Color Him Gay: The Further Adventures of the Man from C. A. M. P.

by V. J. Banis

  Stark would have to be told, of course. Jackie considered returning to the hotel room but decided instead to allow his new friend a few minutes of peace. There would be time enough to phone him later, from his office. He climbed into the roadster and drove away, piloting the car with grim recklessness.

  He reached the downtown area of Hollywood, making his way down the famed Hollywood Boulevard, past theaters of pseudo-oriental design and offbeat nightspots. Multiple streams of cars moved by on either side, crowding together as the nighttime activity of the area rushed toward its peak.

  Twin figures of light, klieg lights for some “grand opening” in the city, probed the sky overhead. The sidewalks were crowded with pedestrians. Among them, obvious homosexuals strolled up and down, casting hungry eyes upon one another.

  Young men, some of them scarcely more than children, stood or walked, their trousers bulging with lewd displays of the wares they offered to any and all purchasers. It was a city of cars and searchlights, and furtive-eyed males, a Mecca for the homosexual.

  It was a city too of stars, some of whom would soar high into the sky, flaming brilliantly. Often the brilliance would be brief, the fall sudden. For some of them the fall would result from a brief moment of indiscretion. For Dingo Stark, whose flame was at its zenith now, it had been two years.

  Where had they met for their clandestine adventures, those two youths of London—on rooftops, perhaps, or in parks? How often, and with what tenderness had they clung together, perhaps even with genuine affection? And those two years now threatened to extinguish Stark’s career, unless Jackie could somehow prevent it from happening.

  Jackie turned off the boulevard, making his way a few blocks down a street, then across another. At last a faded neon proclaimed the location of the Round-Up, one of the many bars in the city that provided a refuge for the homosexuals, and one of the least glamorous.

  Jackie parked outside, grimacing at the howl of the brakes, and entered the bar. The patrons here, and there were a surprising number of them, were the less discreet, the less careful, members of the homosexual society. No one here was likely to snicker, or sniff coolly, at the appearance or behavior of anyone else.

  Jackie went past the bar to the rear. Beyond a musty drape he entered a short hallway and finally the room marked MEN.

  To his disappointment there was someone in the room. Another time he would have gone on by the cold white fixtures that stood at the wall. Now he would have to pretend, and stall for time until the stranger left. Fumbling with his trousers, Jackie stepped up to the receptacle.

  It was not an unpleasant diversion. At least he was treated to a view of exposed flesh that would ordinarily have aroused his interest, but he had other things on his mind now. He looked up, recognizing the question in the eyes that studied him. He smiled apologetically and shook his head. The stranger shrugged, and stepped back from the wall. A minute later he was gone.

  Jackie too went toward the door, opening it and allowing it to swing closed as though he had left. Then, crouching low, he retraced his steps toward the rear of the restroom. He knew that the mirror along the wall was a two-way affair, and beyond it a member of the local vice squad watched the room for any homosexual activity. It was a form of entrapment common to the local police and for this reason Jackie remained below the line of vision afforded by the mirror.

  He reached the second of the two enclosed stalls provided, one bearing an OUT OF ORDER sign on the door. Stepping inside, he slid away the top of the water closet and put his hand into the water, feeling for a concealed button. A second later the wall slid open. He stepped inside. The panel closed after him and a second door opened on to a spacious and luxurious living room.

  This was one of the many offices of C.A.M.P., the one from which he most frequently worked. Here, in one of the rooms beyond this one, was an elaborate accumulation of electronic equipment beyond description, one of the centers from which C.A.M.P. conducted its activities. The equipment was related and linked to the nerve center of High Camp, their highly secret and efficient headquarters.

  He was met by a towering giant of a man, a six-foot-five-inch figure, handsome in a bullish, muscle-bulging way.

  “Hi, Rich,” Jackie greeted him, closing the second panel after himself.

  Rich returned the greeting, not in the least surprised by Jackie’s arrival. Indeed, there was no reason for him to be surprised, as Jackie well knew. A large and detailed map of the city of Los Angeles and the surrounding areas dominated one of the walls of the inner office. At the moment a red dot of light would be shining on the map, at the exact location of this room, because he was here. The light was a signal from the miniature homing device imbedded in an artificial thumbnail Jackie wore on one hand. Day and night, wherever he went, the light followed his movements on the map, showing his exact location at all times. He might be out of touch with C.A.M.P. occasionally but C.A.M.P. was never out of touch with him.

  “You look sore,” Rich commented, pouring a drink for the blond agent.

  “I am,” Jackie told him. “Mentally and physically.”

  “What’s up?” Rich asked.

  Jackie seated himself at a sofa before the fireplace and tasted his drink, nodding his approval. He described the fight that he had interrupted earlier. When he said who he had rescued Rich’s eyes widened.

  “Dingo Stark! Did you get his autograph?” Rich asked.

  Jackie smiled faintly. “I don’t know if you could call it that, exactly,” he answered.

