The Watercress File: Being the Further Adventures of That Man from C. A. M. P. (7 page)

The blonde only shook her head in confusion. “That what you want, sonny?”

When Honey nodded, she shrugged philosophically. “If it's okay with Marie, it's okay with me, but it'll cost more. Five bucks for Junior here, and two dollars each for any extra passengers.”

Honey and Gladiola exchanged glances. “Will you excuse us?” Honey said, and piloted Gladiola just out of hearing range. “I've only got five dollars and fifty cents. Can you come up with another dollar and a half?”

“I still don't see what we're paying good money for,” Gladiola protested, but she fished a battered change purse from the bodice of her dress and began to count the change it contained.

“Information,” Honey explained, counting with her to correct her inevitable mistakes. “Spies always have to buy information.”

“Seven dollars ought to buy us one hell of an almanac,” Gladiola declared as she handed over the money.

“Room six,” the hostess told them when they had paid their fee. “I'll ring the buzzer to let Marie know you're coming up.”

Room six proved to be at the top of the stairs. Honey could not disguise his nervousness as they made their way to the door. With each step, they were traveling deeper into what might be the very nerve center of their enemy's operation.

Marie was no more stunning than the blonde downstairs, and even more scantily dressed. She wore only a dingy half slip and a worn, all-but-useless bra that allowed her heavy breasts to dangle nearly to her waist.

She was seated on the edge of the bed as they entered the room, obviously waiting. When they came in, she showed some surprise at seeing the two of them.

“You together, or is business just booming?”

“We're together,” Honey assured her. For that fact he was grateful. There was no telling what might happen next.

Marie did not seem to mind in the least. “Who's first, or do we make it one big party?”

“We have no secrets from one another,” Honey explained, indicating Gladiola.

“If that's how you want it. Better take off your clothes, kid, it'll save wear and tear.”

Honey was aghast. “My clothes?”

Gladiola was even more indignant. “He can do what he wants, but I ain't takin' off a stitch.”

“Me neither,” Honey decided.

“Suit yourself. I'll take mine off, if you don't mind.” Marie's clothes were few, but she began without any show of modesty to remove them, starting with the bra.

“No!” Honey's face was beet red. “Leave them on, please.”

“All of them? Are you sure you don't want me to wrap up in a blanket?”

“I just want to talk to you.” Honey's voice was virtually a wail.

“Talk?”

“
Yes
.
We're not the first ones who have come to see you, are we?”

“Not by a long shot, but you're the first ones who ever wanted to talk.”

Despite the fact that she was not too bright, it was Gladiola who began to understand the situation first. A look of comprehension slowly formed on her face as she looked at the puzzled girl, then at Honey.

“Honey,” she began finally, grinning. “I think I'm beginning to understand. I think this here is a house of pleasure.”

“Well, I don't know if I'd call it that,” Marie said drily. “But it's a cat house, if that's what you mean.”

“Oh, no.” Honey was at a complete loss.

“Oh, yes.”

His eyes wide with horror at the thought of what might have happened to him, Honey backed toward the door, ready to bolt when he reached the hall.

“I think you better give her that money,” Gladiola said as she followed him more calmly. “After all, we've used a lot of her time, and she is a working woman.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

The list of Bigelows was being rapidl
y shortened, without any appreciable success. Craig felt a bit of hope when he learned that one of them was a butterfly collector, but that proved to be only coincidence.

He returned to the house as agreed, to wait for the others to report. Jackie was checking out the last of the Bigelows, so there was nothing to do now but wait and see.

Mari was there when he arrived. “Any luck?” he asked, without much hope. She shook her head glumly.

“That man I went to see wouldn't have enough sense to come in out of the rain,” she told him. “Let alone assassinate anybody.”

Craig lit a cigarette and seated himself on the couch. Mari went into the kitchen and returned a moment later with a cup of coffee. She had changed clothes on her return home, donning a filmy negligee that did little to conceal any of her ample charms. She walked with a natural suggestiveness that, despite the fact that she was not Craig's type, he was hard pressed to ignore.

This had been a peculiar case for him anyway, working with not one but two fairies. Not that he found them as repulsive as he had originally expected; the initial shock had worn off quickly. In fact, it was the opposite that was true, and a puzzling new experience. As he was around Jackie and Honey, he was not only becoming accustomed to their mannerisms, but even found that he liked them. In the past he had always thought of such fellows as freaks, and although he read enough to know that they were all around, he had never knowingly associated with any, so that his prejudice had remained intact.

He was beginning to understand that men in prison, or the military service, who were around such men all the time, might weaken and try things that would otherwise be unthinkable for them. Even after such a short time, he was beginning to suspect that his own resistance had weakened somewhat.

