunda was naked, sleeping in the seat next to Terry. His arm was around her and his hand was on her breast.
Suddenly the plane bounced. Sunda woke with a start. A voice yelled something over the loud speaker in Chinese and Sunda tied her safety belt over her naked belly and told Terry to fasten his belt.
Terry looked out the window and saw two engines spitting sparks and fire.
Then the plane went into a steep dive.
This is it, thought Terry. Well ... it would be quicker this way than being tortured to death by General Tse.
Sunda was screaming. The ground seemed to be rushing up at them.
Then Terry felt the pull of gravity as the plane began to level off.
It was then that Terry realized that the pilot had gone into the dive to try and put the fire out.
The only trouble was that the pilot had made an error and did not begin to pull out of the dive soon enough and the plane was bellying down the side of a snow capped mountain.
The last thing Terry remembered was snow flying up past the window. The ear splitting sound of tearing metal, and a bouncing, jerking pulling at his body that caused extreme pain and then he blacked out.
Terry first became aware of the pain in his head. He opened his eyes and peered into the darkness.
He moved his arms and then felt all over his body for broken bones. Except for the pain in his head he was in good shape.
He undid his safety belt and opened the compartment over-head reaching for a flash light. He found a lantern.
He turned it on and flooded the plane with light. It was a shambles. Seats torn out, windows smashed. Terry wondered how he had survived.
The electrical system had not conked out even though there were no lights. The inside of the plane was warm. Terry looked out of the window. Nothing was there except snow and ice. If the heat had gone off he would have frozen to death.
He turned the light on Sunda and began running his hand over her naked body.
Aside from some scratches and bruises from the safety belt, she had no broken bones. She was still unconscious. She had probably fainted from fright.
Terry got up and walked back to General Tse.
General Tse had his pistol pointed at Terry.
"I see that you survived," the General said. "Unfortunately my leg is broken, but do not get too close to me or I will kill you. Go and check on the pilots."
Terry walked up the aisle to the entrance of the cabin. The door had been torn off of its hinges and had smashed the co-pilot's head in. He was dead.
The pilot was not dead, but he would be in a few minutes. A huge piece of glass from the windshield had penetrated his body and had him pinned to the back of the seat.
The wind blowing in through the broken window was cold and Terry turned to get out of there when he noticed the holster on the pilot's hip. He reached over and took the gun. It was a Russian automatic with a full clip.
He put the gun in his belt and buttoned his jacket. On the way out of the pilot's cabin he leaned the door in the hatchway to give them some protection from the icey wind.
Sunda was awake now and crying. Terry offered her no comfort. He walked back to General Tse and informed him that the pilots were dead.
Tse just nodded his head and said. "The storage batteries that are supplying the heat will not last much longer. In the compartments over the seats you will find Arctic clothing. Bring some to me and then you two put some on."
Terry found the clothing and distributed it to Sunda and the General.
He was dressed when the General called to him.
He walked back and saw that the General was only partially dressed.
"Get the first aid equipment." The General ordered. "You are going to set my leg."
Terry found the kit and removed the splints and other necessary aids he needed to set the General's leg.
"Do not try to get the gun when you work on my leg. If you do, I kill you and let the girl fix me up."
Terry felt around and found where the break was on the General's shin bone. Then he grabbed the General's foot, pulled and twisted very quickly.
The General screamed in agony. A shot sang out and a slug buried itself into the back of the seat behind Terry's head. He did not stop working. He felt the break. It was in place. He set the splints and then placed the General's broken foot inside one leg of the arctic trousers. The General pulled them on the rest of the way alone.
"There are tents, stoves, fuel, food and water that will keeps us alive for more than a month," the General said. "Set the tent up outside and get one of the stoves going inside it so that it will be warm when we get into it."
* * *
It was freezing cold out there and it had taken Terry almost an hour to get everything ready. Between the cumbersome clothing and the wind and the cold he had a very rough time of it.
He had finished just in time, when he went back in the plane to get Sunda and the General, the batteries had gone dead and the temperature was dropping fast.
Sunda had found a crutch for the General and when Terry called to them, Sunda helped the General out of the plane and into the tent. The General never let go of that pistol.
Inside the tent they made themselves comfortable. Terry had some soup cooking on the stove.
Outside the cold wind blew at gale force.
"While you were getting the tent ready, I tried to get a fix on our position," the General said. "We are in Tibet. If my calculations are correct, we should be quite close to a caravan route. About fifty miles due north is one of our military bases. One hundred miles to the south is Lhasa a small Tibetan City. When we do not arrive at our destination, my people will institute an air research and when they see us, a party will be sent out from our military base. Then, too," the General continued. "There are still some caravans coming from the north when they find us they will see that some of their people accompany us north. So all we have to do is to sit and wait to be rescued."
Terry put his hand in his pocket and let his hand go around the gun. His finger was on the trigger.