  Rich frowned and grew silent again. Jackie knew that the dark giant felt more than a little affection for him and he knew that Rich was always slightly hurt to know that Jackie engaged in sexual combat with someone else. For his own part however, Jackie had never tried to pretend he was any different from what he was. Variety, in his case, was virtually a necessity and although he was admittedly fond of Rich he knew he could never give up his pursuit of other conquests.

  He went on, explaining the rest of the evening, although omitting the more intimate activities. His story held Rich’s attention throughout.

  “And they got the diary after all,” Rich asked when Jackie had finished.

  “They got the diary and I got a lump on the head,” Jackie assured him, rubbing the spot gingerly.

  “You’re right, it sounds like a job for C.A.M.P.,” Rich agreed.

  “More than that,” Jackie said, “I have a personal score to settle now. I gave my word that I’d keep that book safe and I failed. I intend to get it back before it causes any harm.”

  “Where do we start?” Rich asked, standing as though preparing to go into action at once. He was not, like Jackie, an outside agent. His job was to man the office, to provide Jackie with whatever form of assistance or protection he needed when working on any case.

  Jackie frowned thoughtfully. “I’m going to have to call Dingo Stark and tell him the bad news. But I have a hunch there’s more involved than just one star’s career. This sounds to me like a careful, well-planned setup, something done on a big scale.”

  “Could be a blackmail ring, maybe,” Rich said, nodding. “I’ll see what we have on file that might give us any clues.”

  He left the room, heading for the inner office. Reluctantly Jackie crossed to the phone at the desk. The phone was little more than an extra extension of the one in his own apartment, one of many precautions. If ever a call should be traced by anyone it would lead him to Jackie’s apartment rather than to this secret office.

  Stark sounded as though he had been asleep when he answered the phone. He was instantly alert, however, as Jackie identified himself and began to explain about the loss of the diary.

  Stark took it calmly, considering the implications the news held for him.

  “Do you think you can get it back?” he asked over the phone.

  “I’m going to,” Jackie assured him.

  There was a brief pause. “I’ll be very grateful if you can,” Stark said finally, in a lower voice. �
�I think you know what I mean.”

  Despite his low spirits, Jackie smiled at the receiver. He knew only too well just how grateful the singer star could be. If he had needed a reward to encourage his efforts, Stark had picked exactly the right one to offer.

  “I’ll get it back,” he said firmly.

  Rich was back in the room within a few minutes, carrying a small stack of papers, the information that had been hurriedly relayed to him from the files of High Camp.

  “Looks like we may have something here,” he said, handing the reports over to Jackie. “High Camp’s very interested in this matter. In case there was any doubt in your mind you’re assigned to look into it thoroughly. I’m to assist.”

  “Good, I have a personal interest in this one,” Jackie told him. He began to read through the brief reports, his lips moving wordlessly as he read. “Interesting. A suicide here in Los Angeles, prominent banker, no logical reason for the suicide, except that our files listed him as a homosexual. Prior to his death, six weeks ago he was known to have spent large sums of money, although the expenditures were never traced.”

  He turned to the next report. “Movie actress, just starting on her way up to the top. Contract canceled after scandal regarding her Lesbian activities. Devotes her time to drinking since then.”

  The third report was even more interesting. “Prominent San Francisco architect, another suicide. Police found some evidence of a blackmail, possibly involving homosexual activities.”

  He turned to the fourth and last report. “What’s this one? High level diplomat retires in Washington. Oh yes, he had recently visited the San Francisco area. No reason given for his retirement. C.A.M.P. suspects he may have been engaged in occasional homosexual activities.”

  “It does look big,” he said, looking up at Rich. “This could all be coincidence of course. Or it could be the trail of a full-fledged and top-level blackmail ring preying on those who are not only especially vulnerable with a lot to lose but can afford to pay highly.”

  “And operating out of this area,” Rich offered. “Or out of San Francisco.”

  Jackie was thoughtful for a moment, glancing back over the reports. “More likely San Francisco,” he said.

  He stood abruptly and went to the phone, once again calling the hotel at which Dingo Stark was staying under another name. This time Stark did not sound as though he had been asleep. Poor fellow, Jackie thought sympathetically, he’s probably been sitting there worrying about that diary.

  “I haven’t been to San Francisco in years,” Stark answered his question. “Just once, on a tour early in my career.”

  Jackie left the number of his apartment where Stark could reach him if anything came up and hung up the phone again. “Nothing here,” he announced. “That actress, Chris Langley. She’s still alive and if she was being blackmailed we might convince her to tell us about it. Get me a current address on her. I’ll contact her in the morning.”

  “What about the three who were working over Stark when you arrived? Can you identify any of them?”

  “I was just getting to that. Let’s have a look at the files on blackmailers, see if any of them look familiar.”

  It was already well after midnight and it would take hours for even a hurried examination of the extensive files maintained by C.A.M.P. Both men, however, had long since accustomed themselves to keeping inconvenient hours. Sleep was a luxury when they were working on a case.

  Jackie seated himself again on the sofa while Rich opened a special cabinet nearby, operating switches. A minute later the lights dimmed and the wall opposite began to glow. A large double picture of a face, not unlike the mug shots employed by police, appeared on the wall.

