by V. J. Banis
“At your service,” Jackie told him. There was no point in denying the fact. B.U.T.C.H.’s files on him would be extensive and accurate.
“Well, you’ve looked for me a long time,” Tiger said. “Since you’re going to die, I may as well give you a bit of satisfaction. This, my dear friend, is the headquarters you’ve been seeking for so long.”
“This yacht?” Jackie said, surprised. “Then you…?”
“I am the head officer of B.U.T.C.H.,” Tiger informed him smugly.
The yacht was local, Jackie thought quickly. No wonder they had had such a difficult time figuring out whether B.U.T.C.H. worked from Los Angeles or San Francisco. With a moving office they could work out of any watery area.
As for Tiger Bey, that too was a link he should have suspected. Although this was their first meeting, he had known of the man for years. With his brutishly male appearance, the Levi’s and leather jacket, along with boots and other motorcycle gear, Tiger Bey was known not only to him but to police throughout the State. He was an impressive figure, the sort that inspired both fear and desire in the hearts of homosexuals.
He was also known to be the leader of a rat-pack motorcycle gang that often terrorized the small towns up and down the state. It was suspected as well that he was involved in numerous forms of vice, dope and prostitution among them. Jackie had never suspected, however, that the notorious figure was also the ringleader of B.U.T.C.H.
“Well, this is a night of surprises isn’t it?” Jackie said aloud. “I can hardly wait to see what happens next.”
“Next,” Tiger informed him. “You and your insipid friend there will be killed.”
“Why him?” Jackie argued. “He can’t do you any harm. Why not send him on his way?”
“He tried to play games with us,” Tiger snapped coldly. “No one fools around with us and lives to tell about it.”
Someone appeared at the door of the cabin to announce that everything was ready for departure.
“Tell them to get started,” Tiger said. He turned back to the room. “Tie him up,” he ordered, indicating Jackie.
The others were quick to do his bidding. Jackie’s hands were bound in front of him and his feet tied as well, so that he could only sit helplessly on one of the upholstered benches attached to the walls.
The yacht had begun to move. “Isn’t this a peculiar time for a cruise?” Jackie taunted his enemy. All the while his mind was racing madly, seeking some way out of the predicament.
“Strictly business,” Tiger explained. “In the first place we can’t just toss you in the water here. You would float ashore in no time. Besides we have an appointment about two miles out.”
“An appointment?”
Tiger smiled evilly. “With a Japanese freighter that’s headed for San Francisco. Included in its cargo, although not in the import declarations, is a sizable amount of opium. We’ll have to unload that before it reaches the harbor.”
Opium, Jackie thought with dismay, to be loaded into this yacht and then unloaded at some carefully chosen point along the coast. Was there no crime so foul that these people would not turn it to a profit?
“We’ll take care of you two after we get that loaded,” Tiger was saying. “I don’t think I need worry about you. Even if you get free, and I understand you’re quite clever, the Bay is a dangerous place for a swim. In a few minutes we’ll be well on our way, and besides, there are sharks in these waters, as you well know.”
“And then back to San Francisco?” Jackie encouraged him to talk. While he was still alive there was always the possibility of escape and this was a golden opportunity to gain as much information as possible.
“Oh no, it was getting a bit warm there. We’ll start up anew somewhere else. That’s what we were waiting for, you see. Our files, photographs and such had to be loaded on board. Our headquarters are complete on this craft. We can start our business anywhere.”
He turned from Jackie, terminating the conversation. “The men have been arguing about the other prisoner,” he said to Fred, standing nearby. “Tell them to help themselves to him.”
“What about him?” Fred asked, nodding his head in Jackie’s direction.
“He’s an honored guest,” Tiger said with a grin. “I hardly think it would be fair to allow mere workmen to enjoy themselves with him. As a matter of fact, I may do him the honor of some physical pleasures myself; just before we kill him.”
Tiger left the cabin. Bruno and his friends returned, grinning with pleasure as Fred told them they had permission to amuse themselves with Steve.
