by Ted Mark
"Oh, you mean the one who went next door with Elena."
"Yeah. What sort of girl is Elena?"
"I don't believe in gossiping about the other girls. But," Adrian giggled, "I'll tell you the music they're probably listening to right now."
"What is it?"
"The Nutcracker Suite."
"Say no more." I laughed. Poor Crampdick! "How about the other guy I came with, the muscle-man?" I asked Adrian. "What's the tune he's jiving to?"
"Let's see." She thought a minute. "Yes, he's with Bubbles. She used to be a stripper. Can't break the habit. Still goes into her routine when she's undressing for a customer. She'll be bumping and grinding to A Pretty Girl Is Like a Melody right about now."
I hoped for Jock O'Steele's sake that the bathroom adjoining his room has a real cold cold shower. "How about my Oriental friend?" I asked. "He went off with that petite little blonde – the kittenish one. What's her theme song?"
"Oh, that's Tabby. And she knows moe than one way to skin a cat. Any cat. Her theme song is Around the World in Eighty Ways."
"The title is Around the World in Eighty Days," I corrected her.
"You don't know Tabby!" She shrugged off her bra and plumped up her breasts.
It was pretty plump plumping, and I appreciated the view. Kostelanetz was building to a climax, and I figured I'd better start doing the same before it was too late. So I kicked off my jockey shorts with a gesture that urged Adrian to do the same with her panties.
She did. Whadda you know? She was a natural redhead. I made a grab for the proof.
"Take it slow," she advised, as though lecturing a novice. "It's much better if you don't rush things."
She was right, of course, but with that raid due any minute, I wasn't about to waste any time. So I played it like a technique-less Paul Revere and made haste to jump all over her.
"My, you certainly are impetuous." She sighed resignedly and did her professional best to catch up with me passion-wise.
Her best was plenty good enough. Pretty soon we were galloping through the fields of Passionata on our way to the heights of Eros. We varied our gait as we went, splitting the exercise load, shifting our weight, breaking stride for an occasional sophisticated side-trip. And we went over the terrain thoroughly, yours truly nibbling neck-nape-ily, gently bosom-biting, nuzzling a nook here and kissing a cranny there while Adrian beat at my buttocks, scratched her way down my spine, sipped at the nectar-heavy straw of my passion. Then she was thrashing about, frothing at both mouts, no longer trying to slow me down, but instead begging me to take her quickly.
No fancy stuff then. Just sex, pure and simple, straight and hard. And the two of us went soaring off into the Never-Never Land of pure and exquisite sensation. We hit the zenith and then plummeted downward, back into reality.
Reality, at that moment, was a sudden commotion in the front hallway downstairs. It was quickly followed by a lot of excited squealing and the sound of panicky footsteps racing past our door. It couldn't help but intrude on our post-coital mood.
"What's that?" Adrian asked, stretching luxuriously.
"Search me. I'll go have a look." I pulled on my jockey shorts and eased open the door. I figured it was the raid beginning. I figured wrong.
Opening the door a crack, I had a clear view down the staircase to the foyer below. Mrs. Vendergash was standing there talking to two men. The men didn't look like cops. Not even like vice cops. They looked more like Mafia rejects – the kind the brotherhood turns down because they play too rough.
I waited while a couple of excited doxies rushed past the door, and then I sneaked over to the banister so I could hear what was being said below. "But I pay through the nose for protection," Mrs. Vendergash was protesting, no longer seeming quite the grand dame she had before. "Why should they raid my place?"
"Some outfit named S.M.U.T.'s been squeezing 'em high," one of the hoods explained. "We was lucky we even found out about this raid. It's due any minute now, so you better hustle the broads and the johns outta here. But first we wanna get them S.M.U.T. guys an' tech 'em a lesson. Our info is there's four of 'em here right now. An' you got three of their chicks workin' for you, too."
"I think I've pegged the four men," Mrs. Vendergash told them. "And I've got a pretty good idea who the girls are, too."
