Jungle Goddess

by Charles Nuetzel

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  Fictionwise

  www.Fictionwise.com

  Copyright ©1965 by Charles Nuetzel

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  JUNGLE GODDESS

  (Originally published as JUNGLE NYMPH)

  By Charles Nuetzel

  Writing under the name of:

  DAVID JOHNSON

  Dedicated to my

  personal goddess,

  Brigitte.

  CHAPTER

  1 Off to Africa

  2 Storm Warnings

  3 Crashed

  4 Doomed

  5 First Night

  6 Lost in the Jungle

  7 Captured

  8 A Daring Escape

  9 Tortured at the Stake

  10 Tallie Unleashed

  11 Bob & The Jungle Goddess

  12 Jungle Passions

  13 Rita's Last Stand

  14 Final Rush to Rescue

  15 Safari's End

  CHAPTER ONE

  The events leading up to the recent release of “BOB LAKE AND THE JUNGLE GODDESS” started several years before its publication. For those who lived these earlier adventures they were even more fantastic than what was reported in the best selling book. For Carol Hill it all began with...

  "I want that assignment in Africa—with Bob Lake!” she announced, once in the publisher's large book-lined office. She looked at Henry Turner with hard determination in her eyes. She had insisted on this audience with her boss, determined to make a hard sell for this prime ticket to fame.

  It was one of those places where few people made demands—but many had taken commands from the heavy, barrel chested man sitting behind the large oak desk. He owned the company and everybody who worked there. For some two years, now, she'd been working her way up to the point where it was possible to reach out for this kind of assignment.

  Strangely enough the man had been more than willing to see her, though his chubby face revealed little as to what he was really thinking. Yet his eyes had swept over her as if wanting to make a feast of what he saw. Nothing more.

  "I want it, and I'd be good at it!” she added when the silence met her opening statement. “With Bob Lake!"

  It was almost a demand. Soon she would have second thoughts. But at that moment she was determined to get this quick ticket to fame. And proof she could make it big in a man's world.

  Henry Turner's gray eyes studied the blonde in front of him. There was a hard calculating coldness in his gaze as it once again swept over trim body. And something which almost offered: and what are you willing to do for me to get this assignment? His voice was just edging on amusement as he said: “So?"

  "I want it, Henry!” Carol announced again, mentally wishing, for this one time in her life, she wasn't a woman. Henry Turner had tried to bed her since the first day she'd started work at the Turner Publishing Company. Carol was a photographer, not a tramp. It was the only line she'd never crossed in getting ahead. She wouldn't sleep her way to the top—but the so-called glass ceiling against females wouldn't hold her back. Very early in life she'd decided to put everything aside, motherhood, marriage, in favor of making a real name for herself as a photographer.

  "You serious?” Henry Turner demanded. “I don't believe you!” But there was little conviction in his voice. He was playing a blunt game, and she was expected to play it out. He liked to manipulate.

  "I'm deadly serious!” she told him. “I've always wanted to go to Africa. And shooting a Bob Lake book would be a pretty creative challenge!"

  "That's no assignment for a woman.” Turner retorted. There was only a hint of mockery in his voice.

  "That's bull!” Carol pointed out, smiling, forcing herself to play into his game. Maybe he just wanted a hard sell. “And I'd do a bang up job. Just like in Miami!"

  Henry wiped imaginary sweat from his forehead. Slowly standing, he stepped around the desk.

  "Rita Bentley is backing the trip. You know her reputation."

  "Sure. Doesn't everybody? Tab Queen of the Day & Night!"

  "Some of that tabloid stuff is true."

  "And the rest is garbage!” she counter. “And I know the rumors, too. Devours her men!"

  They both laughed a bit stiffly.

  "And very possessive! She savagely attack a woman who flirted with one of her boy-toys."

  "I don't flirt!” Carol announced. “Nor play around."

  "Well, true enough. Sad to say.” His eyes studied hers, and then swept along her body as if mentally caressing it.