“You pigs,” Jackie snapped angrily as the men began tearing Steve’s clothes from him. For an answer, Bruno slapped him viciously across the face.
“Keep your mouth shut,” the apelike man warned him. “Or I won’t wait for permission to work you over.”
“Come on,” one of the others insisted. Steve’s face was a study in terror. His clothes were in shreds, the delicate beauty of his nakedness exposed to the lustful eyes of his attackers. As Jackie watched helplessly they pinned the young man down to the floor.
Bruno was first. Jackie shuddered as the man pulled down his trousers, revealing the weapon with which he intended to claim the helpless body. It was terrifying, something for torture rather than pleasure.
Steve’s cry of agony was audible even through the cloth that covered his mouth. He struggled helplessly in the hands of the men holding him, to no avail.
The assault was more vicious than anything Jackie had ever witnessed. Again and again, Bruno worked at the fragile body with long, crashing blows, his face contorted in savage pleasure. Mercifully, Steve fainted as the end neared.
“Wake him up,” Bruno snarled when he had finished and risen from the floor. They slapped Steve’s face until his eyes, glazed and unbelieving, opened again.
Each of them took turns. Their bodies and the floor were streaking with blood. Steve’s smooth skin was a mass of bruises and cuts.
At last they could not rouse him again. The last of them took his turn anyway. When he had finished they kicked the limp body aside.
“Tie him up again,” Bruno ordered. “In case he comes to.”
With a horrible grin he advanced toward Jackie. “That get you excited?” he asked, chucking a finger under Jackie’s chin. “Sure you don’t want to join the party? I’m all raring to go again.”
Jackie recognized the lust in Bruno’s eyes and knew that the man was not merely talking. But he was sure that he would not easily disobey Tiger’s orders. Tiger had marked him for his own and he would not want damaged goods.
“You filthy beast,” Jackie told him coldly and unafraid. “Try untying my hands and see if you can manage me as easily.”
Bruno only laughed. “Let’s go,” Fred said from the doorway. “We’ve got work to do. The fun’s over for now.”
They left, closing the door after themselves and extinguishing the light. In the darkness Jackie breathed a partial sigh of relief. He had not dared to attempt anything before. Now, with them gone, he could go to work again.
He pulled his bound hands down to the buckle of the belt he wore in his trousers. Carefully he guided the ropes to the bottom edge of the buckle, an edge ground to razor sharpness. One slip and he would slice his wrists open. Slowly, patiently, he began to cut the ropes.
It took several minutes to cut through the ropes but he dared not risk haste. Finally the ropes gave. He tugged hard at them and his hands were free. Working swiftly now, he untied his feet. At last he was able to stand again.
He worked in the dark, not wanting to risk the light. His first thought was for Steve and he hurriedly released him as well, carrying the limp body to a bench.
“Steve,” he whispered, patting the swollen face gently. “It’s Jackie.”
Steve’s eyelids fluttered at last. He opened them, first in terror. Then, as he recognized Jackie’s face close above his own, he began to sob.
“Oh Jackie,” he gasped. “I prayed I
would die. I didn’t think I could endure it any longer.”
“It’s okay,” Jackie told him, keeping his voice low. “I’m trying to get us out of this. Can you manage to run or swim if we have to?
“I don’t know,” Steve answered. He struggled to control his sobs bravely. “But I’ll try.”
With Jackie’s help he managed to get to his feet but his legs were too weak to support him. He sat back down wearily.
“It’s no use,” he said hopelessly.
“Don’t give up,” Jackie said. He went to the porthole and peered out. The shore was already distant. Even if they could get off the boat there wasn’t the slightest chance they could swim that far, not with Steve so weak.
There was something else to be considered, however. This yacht was the headquarters for B.U.T.C.H. and loaded aboard it were all of their files, the information with which they were able to ruin countless lives. If he could destroy it all, it would be worth his own life and Steve’s.