"Well, come on and help us round 'em up before it's too late."
"That won't be hard. There's one of them now." Mrs. Vendergash had spotted me, and now she was pointing straight at me.
A gun swung up along with her outstretched arm. It was followed by a second one. Those hoods had good reflexes. Both muzzles held steady, pointed with deadly accuracy right at the white triangle of my jockey shorts. Instinctively, I clasped my hands in front of the target area.
"Ain't he cute?" one of the hoods remarked. "Won't you join us?" he added politely. The gun made a little beckoning circle which drew me to the head of the stairs. "Oh, now don't be coy," the hood said. "Come on down."
I went down. As I joined them, I could see that there was chaos in the parlor beyond. Evidently word of the impending raid had been spread. But the hoods were more interested in getting revenge on S.M.U.T. than in protecting the clientele or the girls. One of them backed me up against the wall while the other went with Mrs. Vendergash to round up the other S.M.U.T. members.
"What will you do with us?" I asked the gorilla conversationally.
"Slap your hand," he told me brusquely. "Whadda ya think?"
"With a sledgehammer? Is that the idea?"
"Yeah. On'y sometimes we miss an' hit the head instead. Too bad. You look like you got a real soft head."
"It's stuffed with feathers," I admitted. "But can't we talk this over?" I held up my hand with what was meant to be a friendly, conciliatory gesture. But the movement was just a mite too fast, and he misread its intent. The gun slammed into my jockey shorts so hard that my spine played castanets with the wall. "Oof!" I gasped, not too brightly.
"You certainly have a way wit' words, Mac," the gorilla observed. "But don't try that again," he added. "It could be fatal."
The gun unplugged itself from my abdomen, and I was able to breathe again. Three breaths later the lights went out. Just like that. We were plunged into total darkness, and I didn't stop to ponder what had happened. I just dropped down on all fours, below where I remembered the gun having been, and started crawling.
"Don't move, Mac, or I'll pug ya!" The hood's voice came from behind me now, and I kept right on crawling. Then I guess he must have decided not to take any chances in the dark. He fired three shots in rapid succession.
I don't know what he hit, but the immediate result of the shots was chaos. Suddenly the stairway and the hall were filled with frantic, half-clad prosties and their even more frantic customers stumbling over one another in the dark. Feeling them swirl around me, I figured it was safe to get to my feet again.
"I've lost my hearing aid!" It was a quavery, old man's voice at my elbow. "What's going on?"
"It's a raid," a female voice beside him answered.
"Of course I paid!" he said irritably. "And I'm not going to be gypped out of it by any tricks, either. I know you girls! You're all alike! No consideration for old people! Well, you're not going to take advantage of me! Only first I have to find my hearing aid."
"But you don't understand," the female voice said. "You have to get out of here!"
"I don't want any beer! All I want is my hearing aid. And my jollies. I paid for my jollies. I won't leave without them!"
"But the cops are coming. You have to duck!"
"That's what I said," the old man grumbled. "But first let's find my hearing aid. A man has to be able to hear what he's doing."
I elbowed around them in the darkness and started up the stairs. I bumped smack into a man coming down. "Somebody stole my pants!" he told me as we held onto each other for balance.
"Well, I'm obviously not the culprit," I told him, firmly removing his hand from my bare
leg.
"We'll probably both catch our death of pneumonia," he assured me morosely as we sidled past each other.
"What happened to the lights?" a voice called gaily from above.
"They went out," someone called back accurately.
"How is it down there?" the first voice persisted.
"Very dark," came the answer.
"I just looked out the window," a third voice called.
"How is it outside?"
"Very dark!"
"You mean the whole city's dark?"
"That's right," a new voice announced. "And half the country, too. I just heard it over my transistor radio. There's been a power failure. The whole eastern seaboard is blacked out."
And that was the first I heard of the big blackout. Later, I would hear all kinds of stories of how people had been stuck on subways and in elevators, of how they'd passed the time in bars or walked to their homes. But when my grandchildren ask me how I spent the night of the big blackout, I'm darned if I know what I'm going to tell them. After all, I can't tell them I was trapped in a whorehouse, can I?
