by Morgan Wolfe
All three were sipping Mai Tais adorned with umbrellas.
“Next up,” cheerily announced the MC, “a routine you’re sure to find ‘just right!’ Welcome please, Daisy, Brownie and Happy in Goldilocks and the Two Bares!” The band struck up a medley of nursery tunes, beginning with Old MacDonald. Daisy skipped onstage clad in a mini-dress decorated with sunflowers, hair tucked under a wide-brimmed straw hat.
At their table, Mung passed around his iPad. Jong and Sook studied Woody’s Facebook photo.
“No posts for two months,” said Mung. “Busy moving maybe. He has office at Rice. Second floor of Neurology building, end of hall.”
“Professor?” asked Jong.
“Researcher. Office hours not posted. We have to keep watch.”
“All day?” asked Sook.
“No, just 10:00 to 4:00, five days, probably less. One of us in hallway, other two in parking lot. He show up sooner or late. When he leaves, tail him.”
Onstage, Goldilocks mimed opening an imaginary door. On the other side of the door were two cots, two chairs and a card table with two cereal bowls. The club paid its strippers well but scrimped on props.
Goldilocks sat down at the table and pretended to spoon from the bowl. “This porridge is too cold!” she said in a high squeaky voice.
“Fuck the porridge and get it off!” someone in the audience yelled impatiently.
The three Koreans paid no attention. “Watch for him in hall?” Sook said worriedly. “Someone notice.”
“No, no,” reassured Mung. “We dress like college students, blend in.”
“Maybe take all week,” grumbled Jong. “Pyongyang in hurry.”
“Yes, yes,” snorted Mung irritably. “Pyongyang say, ‘Hurry up and spy!’”
“Pyongyang must learn patience,” said Sook. “Patient spider spins web slowly.”
“Pyongyang want results right away,” sighed Jong.
“Patient spider wait for tender fly,” said Sook, sipping her Mai Tai.
Onstage, Goldilocks mimed dissatisfaction with her first bed. “This bed is too hard!”
“So am I!” yelled someone. “Get it off!”
“Patient spider—” began Sook.
“We get it,” said Sung.
“We must blend in,” said Jong. “Watch. Learn American customs.”
The three fell silent and watched the show. The band segued into Pop Goes the Weasel. Brownie and Happy, wearing floppy bear ears and skimpy brown costumes trimmed in fur, skipped onstage.
“Someone’s been eating my porridge!” announced Brownie as Mama Bear in a voice that was meant to be low and rumbly. The crowd laughed.
“Eat me!” yelled a wit in the crowd. The crowd laughed harder.
Sook sniffed. “Decadent Americans.”
“Degenerate,” concurred Sung.
“Depraved,” agreed Jong.
The band went into I’ve Been Working on the Railroad.
Woody and Li’l Berta entered the strip club’s dim interior. Woody held Berta’s hand while he waited for his eyes to adjust. “Daddee, look at the funny ladies!” she squealed.
“Shhh,” whispered Woody.
A beefy man with a crew-cut approached them. “You can’t bring a kid in here,” he told Woody brusquely.
“She’s not a kid,” said Woody.
“I’m a little girl!” said Roberta.
“Shhh,” said Woody.
“She looks like a kid,” said the man.
“Someone’s been sitting in my chair,” said Happy as Baby Bear.
“Bring your ass over here, honey,” yelled someone. “You can sit on me.”
“She’s an adult,” said Woody. “She’s just dressed like a kid.”
The man stared at Berta, who was licking an oversize lollipop. “She got a driver’s license?”
“I can’t drive!” she squealed.
“Shhh,” said Woody, pulling out her ID. “Yeah, here it is.”
The man looked at the ID then at Berta. He handed it back to Woody. “Okay,” he said with a shake of his head. Some people.
The hostess led them to a small table in a corner of the room. Woody ordered a margarita for himself and a strawberry daiquiri for Berta, hold the rum. He turned his attention to the stage. Daisy had been nagging him to see their new act for more than a week.
“Someone’s been sleeping in my bed!” said Mama Bear.
“And someone is asleep in my bed,” said Baby Bear. Goldilocks sat up suddenly, eyes wide, holding a sheet in front of herself. The band went into London Bridge Is Falling Down.
