by Troy Conway
“Good girl,” I whispered back. “Get me out of here!”
She did.
Just for the record, and as I suspected, none of the eight factory workers from the Skoda Works, Cannon Section, were virgins.
Back at the Betchnika fleabag of a hotel, we changed out of our wet clothes, took showers without horsing around, and then both lay down on the big bed. The bad thunderstorm was still going full blast, kicking hell out of the windows. It sounded like the end of the world. I didn’t care at all, because, man, I was tired. Wouldn’t you be?
Katie, who had been strangely silent in the Renault on the way back, now opened up. But at least she didn’t sound mad anymore. And how could she be? She’d gotten the greatest going over of her still-young life.
“Rod, you are something. Don’t you ever run dry? Even Elsie the Cow——”
“Never mind that. Report!”
She chuckled in the darkness. We lay there, lights out, watching the raindrops pelt the corny, old-fashioned windows of the hotel.
“All right, Chief. It’s like this.” She took a deep breath. She smelled nice and fresh from the shower. But I was tired. I didn’t lay a finger on her. “I talked to all the women. Some of them were Russian, most of them Czech. But their stories were all the same. It seems they’ve had a lot of luck hanging around the Firnl Lab, though there’s been a dry spell lately because the scientists are trying all kinds of crazy new tests to hit the right formula on the pills. That’s the only answer.”
“Gekko and Orkoff?”
“Yes. The women’s stories all add up to the same thing. Men’s testes are being tested with these silver pills. Gekko and Orkoff are obviously not satisfied because the pill isn’t perfect yet. Like with the old men—all it did was run them into the ground. So Gekko and Orkoff have been taking blood pressures, trying exhaustion factors, staying power and length of effectiveness. Junk like that there. They get plenty of willing men, but the results aren’t always good. One man went wild with a cow, for instance, and another couldn’t get enough no matter how many women he had. He died of a heart attack. You dig?”
“I heard about the man with the cow. Go on.”
“Well—” she shrugged. “That’s it. There is a silver pill. Gekko and Orkoff have it; they’re trying every stage of it they can. And meanwhile, back in Betchnika, everybody plays dumb. Thanks to the shadow of Russia. So I don’t know where we are with this mystery. Do you?”
“Yes. I’m beginning to see the light.” I was too. Walrus-moustache’s dire warnings—his eagerness to send me on the mission in the first place—all made sense now. Of a sort. No wonder the silver pill was a threat to the global balance of things. What a secret weapon if it was used for nefarious purposes! “Do you see it too?”
She snorted in the darkness. “What do you mean, Lover?”
“Baby, it’s like this. Let’s say they make the silver pill one hundred percent foolproof. You know—it will make a man go on for hours without end, without harming him physically. Okay? See what can happen? A group of say one hundred men, armed and fortified with silver pills, could turn Betchnika upside down, because it would ruin the country for the men who didn’t have silver pills, their women would revolt and take off with the silver pill supermen and—geezis. Can’t you follow that line of thought? Ten thousand men in a larger country, with the same pills, could turn it into a Stud’s Heaven. Women would leave their families for some action like that. Psychologically the men left behind, their husbands, would be emasculated and probably commit suicide, en masse. Total masculine self-destruction of the cuckolds. And then those countries would be ripe for takeover. At a pleasurable price. What a sceme. What a spot for satraps! No wonder the Reds are interested in this pill. It’s better than bullets or atom bombs. Not nearly as messy, either.”
Katie shivered.
“It sounds—terrible. And if you are right, what can we—you—do about it? You’re only one man. Even if you are kinda special and superhuman.”
“Right now, I’m just thinking out loud. Let’s consider the possibilities.” I counted in the dark. “One—kill the scientists. Not too good—they might have follow-up boys to ring in and take over where Gekko and Orkoff left off. Two—find a neutralizes No good. How can we neutralize what isn’t even perfected yet? Three—make our own silver pill. Again risky, and we don’t know how far behind we are right now. Four—spoil the pills so that Moscow loses all interest in any further research. Now, that one—that one is a definite possibility.”