  “Nope,” Jackie said quickly. The next face appeared and produced the same comment.

  For two hours he studied face after face, rejecting some of them quickly, examining others for a few minutes before giving the negative answer.

  “Hold onto that one,” he said finally. He scowled and studied the picture before him. “It was dark,” he said. “And I didn’t have much time to look them over. But he looks like one of them.”

  The next hour was uneventful. At last, however, Jackie sat forward excitedly. “That one,” he said quickly and without uncertainty. “That’s the big brute, the ape I told you about.”

  They went on, studying the remaining files, without any further success. When they were finished the lights came up again and the wall returned to its normal appearance.

  “I’ll check these two out,” Rich told him. He took the slides with him into the inner office. Here their code numbers would be fed into a transmitter, forwarded to High Camp. Within minutes they would have all of the information that was on file regarding the two suspects.

  While they waited for the reply Rich brought coffee for the both of them and they sat in silence, individually contemplating the situation. A soft tinkle of chimes, much like the glass wind chimes of the Orient—although there was no movement of the air in the apartment—announced the answer from High Camp.

  Rich was grim when he again entered the room. He handed the reports to Jackie wordlessly.

  Jackie whistled softly as he looked them over. “Jack Savage,” he read aloud. “Small time blackmailer and con man for many years. Bruno Scotto, one time strong-arm man for the Green Bay Gang, notorious queer-hater, one time suspect in the slaying of a homosexual. Both now believed working for B.U.T.C.H.”

  He raised his eyes solemnly to Rich’s. It was a name with which they were both familiar: B.U.T.C.H., Brothers United to Crush Homosexuality. Like C.A.M.P. it was an underground organization, although it had as its goal the harassment and destruction of homosexuality. Their tools included vice and crime of every sort, and their agents were everywhere. Often a homosexual, particularly one who gave the appearance of wealth, would pick up some lovely young male and enjoy a session of romance, only to find himself the victim of blackmail and worse. Among the unsolved murders of homosexuals in the files of C.A.M.P., all but a few were believed to be the work of B.U.T.C.H.

  “The big boys,” Rich said softly.

  “And getting bigger, it seems,” Jackie said. “In the past their blackmail activities have been random, accidental things. But this looks like they’ve entered the field on a large scale, seeking out the biggest targets for their filthy trap.”

  “They’re elusive,” Rich reminded him. “And they play rough.”

  “So do I,” Jackie said coldly. He had tangled with B.U.T.C.H. on more than one occasion. Thus far the score had remained even: a few wins for him, a few for them. The headquarters, the core of their operations, remained as yet undiscovered, although the operation was suspected to be as widespread and extensive as C.A.M.P.

  Jackie returned the reports and stood, finishing off the last of his coffee. “I’d better get back to my own apartment,” he declared, taking a moment to glance at the last report, the one showing the address of Chris Langley.

  “It’s almost morning,” Rich told him gently. “Why don’t you sleep here for an hour or so?”

  Jackie smiled gratefully, reading the affection in the large dark eyes. It would be wonderful to lie in those giant arms, to afford one another a brief interlude of sex. But for now he had work to think of.

  “When this is over,” he said, giving Rich’s cheek a gentle pat. “I promise you a toss in the hay like you’ve never had.”

  He started from the room. “Oh, by the way,” he said, turning back. “I had some trouble with the Alfa. Have one of the boys from Mechanics pick it up and look it over, will you? I’ll take a cab home.”

  “Nothing bad I hope.”

  Jackie smiled despite his grim mood, remembering the spilled oil. It had given him a chance to rub Stark’s lap thoroughly and maybe start the wheels turning in Stark’s mind. And if it hadn’t been for the oil, Stark would not have shed his clothes and showered and donned a robe—which had been so easy to take off, before there was time for a change of heart.

/>   “No, I guess you couldn’t call it bad,” he said, leaving.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The phone rang a little before nine the following morning. Jackie had had less than three hours’ sleep, although his eyes opened at once and he reached for the instrument as he sat up. The voice on the other end was Dingo Stark’s.

  “Just thought I should tell you,” Stark explained in a voice that indicated he too had slept little. “I learned that Steve’s in San Francisco. I don’t know just where yet but as soon as I get the address I’ll let you know.”

  “Thanks,” Jackie answered. “That may help.” The signs were all pointing to San Francisco. In the past he had been unable to determine which city served as a headquarters for B.U.T.C.H. This lead could have implications stretching far beyond the immediate case.

  He showered, standing for long minutes under a hard stream of ice-cold water to guarantee that he was awake and ready for action. While he was dressing he gulped down a steaming cup of coffee. In a short time, he was in the private elevator that carried him from his apartment to the garage in the basement.

  Efficient as always, the mechanic from C.A.M.P. had already repaired the oil tank of the Alfa, and had delivered it to its stall. Jackie allowed it to warm up for a minute or two before starting out.

  The boarding house at which he was to find Chris Langley was a far cry from the sort of places she must have inhabited only a few short months before. This one was definitely seedy and told more clearly than words how far and how fast she had fallen.