  "Don't even think it, Mister Turner!” she laughed good-naturedly. “Don't mix pleasure with business."

  The man chuckled at that. “For all I know you don't mix pleasure with anything."

  "I wouldn't bet on that!” She winked playfully. “Quite frankly, I have more important things to focus on!"

  "Using the lens, I assume!” he mused. “Yes, one of the best masters of that fine art!"

  "Well, we agree on something, don't we?” she stated in mocked seriousness.

  He considered her for a moment then shrugged: “Perhaps you'd get along with Ms Bentley."

  "Try me!” Carol challenged.

  The man shrugged, as if having resigned himself.

  "Okay, okay! If you insist!” His hands leaned on the desk, fingers just touching a large envelop lying there. “It's your headache. Bob can be a pain. I guess you know how he works!"

  "With a bottle in one hand and a woman in the other!” Carol said evenly. “And Rita is a possessive lady. And Loony, to boot! I know all the nasty rumors. Nut house junky."

  "Those weren't just rumors. The breakdown was real. Even if many years ago."

  "Everybody visits shrinkland, now days!"

  They both laughed at that, then the man grew serious, nodded: “Okay. Play her right and you shouldn't have any trouble! Like walking on eggs."

  "I'm a good egg walker, boss!” she laughed a bit too lightly. “And what Rita wants, Rita gets! I have no designs on anybody or thing ... but a notch in my career!"

  He nodded, all business. “You are to meet Ms Bentley in Nairobi in three days. She's hired Barton & Gordon Ltd to run the safari. I've known them for years. John Barton plays Big White Hunter and Allen Gordon runs the office. Barton will find a nice jungle setting and set up a camp. I want motion pictures and stills. All the kills—get them on film. Make it looks like Bob did it all himself—regardless."

  Carol merely nodded, said nothing.

  Turner sighed and then tapped the large envelope lying on his desk. “This is all you need as background and ... as you see, has your name on it..."

  She merely smiled, saying nothing. So he had set her up to beg!

  Carol was only slightly annoyed at having been manipulated.

  "I've already sent Charlie on another job—he doesn't give a damn where he gets his pay check."

  "I guess you had your fun,” she admitted, taking the envelop with her name on it. “Made me convince you!"

  "Why not? I wanted to be sure about you. So ... report to Lake—the two of you leave by plane tomorrow night!"

  * * * *

  The long fight to Nairobi was a study in anguished boredom to Bob Lake. He was deep in a psychological depression that gnawed at his guts. It was more than a mere hangover. He was on an old mental treadmill! All these years he had written fictionalized adventures that he wasn't really capabl
e of living. The closest thing he'd come to actual physical action was boxing in the local gym as a teenager and later as a young man. It was a hobby, safely tucked away in a strange part of his brain—real but mere game playing; not serious combat. Everybody thought he actually was the action hero of his books. Boxing was the only action he'd ever taken, though within the confines of a totally control ring and gym. But now he was trapped into actually living out a real life adventure! Bob Lake on Safari. That party at the Rita Bentley's had doomed him. With Henry Turner standing there with them, she had sprung her trap when talking about her coming trip to Africa.

  Bob had never wanted to hit a woman before that moment.

  "Why don't you go with us?” Rita almost pleaded, gripping his arm excitedly, her eyes flashing with intimate promise.

  "You kidding, of course!” Bob gulped. The last place he had ever wanted to go was Africa. And she knew it!

  "Oh, honey, I don't kid about anything!” she murmured, giving him a peck on the cheek, while long fingernails dug painfully into his forearm. “I want you with me! And you can do a book about our adventures. Not all of them, of course."

  "We've been through all that,” he pointed out. “You know how I feel!"

  She had suggested it once before in private and Bob thought he'd convinced her of his lack of interest. But, if Rita wanted something bad enough she got it!