Still, there are worse places I might have been stuck. Even considering the S.M.U.T. situation and the two hoods gunning for me in the dark, there are worse places. All in all, if I had a choice, I don't know that I would have picked differently.
You see, once everybody became aware of the scope of the blackout, it became obvious that the police wouldn't be conducting any vice raids this night. So, just as on the outside, the panic simmered down and folks resigned themselves to waiting out the blackout. As the man from O.R.G.Y., despite the peril I was in, the situation held particular interest for me.
When I returned to the room I'd left, Adrian hadn't budged. She was still lolling in bed in a sort of after-sex reverie, which I suppose was something of a compliment to me. I filled her in on the blackout situation, and she surprised me by opening a bureau drawer and coming up with a powerful-looking flashlight.
"How do you happen to have this?" I asked her as I aimed the strong beam around the room.
"It belongs to a special of mine," she told me.
"A special?"
"Yes. A steady customer who likes to do certain things which are out of the ordinary. One of the things is playing children's games. Hide-and-seek in the dark is his favorite, and we play it with the flashlight. He's always it, and I always hide. When he finds me with the light beam, I have to freeze right where I am and stay that way without moving while he makes love to me."
"I'll bet he has a great version of Pin-the-Tail-to-the-Donkey," I ventured.
"He does. And it's painful sometimes. But," Adrian shrugged, "he plays extremely well."
It was about then that I hit the door with the ray from the flashlight. It was just being eased open. I saw Mrs. Vendergash, and behind her there was a hand with a gun glinting in it. The search for the S.M.U.T. spies was evidently still continuing.
I doused the light and crept silently behind the door as it slid open wider. As she and the gorilla entered, I stepped behind them, smacked the gorilla over the head with the flashlight, stepped back into the hallway, and slammed the door shut behind me. I ran down the corridor and around a bend in the hallway. Then I stood silently in the darkness for a few moments, thinking.
If I really wanted to put myself in solid with S.M.U.T., this could be my big chance. If I could warn the others of the danger they were in and help them escape from the brothel, it would really prove my loyalty. I decided to have a crack at it.
I moved through the pitch-blackness to the door of the room I remembered Crampdick entering. I opened it silently and slipped inside. I shut it just as silently, and only then did I turn on the flashlight.
Elena, the Spanish type Crampdick had paired off with, blinked owlishly as the light hit her square in the eyes. Dressed in the sheerest of black nightgowns, she'd been working over the knob to the locked door of the adjoining bathroom when I entered. Now she shielded her eyes against the light and tried to squint at me. "Who is it?" she asked. "What do you want?"
"I'm looking for my friend. The one who came in here with you," I told her.
"He's in there." She indicated the locked door. "He won't come out."
"Why not?"
"Don't ask me. He's your friend. And a kook if I ever saw one. All I know is he won't unlock the door."
"Let me have a try." I walked over to the door and called through it. "Horace," I called, "it's me, Steve. Come on out."
"Not while that woman is there!"
"You see," Elena said.
"What did you do to him?" I asked.
"I hardly touched him. But he bolted in there, and now he won't come out. Damn inconsiderate if you ask me. I told him I won't lay a finger on him. All I want to do is use the john."
"Look, Horace," I tried again. "I have to talk to you. Come on out."
"No! Not until she leaves."
"Well, can I come in, then?"
"All right. But only you." He opened the door cautiously, and I slid inside. He quickly closed and locked it behind me.
"What's up?" I turned the flashlight on him. He was wearing his underwear and nothing else. It was long underwear, of bright red flannel. The drop-seat was hanging loose, revealing Crampdick's pudgy and extremely hairy behind. I've seen few less prepossessing sights in my time.
Following my glance, he quickly turned to one side, reached behind him, and buttoned up. "She did that!" he told me, his voice quivering with indignation. "That woman out there! Mr. Victor, you wouldn't believe how depraved that woman is. And aggressive too! It was all I could do to get away from her."