"The first thing I am going to do," Terry said, "Is to burn that plane so that we won't be spotted by your people from the air. Although the snow is light, it should cover up any trace of the plane before morning."
The General laughed.
"Then," Terry continued, "We will go South with a passing caravan and manage to get across the border and into India."
"How do you expect to do all this?" laughed the General.
"With this," said Terry pulling the gun out of his pocket.
The General brought the gun in his hand up quickly but before he could get a shot off, Terry blasted him between the eyes.
The General fell over backwards-dead.
Terry walked over to him and went through his pocket. Then he dragged the General's body outside of the tent and let the body roll down the incline and over the cliff.
Terry went back inside the tent. It was very warm in there and Sunda had stripped nude.
The sight of her naked body made Terry so excited that he fumbled his way out of the arctic clothing.
She was lying on a cot and he went to her and made wild passionate love to her. They were both so carried away with ecstasy that they screamed and cursed at the top of their voices.
When they were finished and Terry climbed off of her body Sunda spoke.
"You are so good, Darling. I'm so very happy that you killed General Tse. Now we can live in America or Europe ... anywhere that we want to. It is so much nicer in those places than in China.
Terry picked up a knife and walked over to where Sunda was lying naked on the cot.
She did not notice the knife in his hand.
He climbed between her legs and began to make love to her again.
She was in seventh heaven.
Then he took the knife and pressed the point into her right breast. He didn't cut all the way into her. Just about an inch and a half. She screamed in agony.
"Terry ... Terry ... What are you doing?"
She kept screaming as he began to carve a design into her right breast.
"The right breast I mutilate for Howie," Terry said, "and I carve a swastika into it for your past affiliation with the torturing nazi swine."
He finished and then sank the point of the blade into her left breast.
"I mutilate your left breast for the Turkish prisoner of war and I carve a hammer and scickle into your left breast for your present affiliation with the torturing Red Pigs."
She screamed, begged, fought and pleaded but he did not stop using the knife until the designs were carved perfectly into her once perfect breasts.
Then Terry got up and dressed. He grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet.
He kissed her lips and each bloody mutilated breast.
Then he emptied a water bag into a bucket and picked up the bucket. He took Sunda by the hand and pulled her, naked as she was, outside the tent.
"Terry! What are you doing? I'll freeze to death."
"The temperature here never rises above thirty degrees below zero." He said. "No one really knows how cold it does get in this area."
"Terry ... please I'll die out here in a matter of minutes without any clothes on!"
"I told you in India that I was going to kill you," he said. "I didn't think the chance would come so soon."
Her eyes grew wide as she tried to lift her feet and found that they were frozen solidly to the ice.
He splashed the water around her legs and she couldn't bend her knees.
Her lips were moving but no sound came from them.
He went back into the tent for more water. He filled two buckets and brought them outside. He had to work fast as ice began to crust at the top of the warm water almost at once.
He threw water over her belly and back. She was solid ice below her breasts and shoulder blades.
She was pleading in a soft but terrified voice. "Please Terry! Please ... Please ... Terry please!"
He paid no attention to her. He took out his knife and scraped the frozen blood from her breasts so that the swastika and hammer and scickle were plain to see. Then he stepped back, picked up the bucket and doused her breasts with water. They froze instantly.
She looked down at them groaning in pain and fear.
He threw water on her arms when she lifted them to heaven in supplication. They froze in that position.
She looked at Terry, pleading with her eyes and he dashed the rest of water over her head.
The water froze instantly. He could see her eyes through the ice, and he knew she could see him.
He watched the spark of life in her eyes for about fifteen seconds until it finally disappeared.
Terry threw some more water on her, then he went to the wrecked plane.
He set fire to the seats and went back to Sunda's frozen body and stood next to her and watched the plane burn and explode as the flames reached the fuel tanks.
Then he went into the tent and fell into a deep and restful sleep.
Terry was awakened by the sound of voices and tinkling bells. He had no idea how long he had been asleep.
He burst out of the tent to see a group of people gazing in fear at the cake of ice that surrounded Sunda's body. Her scarred breasts glistening through the ice in the light of day.
The people were taking a small caravan into India. Terry let them know that he would accompany them and that at the end of the journey they could keep all of his equipment and he would pay them too.
The trip was uneventful. He entered India with no problems. Got in touch with the nearest Consulate and he was flown to Washington via Military Transport.
He made his report about killing General Tse, but said nothing about Sunda.
He gave the micro-film to the American C.I.A. man, and it was then that they informed him that although he had saved the plans of the bomb from falling into the hands of the Chinese, the Russians had been able to get the prize.
Then he had flown back to England and many more assignments until the big goof.
* * *
The picture began to fade from the ceiling ... Terry wondered if Sunda's frozen body still stood on that lonely caravan trail.
But that was past history.
Rene was present history and she was in bed with him.