  "Oh, Bob, don't be silly. Just think: all expenses paid by yours truly! On Safari with Rita Bentley Queen of the Tabloids!"

  That's when Henry Turner exclaimed: “She's right! Why not? It'd be a swell idea for your next book! Though not that title, thank you!"

  "Oh, then call it: Bob Lake & Rita Bentley's Erotic Africa!” Rita suggested. “Whatever you want. I don't care!"

  "Bob Lake on Safari works for me!” the publisher announced, as if that closed the issue.

  The woman considered Turner for a moment, and then shrugged. “Just so I get mentioned inside! Maybe Bob can reveal the real Rita Bentley—well, not everything, of course. Just the nice stuff! And there's plenty of nice stuff ... in me!"

  She laughed at that as if it were a joke. “And, Mr. Turner, dear Hank, it'll cost just a minor mention in the book itself about our adventures together in Dark Africa, which isn't quite as dark as it used to be."

  "Not what I heard,” Turner noted. “There still are places our modern civilization haven't touched."

  "Oh, poo, as they say. Modern safaris are a camp in the park. When the hunt's on it is the Big White Bwana Hunter who does all the work, letting the clients take all the credit. Nothing to worry about. Think about it, my offer. I'm very serious."

  Turner, who was always quick to pick up a margin of profit, leaped at the bait: “That's a deal breaker, Ms Bentley."

  When Bob was once again alone with Rita, he said: “Damn you, he thinks you're serious!"

  "I am! Why do you think I arranged this party, inviting your publisher?” she asked, continuing on without giving him a chance to answer. “You work too hard on those books. Gotta get out more often with the real natives!"

  That sounded ominous. He'd been careful when “off on an adventure” to hide away where nobody could find him. She couldn't know the truth.

  Rita smiling mysteriously, said: “Oh, come on Bob, it'll be great fun! You'll see!"

  He was trapped.

  She pouted cutely. “And like they say in the tabloids: what Rita wants, Rita gets! You know that!"

  He knew all too well; as their relationship had proven. The woman was a wild in bed and he had claw marks on his back to prove it! A wildcat! But also temperamental as hell.

  He had hoped the African thing would fade. He should have know better. The price of enjoying Rita's favor was submitting to her demands.

  And several days later when Turner brought it up in his office there was no way out of it.

  He'd been surprised about Carol Hill being assigned as photographer. They'd never worked together. She was a very ambitious, driven woman, totally different than Rita. Carol was blonde, Rita dark. Carol was all business. Rita all play. Carol hadn't slept her way up; pure talent had blazed her success. Yet most men considered her slim, curving good looks quite delightful. Hardly the type any man would turn down if she were to throw herself at him. Fat chance of that happening with Carol. He wondered what it would take to bed that lady.

  Bob mused over that image then shrugged it off: Carol Hill was off limits, in any case.

  Right now Rita was his assignment. Henry Turner had made that very clear.

  Turner had said: “Play her. I know her rep for being easily bored, and fickled. Make sure she's a happy camper!"

  "I know how to handle Rita,” he assured the man. His hands squeezed the air in front of him in a very bluntly suggestive way. “A little of that and a bottle of wine keeps her warm and ripe for the picking."

  "Don't be silly. She's a sophisticated lady. She can be a rough ride if crossed. So while she has her hooks in ya, you best not wiggle the wrong way cause it might be painful!"

  "Don't worry. The kind of wiggling I'll do makes her delirious!” Which was true. Even if her long nails enjoyed biting deep into his flesh at moments of intense passion. Both of them liked a casual relationship mixed with plenty of booze.

  Turner chuckled. “Well, good for you. Have fun. I envy you."

  That had ended the conversation, but not his sense of fear.

  He knew that in time his secret would be out. He couldn't keep it forever locked up in that mountain cabin where he did most of his writing.

  Maybe this was a chance to expand his horizons!

  He tried to convince himself.