"Well, I suppose you have to expect that sort of thing in a place like this," I soothed him.
"Perhaps. But I never thought – Mr. Victor, the brazen way she tore her clothes off as soon as we were alone in the room. And then she had the audacity to start undressing me. I was filled with revulsion, but I let her do it until I was down to my underwear. I thought surely the raid would have taken place by then."
"There isn't going to be any raid." I went on to quickly fill him in on the situation.
"Hey! You guys going to tie it up all night?" Elena wailed from outside the door as I finished.
"But what can I do?" Crampdick ignored her. "If I go outside, either that woman will attack me again or those two hoodlums will get me."
"Look," I said. "Just let her in here, and you go out there and get dressed. If she comes out before you're finished, I'll protect you. But you have to get out of here before the lights go back on. Otherwise those two killers will find you and kill you."
"But what about the others?"
"I'll warn them, too. I'll try to get everybody out."
"Mr. Victor, you're real S.M.U.T.," he complimented me. "The organization won't forget what you're doing for us tonight."
"Okay. Then let's go." I led the way out of the bathroom. Crampdick flinched as Elena passed him. But she was too anxious to get into the john to pay him any mind.
He was almost completely dressed when she came out again. "Leaving so soon, sweetie?" she asked. She started straight for him.
"Mr. Victor!" he wailed.
"Leave him alone." I stepped in front of Elena.
"I'm just teasing him," she assured me. "I don't really go for problem cases. He should see a psychiatrist. I can't imagine what he came here for in the first place. Whereas on the other hand -" She wrapped herself around me insinuatingly.
"Mr. Victor! What are you doing?" Crampdick demanded.
"No sacrifice is too great for S.M.U.T.," I assured him, running my hands over Elena's lush body.
"But I can't let you do this for me," he protested.
"It's not for you. It's for S.M.U.T.," I assured him, allowing Elena's embrace to pull me down to the bed with her.
"You're sacrificing yourself to protect me," he insisted.
"The hell I am," I muttered under my breath as Elena pulled my shorts down around my ankles and straddled me. The
way she landed, I appreciated just how apropos her theme song was.
But she didn't move again after that. She couldn't. She was knocked unconscious by the sudden blow Crampdick struck her over the head with the bedlamp he'd picked up.
"What did you do that for?" I exclaimed.
"If you would go to such lengths to protect me, then I certainly owe you the same loyalty."
"Thanks a lot, buddy." I had a hard time keeping the sarcasm out of my voice. "Well, I guess we better get you out of this place," I added, getting back to business.
I eased the door open and beamed the light down the hall. It looked all clear. I took Crampdick by the hand and led him to the staircase. We made our way down it without incident. We'd almost made it to the front door when I felt the cold muzzle of the gun against my naked back.
"Goin' someplace, Mac?" I recognized the hood's voice from before.
Flashing the light up as I turned around, I saw that he was holding a girl firmly by the arm with his free hand. She was the tall, Slavic-looking brunette Crampdick had pointed out to me as a S.M.U.T. spy just after we'd arrived at the brothel. Mrs. Vendergash must have fingered her for the hoods, and now they'd nabbed her. And us too, it seemed – unless I acted quickly.
I acted quickly. I shot the light straight in his eyes, chopped at his gun hand, and connected with a kick to his groin. He let go of the girl as he doubled over. I doused the light and shoved Crampdick and the girl into the parlor. "Go out through the window!" I hissed at them. Then I opened the front door and jumped back for the staircase. As I'd expected, a volley of bullets went out the door. The hood was crumpled on the floor, shooting up what he thought was the escape route.
I flashed my light quickly at the window. It was open, and they were gone. I doused the light and raced up the stairs. As soon as he was able to pick up his swollen crotch, it figured the hood would be after me. And there was the other one with Mers. Vendergash to consider as well. I'd have to move fast if I was going to get the S.M.U.T. people out safely.