“That's my bed sheet!” exclaimed Mama Bear. She tore it away from Goldilocks, who was wearing a long flannel nightgown she’d donned earlier. Goldi leapt out of bed and grabbed Mama Bear’s short, fur-trimmed dress. It came off easily, revealing her underwear, which Mama Bear apparently bought at Taboo Lingerie.
Baby Bear stepped in and grabbed Goldi’s flannel nightgown, which likewise came off without a tear or rip and, whaddaya know, Goldilocks got her underwear at the same place.
To the crowd’s delight, Goldi and the Two Bears began tearing off each other’s remaining apparel. In short order the three were naked except for thongs and pasties (required by lines 5-14 of Paragraph 9, Section 3, Ordinance 6 of Houston’s Civil Code). This was more like it! The audience stomped and cheered.
“Why the ladies take off their clothes, Daddee?” said Berta loudly. Woody shushed her as several patrons glanced curiously in their direction.
One of these was Jong. He turned to Mung and Sook. “Degenerate American has brought daughter here!” He gestured at Woody’s table.
Appalled, the two Koreans peered through the dim light. They saw Berta but Woody had momentarily ducked out of sight to retrieve the daiquiri spoon she’d dropped on the floor. They turned back, exchanging glances.
“Disgraceful,” said Mung.
“Disgusting,” said Sook.
To the tune of Eensy Weensy Spider, Goldi, Mama and Baby Bear had stopped fighting. They’d apparently made up, since all three were now smearing themselves with skin oil and slinkily rubbing against each other. The crowd loved it.
Sook’s eyes widened in shock. She abruptly stood up. “Sickening! I can no longer watch.” She marched out. Jong and Mung hastily followed. Jong tossed several bills on the table. The last thing they needed was someone chasing after them for a walked ticket. They deliberately avoided looking at the table with the man and little girl. They were there to observe American customs, but some American customs were too loathsome to contemplate.
The band went into the act’s closing number, Mary Had a Little Lamb. Daisy, Brownie and Happy turned their backs to the audience, bent over and wiggled their round, shiny rears. The crowd went wild.
Finding the Sweet Spot
Over in another corner of 4Play, Jana Blond and her two-man hit team sat at a table watching the Koreans depart. Jane was wearing jeans and a leather jacket over a dark green turtleneck with tan steel-tipped boots – a well-placed kick could break a tibia.
“Follow them?” said Cliff, a longtime CIA contractor with a pugilist’s nose. He was short but muscular, built like a wrestler. Since being forced out of the FBI, he’d moonlighted for New York’s Gambino family. He carried three guns: a Browning Buck Mark .22 for reliability, a .357 Magnum for firepower and a baby Glock with a silencer for when you wanted to get up close and personal.
“Not necessary,” said Luc. “I put ze tracking device on their car.” Luc was from Marseilles. He was tall and lean, fifty-one, older than Jana or Cliff but in prime shape. He’d served in the Foreign Legion when he was a kid, later ran a port racket in Algiers for the Corsican mob. Now he was freelance. He was good at surveillance, good at B&E, particularly good at the garrote. Legend was he’d once dispatched two men with the same cord, at the same time.
The shapely, honey-haired waitress came with their order. “Here y’all are,” she said, setting down the drinks. “Scotch on the rocks for
the gentleman. Cognac for the other gentleman. And martini, shaken not stirred, for the lady.”
“Wrong,” said Jana.
“Not shaken?”
Jana took the martini and sipped. “I’m no lady, darling,” she said with a cool, seductive smile.
Flustered, the waitress smiled uncertainly, then giggled and hurried away.
“Lez?” asked Cliff.
“Um-hum,” nodded Jana.
“How do you spot ‘em?”
Jana shrugged. “Takes one, you know?” She unwrapped a cheroot and put it in her mouth and turned to Luc. “So you tagged the Koreans?”
“Qui.”
“Good work. I’m guessing they’re holed up in some cheap motel, probably all in the same room for economy. That’ll make it easier when it’s time to take them out.”
“Tonight?” asked Cliff.