She laughed harshly.
“That’s silly. How could you spoil the pill? You don’t even know what it’s made up of.”
“No, but you could, my little pet. You majored in biology at Prague University, I hear tell. And you’d do anything for me, wouldn’t you?”
“Like what?”
“Like helping me scrap the silver pill project.”
“Oh.”
“Scared?”
“Yes, definitely. Do you realize we’d have to sneak into the Firnl Lab? That there are probably armed guards? And Gekko and Orkoff know me. They know my father—”
“That could make it easier—what do you say, Katie? It’s for me, for Uncle Sam, and it could get you to Hollywood when all the shouting’s over.”
“I’ll do it. When do you want to start?”
“Like tomorrow, Katie. Before they perfect the pill and get going in earnest. But we’ll have to make some plans.”
She rolled over on her side, facing me. I saw her eyes gleaming in the dark. The rain was still beating the hotel windows.
“Okay. Tomorrow. Good night, Lover. I’m beat.”
“Me too.”
About two minutes went by. She stirred uneasily and before I knew it her hand had slid over my stomach and rested directly above the heart of the matter. Her fingertips were curiously restless.
“Rod, baby?” She sounded like a little girl.
“Mmmmmm.”
“I’m shameless.”
“Why?”
“I’m oversexed. I want—it—again. Can you imagine? After all we did since last night. I got the damnedest itch and burning sensation in the pit of my stomach—”
“Uh huh.”
She spoke again. “You really couldn’t—get it up again —or could you?” There was hopelessness in her voice.
“Well—”
“I mean if you can’t, I understand—gee willies, after all you did today. I mean, how can any man— RODDDDDDDDD!”
There are indeed times when action speaks louder than words.
After all, when it came to sex, as far as Katrina Walsky was concerned, I was the guy that invented the thing.
What else did she have to go by? Who else?
Gee, willies!
So the rain continued to come down and ten thousand busy little fingers and sensations beat rhythmically in Katie’s body, heart and soul. She began to hum again, in her own private way, as she always did now when she was happy.
Funny thing.
For the very first time, I noticed that she did have a pretty fair voice. I’m no musical expert, but she sounded nice and jumpy and tuneful. She had the beat. That’s all you really need.
“Oh, Rod—” She was bubbling with responses, love and admiration. I was plucking her like a banjo, getting a nice pitch on every single one of her strings.
“Yes, my pet?”
“Your dong was made for loving—”
“So what else is new?”
She laughed deep in her breasts and piloted her mouth down to my waterline. She fanned her warm, fresh breath over me.
“Nothing,” she said. “But lie still now. And stop moving around for a minute, will you? I want to give you something nice and restful. Something you won’t have to work so hard for. Okay? Now be a good boy and lie still—this is a present from me to you.”
It was.
Hot Lips Walsky had an ace up her own sleeve.
Now I knew what she had done all those restle
ss years of being squired by Betchnika beaus and teenagers. She had perfected her own art until she had waited for the right man to come along. I closed my eyes and throbbed happily as she soloed on the licorice stick.
Gee willies—she was great at it!
CHAPTER TWELVE
Early the next morning, while Katrina Walsky checked back into the family roost again, to allay Poppa Commissar’s suspicions once more, I raised Walrus-moustache on the phone again, using the secret code phone number I always used on assignments. I had a few questions for the old buzzard, as well as the data to deliver. He didn’t seem too surprised to hear from me again. Betchnika had awakened to another day of sun. The long heavy rain had washed everything fresh and pretty so that the view of the cobbled streets from the telephone booth was downright charming. I hadn’t wanted to use the phone in the hotel lobby anymore. After the business with Christina Ketch-Chris, I didn’t trust the sleepy old clerk anymore either.
A couple of wide-hipped Betchnika maids, pretty as pictures in their peasant dresses, walked by the booth, giggling and giving me the onceover. I stuck out my tongue at them and turned my back. They looked insulted, tilted their big asses into the air and walked on.