It occured to him now, as he watched the indolent swing of Mari's hips crossing the room in front of him, that here was the perfect opportunity to restore his masculine self-image. The bosomy blonde was hardly first class stuff, but unless his judgment was failing, she would probably be a wild romp in the hay. Anyway, he was in a horny mood, and he believed in taking advantage of an opportunity when it presented itself.

“Cigarette?” he asked, giving her the benefit of his nicest little-boy-lost smile.

Mari was appropriately surprised. As a rule, this cute little Irishman was always very cool and aloof toward her. “Sure,” she answered, returning the smile with one of her own intended to rapidly melt any ice.

Craig walked over to where she was sitting and handed her a cigarette, lighting it for her. Then, boldly he bent down, tilting her chin up with his hand, and kissed her warmly on the mouth.

She was not the coy type, that much was readily apparent. Mari responded to the kiss by scorching his mouth with her flicking tongue. He shivered as one of her fingers ran lightly up the inside of his leg and brazenly tickled his bashful flesh.

“Looks like we're both in the same mood,” he said when the kiss was ended. “Do we have time to go upstairs?”

Mari put out the recently lit cigarette in an ash tray. With one hand, she pulled the negligee open. There was nothing under it but her, naked and luscious. “Why go upstairs?” she asked, leaning back on the love seat. “We can hear them coming in plenty of time.”

Any tendency he might have had to argue was quickly overpowered by the view. Unlike some, Mari looked better in the raw than she did clothed.

Her breasts were as huge as they had seemed, large melon-shaped beauties, but they were firm and youthful, in need of no support or embellishment. The bright cherry-red tips were surrounded by wide, burnt umber circles in sharp contrast to the stark whiteness of her flesh. Her stomach was a gently rounded mound that led the eye downward. It was all climaxed with silken gold, that caught and held Craig's eyes. And, she was a natural blonde

She wasn't waiting for him to agree with her suggestion. He was still staring down at her, licking his lips at the sight, but Mari was already at work. He jumped as he felt her seeking fingers inside his trousers, making their way to him and caressing him hungrily.

He came to her in a hurry. Even the risk of being interrupted only added to his ardor. Mari's velvet thighs opened to him, welcoming his already ardent manhood to her. She moaned with pleasure as he worked avidly, crushing her back against the needlepoint.

There was no romance, no affection, no beauty. It was like two wild animals in desperation, trading flesh for flesh. Mari's hands slid beneath the seat of his trousers, raking the naked skin of his moving buttocks, urging him to greater excess.

It was fast and furious. Craig let go with a white-hot torrent, unable to hold back the finish that rushed from him. He was afraid he had been too quick, but she was ready. The frenzy of his release was all that she needed to reach her own peak, a groaning, shuddering experience that left them both exhausted and drained.

There was the sound of voices from outside, and the rasp of a key in the front door. Craig barely had time to dive for his seat across the room, putting his trousers back to order as he moved. He saw in dismay that the front of his trousers was soiled. He opened a magazine and put it in his lap.

Mari was curled up lazily on the love seat by the time the others entered, looking demure and innocent. Even Craig, glancing at her, could hardly believe that seconds before the girl had been squirming and moaning in the throes of paradise.

“You two enjoying yourselves?” Jackie asked as he accompanied Aunt Lily and Aunt Nasturtia into the room.

“Just waiting quietly for the rest of you,” Craig explained innocently. “Thought I'd read while I was waiting.”

Jackie made no comment, and Aunt Lily looked away, but Aunt Nasturtia was never one to display tact.

“How can you be reading?” she asked innocently. “Your magazine's upside down.”

* * * *

Although Jackie found Craig's embarrassment amusing, he could hardly criticize Craig for what had obviously taken place. After all, Jackie often used sex as a tool in his work, and regarded the pleasures derived therein as a natural reward for his efforts. In fact, he had used just such a modus operandi only a few minutes before, with amazingly good results.

It began with his visit to Mr. Bigelow, the last of the Bigelows on their list. Thus far all of the visits had been unsuccessful, and he had not entered the waiting room of the office marked A. Bigelow with any great hope.

Things began looking better, however, the moment he saw the handsome young man behind the desk there. Much more hospitable, he thought with approval, than the usual gum-chewing female.

“Is Mr. Bigelow in?” Jackie asked, allowing his eyes to make a round trip tour of the dark-haired stranger—via the scenic route. And a very scenic route it was, too. He was probably Greek, dark and romantic looking. He was short, not more than 5 feet 8 inches, and built rather stockily, with powerful, thick legs and wide hips, a thick waist and chest, and what was described as a bull neck. Definitely an armful, Jackie concluded with a wistful sigh.

“What do you do?” the handsome youth asked.

It seemed rather a direct approach, but Jackie was about to answer in detail when he realized that the young man might not be cruising. “Do?” he asked, playing it safe.