She shook her head. “No. They have a lead on this student of Popper’s. Let them find him first, then we’ll neutralize them.”
“All three?”
“Take out the two men right away. We’ll keep the woman alive for a while.”
“Where will we stash her?”
“Rent a warehouse space, somewhere remote when we can question her without being interrupted.”
“She might not talk. Koreans can be tough nuts.”
“I’ll do it myself,” said Jana. “When it comes to girls, I always find the sweet spot.”
She smiled. Hardened though they were, the smile sent chills up the two men’s necks.
“Stop! In the Name of…”
Elsewhere, in a private room of 4Play, Chuck Schultz’s bachelor party was in its third tedious hour. “So, I don’t wanna embarrass Chuck here,” said Dave, Chuck’s best friend, “but when he said… when he, uh, told me he was, you know, gonna tie the knot with Donna, I said, ‘Chuck, since when the heck have you been into B and—“
Loud laughter mercifully drowned out the rest of the punch line, the eighth or ninth lame reference to kink that evening. The party of a dozen young men had reached that point when wit and affection increasingly depended on booze-enhanced cheer. Chuck, well-known for both his devotion to Donna and his vanilla tastes, was being a good sport about it all but he was starting to wonder how much longer this well-meant torment would drag on.
“So who’s got a story?” said Gary, a gangly man with a baritone voice and wispy Van Dyke who was playing Master of Ceremonies. “Paul? Lucas? Todd?”
“I’ve got a story,” said Todd uncertainly. “I mean, I think I’ve got a story. Well… not so much a story as a… sort of a…”
CRASH! The door to the private room suddenly flew open and a uniformed figure in black marched in. “STOP!” declared a commanding voice.
The men turned toward the newcomer, clad in full SWAT armor: bullet-proof breastplate, helmet and full-face visor, arm and leg armor, combat boots, thick black leather gloves.
The figure menacingly brandished a 21-inch metal riot baton. Chuck and the others took an involuntary step backward.
Three more figures in full SWAT gear strode in after the first, all wielding batons. Chuck and his friends took several more steps back.
“STOP!” the four figures commanded in unison, faces hidden behind their visors.
Chuck and his friends glanced nervously at each other. A police raid? What the fuck? What had they done?
“This must be some mis—” said Chuck in a faltering voice.
“Stop!” barked the first SWAT figure. Chuck quickly shut up.
The figure lifted a visor to reveal a stern female face. “Stop,” she repeated, then burst suddenly into song. “Stop in the name of lovvvvvve!”
The three other members of the SWAT team likewise flipped their visors to reveal visages less stern but all female. “Before you breaaaaak my heart,” they crooned.
Chuck, Dave, Fred and the rest broke into relieved grins as the four women went into their choreographed routine. “Baby, baby, I know where you go,” sang Addie, whose voice made up in volume what she lacked in talent. “Each time you leave my doooor.”
“Think it o-o-over,” sang Daisy, Brownie and Happy.
“Haven’t I been goood to you?” sang Addie as the girls danced in among the guys, stroking faces, rubbing against bodies, playfully poking their batons.
“Think it o-o-over,” sang Daisy, Brownie and Happy.
Addie coyly clicked a handcuff on Chuck’s wrist. “Haven’t I been sweeet to you?”
“Think it o-o-over,” chimed Daisy, Brownie and Happy as they tousled the hair of Dave, Lucas and Todd.
After another verse and another chorus, Addie kissed Chuck lightly on the lips, unlocked his handcuff and marched back to the door, followed by her back-up singers. At the doorway, the four turned to the young men and wagged their batons. “Stop! In the name of lovvvvvve… Before you breaaaaak… my HEART!”
Song over, the four girls ran out, returning for bows as the young men hooted and cheered and applauded.
“Gary, you son of a bitch,” yelled Chuck over the applause. “Was this your idea?”
“Guilty as charged,” said Gary with a grin. “Found ‘em online.”
“These girls?”
“Well, actually they’re part of a service called Rocketgrams. Lots of acts. I thought a cop number would be fun. But they scared me too! She used to be a cop, you know.”
“Who?” The applause was dying down now.
“Me,” said Addie. “I used to be a policewoman.”