It was my nickel so I got right down to cases, pouring out all the scoop that Katie had given me and adding yesterday’s adventurous experiment with the women I had picked up hanging around the Firnl Laboratory. It was quite a report and Walrus-moustache was keenly appreciative of my services. He complimented me roundly. Something he seldom does.
“Brilliant, Damon. Brilliant! You see now what this silver pill means in terms of the world balance of peace?”
“Yeah, I see. I also see what a double-dealing bastard you are.”
“I beg your pardon?” His voice retreated into stiff formality. He always does that too when you catch him in a lie.
“Beg, schmeg. Don’t tell me you didn’t know that Christina Ketch was a double-agent. A fag as beautiful as a woman and as strong as John Wayne. When are you going to give me a break and really level with me when you send me on these assignments? You’re going to get my balls chopped off one of these days if you keep it up!”
His sigh exploded the Transatlantic Cable.
“Damon, forgive me. We suspected. We couldn’t be sure. What better way than to send you to join him— her in the net? We were sure you would learn the truth. And you did?”
“Yes. And almost got me killed. But I got lucky. The emergency contact is a genius girl. We gave Chris the same medicine she dished out to the twenty-five old men.”
“Splendid. But be careful. With their man in the field out of the way, the enemy will be suspicious—”
“I’m not so sure. Moscow is playing this one pretty close to the vest. They don’t want to draw more attention to the Firnl Lab than they have to. Seems this is all highly experimental. Do the names Gekko and Orkoff mean anything to you?”
“Yes. Two of the top chemists to come out of the Kremlin. I knew this was important. What about them?”
Briefly I explained about Katie’s house, Katie’s Poppa and the many evening chats at home with Gekko and Orkoff. Walrus-moustache, listening patiently, did not interrupt save for a cluck or two.
“God, it’s bigger than I thought. Damon, what’s your next move?”
“I’m going to scuttle the pill, if I can. Doctor it up, make it tricky and unreliable and make Moscow drop its plans for it here in Betchnika.”
“And how pray will you do that? These men are no fools—” He was skeptical, as he had every right to be. All ramrods and bosses are.
“Let me try. I’ll call you back if I have to holler for help.”
“Very well. I trust your judgment—when you aren’t naked and making love. At times like now, you sound coherent, very intelligent and on the job. I like you better that way, you know.”
“I love you too. One thing I can’t figure out though.”
“What’s that?”
“If Chris was a phony and had killed all those old men, why come back to town with me, asking a lot of questions he already had the sneaky answers to?” That was still bothering me a lot.
“Damon, Damon.” He was tolerantly amused.
“I said something stupid?”
“Afraid so, my boy. Don’t you see? They learned outside countries were investigating. This Chris went along with you, simply in order to see how much we knew and at the same time, uncover any other contacts we might have had planted in Betchnika. Lucky for us, and for you, you beat him to the punch.”
He was right. It was stupid of me not to have guessed that. I'm telling you—this James Bond business isn’t as simple as it looks. It’s twisted, crazy, double-dealing and plenty dangerous.
“Lucky for me,” I agreed. “Well, gotta run. I’ll call back as soon as I make some progress. And, dear Walrus-moustache, see what you can do about arranging a Hollywood screen test for Katrina Walsky. We owe her a lot. Call Zanuck, if you have to. She really has a very fine singing voice and she looks a helluva lot better than Streisand does.”
“Really? Well, I’ll see what I can do. I don’t know Zanuck, but Joe Levine is a friend of mine. Well, we’ll see. Damon. Do take care of yourself. The Foundation wouldn’t be the same without you.”
“Sure. Who else can you push around?”
“Now, that’s not fair. I’m very fond of you and you know it—”
“Of course you are. Maybe you’re queer for me?”
“Goodbye, Damon,” he said icily from all those miles away. “Try to drop dead.” He hung up, leaving me laughing to myself.