“What kind of act do you have? You are a performer, aren't you? Most of Mr. Bigelow's callers are, in any case.”

So that was it—Mr. Bigelow's door had said nothing more than REPRESENTATION AND MANAGEMENT. He should have realized that smacked of an entrepreneur of some sort or another. And here was his golden opportunity to really check out Mr. Bigelow.

“Dancer,” he said aloud, giving his best toothpaste-commercial smile. “Ballroom, ballet, tap, underwater —you name it, I dance it.”

The Greek seemed amused, although slightly doubtful. “Mr. Bigelow is out just now. If you'd like to fill out one of these forms, I'll see that he gets it.”

“But aren't you even going to let me audition for you? I'm really quite good. You've never danced until you've tripped about with me.” Aside from wanting to get his hands on all that lovely Mediterranean flesh, Jackie had a hunch it might be worth his while to become friendly with this one. He might need someone to encourage Mr. Bigelow's interest in him.

The dark-haired one stood up and looked Jackie up and down slowly, as though making up his mind. Then, with another grin, he walked to a turntable built into one of the shelves and thumbed through a few records.

“Do you waltz?” he asked.

“Viennese?”

“Russian.”

“Of course.” Jackie counted out the beat as the music began, scratchy and a little off pitch, but a good record nonetheless. He opened his arms, and the Greek came into them. For a second Jackie had his doubts as to who was going to do what, but the Greek made it plain he was going to lead, and Jackie followed happily. This way he didn't have to worry about steering or watching the road, he had his hands free to play with the gadgets...although gadget seemed less appropriate than weapon. He was beginning to understand the symbolism of all those columns they had used in their architecture.

The record ended and the Greek went back to the phonograph. “How about a tango?” Jackie suggested. It was his turn to make a challenge.

“French?” That was the common one, and the easier of the choices.

“Argentine,” Jackie said instead.

The Greek was surprised, but he didn't hesitate. The music began, and a minute later he was back, leading Jackie off at once into a sultry, torrid dance routine that had Jackie's blood boiling.

“Are you as good horizontally?” Jackie asked as his partner bent him far back and down, until his head almost touched the floor.

For an answer, his companion danced him silently across the office, circling the reception desk. With one flick of his wrist he deftly opened the door that led into the inner office. Jackie followed happily as he was piloted inside; the door closed after them. They were promenading in the direction of the huge divan against one wall. Unless he was sadly mistaken, he was about to have a lesson in “The Greek Style.”

Short though his partner might have been, he was plenty strong, and he was still “leading.” He lowered Jackie easily to the divan, kneeling over him. Instinctively Jackie lifted his face to kiss his partner. The kiss was neatly avoided, although the dark-haired youth was busy baring Jackie from the waist down.

Jackie remembered then his last experience with any of this one's countrymen. When it came to boys, they were game for sex any way but sideways. But they didn't go for any of that queer stuff like kissing! Oh, well, he thought philosophically, better half a loaf than none at all. Which was an appropriate thought, for at that moment his loaves were being treated to an ardent and pointed attention.

His friend was like a bull in more ways than one. In typical Mediterranean fashion, he was anything but gentle in his approach, a lusty, carved-marble battering ram that went straight for its destination, without any fooling around. Jackie felt the wind knocked out of his body as he was shoved back against the divan forcefully, his legs held high and wide apart in the Greek's brawny arms.

Yet despite the ferocity of his brutal attack, he had other ways of showing concern and affection. All the while his throbbing attention was threatening to split Jackie asunder, his big hands were fondling and stroking Jackie tenderly, and he had begun to whisper sweet nothings that, remembered afterward, would sound downright silly, but for the moment were so romantic and heartwarming that they all but made one forget what was happening out back.

The room spun crazily as Jackie surrendered himself to the sweet agony of the experience. Rarely had he ever felt so fulfilled, or been so thrilled. There was nothing halfway about his partner, or his technique. It was a complete taking, that demanded an equal giving.

The Greek had pushed Jackie's shirt up, and as his ardor grew into a raging fire, he bent closer, biting at the small, dusky nipples on Jackie's chest. Jackie threw his head back in delirious pleasure. He felt the surging finish approaching, groaned as the caresses became even more thorough and then, in an ultimate achievement, accepted the homage of his convulsive lover.

Jackie's success was complete. Not only did he feel utterly sated, but he had won himself a job as well.

“I'll see to it that you get some work,” the Greek, who had finally introduced himself as Nick, said afterward. “There's a special show on for Friday night. I'll see that you're in it.”

Jackie's pulse quickened. Friday night was the scheduled time for the assassination referred to in the note. Was there a connection?

“Don't worry, he will do as I suggest,” Nick answered with a grin. “I can be very persuasive.”

Jackie grinned too. One could hardly blame Mr. Bigelow for being henpecked. It would be pretty difficult not to do as Nick suggested.