“Yeah?” said Chuck. “Why’d you quit?”
She shrugged. “Long story. Glad you liked it. Daisy and the others, they showed me what to do.’
“Who’s Daisy?”
“That’s me,” said a girl removing her helmet to reveal a long blonde mane. “Harry, he owns 4Play, also Rocketgrams. He put us together with Addie. We had fun!”
“Well, you were all great,” said Gary. “Want to stay around? Have some drinks?”
“Well…” said Daisy.
“I’m afraid they’ve got to get home,” said Woody, appearing at the door with Berta in tow. He smiled at the three. “You girls go change.” They scurried off. He turned back to Gary and Chuck. “Sorry. I’m their manager. Promised their mothers I’d keep an eye on them.”
Gary eyed Berta, who smiled shyly at him. “Who’s this?” he asked Woody. “Another one of your acts?”
“I’m a li’l girl!” squealed Berta indignantly.
“Well, excuse me,” said Gary, nonplussed. He turned to Addie. “What about you? You want to hang here, have a drink with us?”
“I’ve got to go to work,” said Addie.
“Doing what?”
“Security guard.”
“That seems a waste of… talent,” said Gary sympathetically.
Addie shrugged. “Only job I could get after I got kicked off the force.”
“Kicked off! What did you do?”
Addie flushed. “Rode my motorcycle.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“I was naked.”
“Hey, I read about that!” exclaimed Gary. “That was you?”
“Afraid so.”
“Why’d you do it?”
“No idea. It’s like I’ve got a big memory blank.”
“That so? My brother couldn’t remember where he’d left his laptop. He went to a hypnotist.”
“Did it work?” said Addie with curiosity.
“Matter of fact it did.”
“I’m a hyppo… hyppo… hyppotizer,” said Berta.
Addie glanced at her, then at the man holding her by the hand. “Have we met?” she asked Woody.
“Uh. Don’t think so,” said Woody.
“You sure? You look awful familiar.”
“Yeah. I’m positive. I’m, uh, good at faces. Don’t recall yours.”
“Daddeee,” exclaimed Berta. “She’s—”
“Not now, honey,” said Woody hurriedly. He turned to Gary and shook hands. “Nice to m
eet you. Glad the girls helped liven up your party.”
“They sure did!” said Gary.
“Daddeee, she’s the one you told me—“
“Not now, Berta!” Woody turned and quickly dragged her out the door. Gary and Addie watched them go.
“Strange pair,” said Gary.
“Uh-huh,” agreed Addie.
“Sure you won’t stay?”
“Sorry,” she replied. “Gotta make a living. Gee, he looks so familiar.”
Beware of Flying Dick
God, he was hard! His cock felt like it would explode. Was that possible? Had a cock ever actually blown apart? What a way to go! Maybe he should warn the girls. Stand back, harem honeys. Beware of fragments of flying dick.
Woody was on the king-sized bed in what he liked to call the Master’s Bedroom in what he liked to call The Mansion, as in “Playboy Mansion.” It was really just a two-story house in one of Houston’s better neighborhoods, but it was old and well-maintained with a white column on either side of the front door. He was just renting for now; the place was big and expensive, but with four people—five now that Berta was spending most nights here—they needed the room.
“My turn, my turn!” squealed Brownie. She tugged at Daisy, who had her lips clamped tight around Woody’s member. She’d developed a rhythm that drove him crazy: suck and release, suck and release. Ohhhh.
Woody was wearing silk pajamas, royal blue. The girls were naked except for the collars around their necks, each with a little pet tag. “C’mon, Daisy,” said Brownie petulantly. “You’ve been sucking Master for ten minutes.”
“Nuh-uhh,” replied Daisy. “Fy.”
“Five my ass! He’s gonna blow and then who’s gonna lick him clean? Not me!”
“Master, make her get off,” said Happy. “Daisy always goes first. It’s not fair. We want to blow you too!” Happy had her own technique; she started off fast, then slowed as soon as he hardened, barely touching him with her tongue. Exquisite torture!
“Time to get off, Daisy,” Woody said. He hated to make her stop but fair was fair. He sighed. Tough work, being a Harem Master, but somebody had to do it. “Go on.”