* * * *
They had not, fortunately, stripped him, mistakenly confident as they had been that the ropes would hold him. Stooping down, he hastily removed one shoe. As Steve watched him, puzzled, he twisted the heel aside to reveal a hidden compartment, containing a maze of batteries and wires.
“What is that?” Steve asked.
“A radio,” Jackie explained, flicking the button that turned the transmitter on. “It sends out a signal that is automatically picked up at C.A.M.P. offices anywhere. But it’s only a slim hope. It hasn’t the power to transmit more than a mile or so. There’s not much chance anyone in San Francisco will receive the S.O.S.”
He kicked off the other shoe for convenience. Then, standing, he hurriedly peeled off his shirt and T-shirt. He lifted one arm over his head and with the other hand, yanked at the tuft of hair.
“Good heavens,” Steve said, as the artificial skin came away to reveal Jackie’s closely shaven armpit beneath. Without comment Jackie removed the plastic skin from the other side as well.
He tore the shallow layers of artificial skin apart, removing the small capsule hidden in each. Alone, the ingredients of the capsules were harmless. Combined, they created a powerful chemical explosion that could be detonated merely by impact. He mixed the ingredients with cautious hands and gently returned the mixture to the two capsules.
As he had suspected, the door was locked. He went back for the other shoe. Hidden in the heel of that one was a thin, deadly knife. Stooping before the door, Jackie inserted the blade into the lock. In a few seconds he heard a successful click, and the door was open.
Seconds were precious now. Each one carried them farther from the shore, already in the distance, and nearer the Japanese freighter they were meeting. He put an arm about Steve and helped him to his feet.
“We’ll have to make a run for it,” he said in a whisper. “If we can get to the side and over we might have a chance of getting away.” He did not add that the chance was a slim one. If his plan worked, the radio in his shoe would be sunk along with the ship. Even so, it would take some time for anyone who might have received the signal to get to them.
They climbed the steps that led to the deck and paused. Only a few feet separated them from the rail and the icy water beyond. In one hand Jackie held the two highly explosive capsules. Would they be enough, he wondered, even as powerful as they were?
On the deck one of the guards was standing only a few feet from them, his back to them. Jackie would have to all but drag Steve across the deck. How long would it take the man to draw his gun and shoot: a few seconds? It would have to be long enough.
“Now,” he hissed in Steve’s ear. They rose and started forward, Steve barely able to hobble along. Behind them the guard whirled about, startled.
“Hit the deck,” Jackie said, shoving Steve down as shots rang out. He raised his hand and hurled the first of the capsules back into the open door of the cabin. The explosion rocked the entire vessel and knocked the guard off his feet. Flames erupted from the interior of the cabin.
“Let’s go,” Jackie said. Steve however, remained limp. Jackie turned him over and saw the bullet hole in the center of his forehead. Steve wasn’t going anywhere.
There was bedlam all around. People were shouting and the powerful light that had been turned on was sweeping the deck. It swept over Jackie and more shots rang out.
It was now or never. Jackie jumped to his feet. He hurled his second capsule toward the stern and the powerful engines. There was another massive explosion and a burst of flames.
Jackie dived for the rail, plunging downward. The icy water was like an electric shock. He swam furiously in long hard strokes. When his lungs felt as though they were bursting, he surfaced.
No one was worrying about him. The entire yacht seemed to be in flames. Even as Jackie paused to look back, the flames reached the fuel storage tanks. There were two more awful explosions that sent flames and wood high into the air.
The headquarters of B.U.T.C.H. was done for. But unless some miracle happened, so was he. The water was like ice, already numbing his limbs. He struck out in the direction of the shore, every muscle straining. His arms lifted and fell, his feet kicking powerfully. He was a championship swimmer and held records in numerous events, but this was a challenge beyond anything he had ever faced before.
* * * *
His first thought, when the light fell across him, was that someone from the yacht was in pursuit. That, he realized, was impossible. He stopped, treading water as the powerboat roared toward him.