I went back to my hotel room and waited for Katie to come in or call back. My mind was flying. My plans, hastily thought out the night before, needed some refinements. But I was convinced somehow that before I could do anything about the Firnl Lab, where the pills were sure to be, I had to get the drop on Gekko and Orkoff somehow. I wanted very badly to listen in the very next time they dropped in on Poppa Walsky for a glass of beer. A little knowledge, the right kind, in advance, can go a very long way.
While I waited, I did some Yoga exercises, ran around the room a few times and then took a shower. The room was breezy with the fine, balmy weather, so I sat around in the buff and did some homework, using the old Betchnika Hotel stationery in the small secretary in the corner. I had not idea how long Katie would be. Maybe Poppa was scolding her for staying out so late again. Anyhow, I found a pencil and wrote up some notes and things on the thesis I was preparing for the fall semester at the university. I was doing a paper on The Older Woman And Her Sexual Superiority As A Lover. The libraries of the world had countless tomes on that subject, but I was hitting it from the purely explicit tact of the bedroom. For openers, as I sat and thought, I scribbled down some of the more easily memorable comments of the world’s great lovers on the subject. It would make a very cunning and attractive foreword.
There was, of course, the old standby from Europe:
“You have to get some fun out of life even if it's with a grandmother in bed.”
—An old German proverb.
And of course—
“In women, the aging process starts from the neck down.”
—Benjamin Franklin, in a letter
I always liked this one too:
“Give me mothers, widows, divorcees and seasoned women. Keep your ingenues and sweet young things for yourself. I much prefer the ripe cherry to the green olive.”
—Marcel Alevoinne, 1873–1924
England didn’t do so badly, either:
“I love the fall and winter. The spring and the summer are like frivolous maids who cannot make up their minds. Ah, but that stretch of time twixt October and March, there for all the world to see is Mother Nature with her mind truly made up, her intentions all too clear, her meaning inviolate. She takes off her clothes in public, as it were—
—Lord Ashton in his Memoirs des Amour
Those would be great words of advice for openers. Even on the printed
page, they glowed with truth. No kidding. Who do you think would be the better lay—an eighteen-year-old rookie or a seasoned veteran in her thirties or more? Hell, yeah. Natalie Wood’s a knockout, but I’ll bet she couldn’t match a Magnani in the hay.
Apart from gratitude, the Over-Forty Club are sensational sexual partners. Like the old saying goes: they won’t tell, they won’t swell, and they’re as grateful as hell!
Anyway it promised to be a very stimulating paper, because my research of a few months earlier had included some fieldwork with a countess, a snake charmer, an actress, a dancer, a housewife and a white-collar worker, all of whom had seen younger days. Each of them had been almost insatiable and doubly rejuvenated by Sex. If I hadn’t been Damon, I don’t think I could have made any of them say “Uncle!” Older women just don’t know when to stop. The sky’s the limit, in a word. They hump like there’s no tomorrow for them.
I was well into my notes and data when Katie came trooping in breathlessly again from the street. Her eyes were shining, as they always were when she saw me, and her fine abundant figure was sweatered bumpily and skirted humpily, as ever.
We kissed warmly and I waited for her to catch her breath.
“Poppa spank?”
“Not at all. He was glad to get me out of the house again and didn’t even know I was missing. Besides, it seems that Gekko and Orkoff are coming to dinner again.”
It was perfect. Like a hole-in-one. And I don’t mean golf.
“Great. That ties in nicely with our first step in the new plan.” I rubbed my hands together briskly.
She groaned aloud. “Now what are you up to?”
“I want to eavesdrop tonight while your Poppa powwows with those guys. It’s the only way. We may learn something more about the pills. We can’t go barging into that lab, looking high and low. Remember, I’m counting on you to mix up the formulas and louse up the deal for them. Otherwise, we’ve accomplished nothing.”
“Isn’t there a safer way? Our house is pretty small. I don’t see how I can sneak you in—no, it’s too risky.”