  Chances were that Rita was right about it being a piece of cake. So if he could fake out the next days under the safe cover of this commercial safari, things might not be too bad. Technically he knew all the terms and all the facts necessary to write about such travels; on paper he'd been convincing. Now he simply had to translate knowledge into action. For years he had been faking it; for years he had perfected the outward image of the man of action. Now he was being presented with the greatest acting challenge in his life.

  Maybe things would work out okay he kept saying over and over, like a mantra.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Finally they arrived at the Nairobi airport and were met by a native servant who had been instructed to take them to the house that Rita had rented.

  Neither Bob nor Carol talked during the ride through Nairobi. Finally the driver pulled the car up to a large white house. A few moments later Rita greeted them in the living room of the expensively furnished bungalow. After introductions, Rita turned to Carol and said: ‘I hope you will enjoy yourself."

  She paused, then added: “I'm surprised that Turner sent a woman on this trip.” There was just the cutting edge of stiffness to her voice.

  "Oh, I wanted it,” Carol explained brightly. “I literally begged for the job!"

  "Well, I guess you would like to freshen up a bit. One of the servants will take you to your room.” She indicated a handsome young native with the nod of her head and gave him instructions. “And see that Miss Hill gets everything she wants ... well not everything...” The woman's eyes moved possessively to Bob, then returned to Carol: “Just be sure she gets everything she ... needs!"

  When the other woman had left, Rita turned to Bob. “It's going to be a lot of fun! What a thrill!"

  "Yes...” Bob managed, hiding the nervous twinge running down his spine.

  "I've always wanted to see you in action.” she teased, planting a kiss on his cheek.

  "Don't expect too much!” he suggested, vaguely. “Reputations are never what they seem in the papers."

  "I know all about that, for sure!” she nodded, shrugged, “Doesn't really matter to me. Just be nice having you around for a few weeks—just the two of us."

  "And all the safari personnel?"

  "They really don't count!” Then as an after thought she said: “Just so that Ms Hill isn't hound
ing you with her cameras—or anything else."

  "She business, nothing more,” Bob promised; then teased her with: “Sad to say!"

  "She better not be! You're all mine! And I'm a jealous property owner!” That last was followed by a rather harsh, edgy laugh. “I don't let anybody trespass on my territory!"

  Rita reached out and touched his arm affectionately. “Want a drink?"

  "That's a hell of a good idea!"

  "Follow me,” Rita instructed. Then added with a husky laugh: “We can drink and hungrily devour whatever catches our attention!"

  The way her eyes swept over him left little to his imagination.

  * * * *

  Bob was working on a hangover when he settled behind the copilot's seat of the small two-engine plane that was going to take them across the African jungle. The others were in the passenger's section, the door shut, giving the two men some sense of privacy.

  He'd been invited to play co-pilot. He found that rather exciting. In fact, some elements of these last hours were almost exciting; appealing. He'd written about this kind of adventure, now he was being forced to actually live it. And, so far, it really wasn't that horrid. He hoped.

  John Barton, sitting next to him, was large and broad, well muscled. His face had the mark of a man used to hard adventure, fast action and quick thinking. He appeared far more flashing in his “safari” clothes. Now the man was totally different from last night when dressed more formally. Bob realized that this was the kind of male animal Rita probably thought he was—the perfect man of action.

  Here sat our Big Bwana, he thought, our White Hunter and pilot; boss of the expedition.

  They had met the evening before. Carol and Barton had become friendly, but nothing more. The hunter seemed to almost ignore the women, merely being politely professional. In fact he'd said very little of a personal nature. But there was something about the way his eyes flinted from person to person, almost as if reading their thoughts that impressed Bob. For the most part the conversation had been fairly general; just the four of them sizing one another up for the coming adventure. He'd consumed, perhaps, a bit more booze than he should have, and much of his attention was forced to focus on Rita, who kept secretly touching him under the table from time to time. They'd all turned in early for this early morning start.