“My dear, what a time for a swim,” a voice called out and Jackie recognized the gray-haired agent from C.A.M.P.
A minute later he was being helped aboard the boat and a blanket was wrapped around his shivering body. “How on Earth did you get here so fast?” he asked, clutching the blanket close.
“Your English friend called and sent us to Fisherman’s Wharf,” the agent explained. “Love, I’ve been combing this Bay with a tortoise shell comb ever since. I was about to head back for a good-morning cap when I got the S.O.S. of yours and here I am. The coast guard, by the by, is not far behind.”
“Good, I’ve got some work for them,” Jackie said. “That bonfire you see in the distance is what’s left of B.U.T.C.H.”
“Heavens,” the agent exclaimed, peering at he burning yacht in the distance. “And me without a marshmallow.”
* * * *
It was several hours later before everything had been cleaned up. The Coast Guard, alerted to the presence of the Japanese freighter, had made a successful haul there. As for B.U.T.C.H., one or two survivors had been rescued from the icy water and placed under arrest, although no trace had been found of Tiger Bey.
Finally, a weary Jackie was dropped off at his hotel. He ignored the stares produced by his bare feet and lack of shirt. It was not, after all, the most peculiar outfit he had worn on this case.
It was not until he opened the door of his room and saw the sleeping figure in his bed, back turned toward him, that he remembered Dingo. The singer was sound asleep, unaware of him.
Jackie suddenly felt less exhausted. Dingo, he saw, was accustomed to sleeping in the raw. He had kicked the covers aside and the view turned toward Jackie was an enticing one, the broad hips curved provocatively, the ripe buttocks sending a silent invitation.
With a smile, Jackie removed his trousers, leaving them in a heap on the floor. He lowered himself to the bed, sliding across its surface to press his own body against Dingo’s warmth.
Dingo started. “Jackie?” he asked drowsily.
“Umm-hmm.” Jackie said. His arm went around Dingo and down, seeking the remembered treasure.
“What are you doing?” Dingo asked. The muscles of his backside tensed as he felt the urgent firmness pressed against them.
“Collecting my reward,” Jackie informed him. “For returning the diary.”
“Oh,” was all Dingo said. And then, a minute later, “Ouch. That hurts, blast it.”
&nb
sp; “Relax,” Jackie whispered. His hand, in front, was busily helping Dingo to ignore the pain and Dingo was responding quickly.
Jackie was gentle and careful, advancing slowly, giving Dingo time to accustom himself to the innovation.
“How am I doing?” he asked, nibbling Dingo’s ear.
Dingo snorted and wriggled his hips, sending a thrill of excitement through Jackie’s body. “It might be fun,” he said, “if you weren’t being so bloody careful.”
Jackie didn’t need any further encouragement. He stopped being careful. For a brief second his thoughts strayed to his apartment in Los Angeles and particularly to his trophy, the huge carved phallus with its notches to signify his conquests. He reminded himself that he could carve a new notch on it when he got back.
His thoughts, however, did not remain long on that subject. Joyfully, they returned to the present—to the body in his arms and the pleasure of the moment.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Victor J. Banis is the critically acclaimed author (“…a master storyteller”—Publishers Weekly) of more than 200 published novels and numerous shorter works in a career spanning nearly a half century. A longtime Californian, he lives and writes now in West Virginia’s beautiful Blue Ridge region.
BOOKS BY VICTOR J. BANIS
The Astral: Till the Day I Die
Avalon
Charms, Spells, and Curses for the Millions
Color Him Gay: Being the Further Adventures of That Man from C.A.M.P.
Darkwater
The Devil’s Dance
Drag Thing; or, The Strange Tale of Jackle and Hyde
The Earth and All It Holds
The Gay Dogs: Being the Further Adventures of That Man from C.A.M.P.
The Gay Haunt
The Glass House
The Glass Painting
Goodbye, My Lover
The Greek Boy
The Green Rolling Hills: Writings from West Virginia (editor)