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It was a hot, muggy summer
day; the kind of day when the heat rises off the pavement and stings
the back of your neck like a thousand angry mosquitoes. It was the
dog days of August, and business wasn't that good.
Then SHE walked in. There's
a thousand towns and a thousand gumshoes in every one of them, but
of all those doors she picked mine.
I cast my eyeballs on
the babe and was immediately reminded of a masonry structure in
back of the house where a Joe goes to answer the call of nature.
She was stacked better than a deck of cards in a crooked poker game.
"Are you Mr. Fescue?"
she said.
"Falcon Fescue,
Private Detective," I rejoined, fumbling for a business card.
"Now that you know who I am, what should I call you?"
"Elvira. Elvira
Livingstone."
"Well, Elvira, what's
your beef, doll?"
She started with the
water works. I shook my head, "Dames!" I thought, "Sometimes
you just got to let them cry it out."
I reached into my lower
left hand drawer and pulled out a bottle of hooch. I poured myself
a glass and looked around and found another glass -- a relatively
clean one. I offered her a shot. She shook her head. I figured there
was no sense in letting good booze go to waste, so I knocked them
both down.
"OK, sweetheart,
what is it?"
"It's … it's,"
she stuttered, "it's Benny."
"Benny?" I
asked.
"Yah, my boyfriend."
"What about him,
ma'am?"
"Well, he's up and
gone missing. That's what."
"When was the last
time you saw him?"
"Last Thursday night.
We was going to the movies to see this new picture and everyone
said, 'Elvira, you just got to see this picture.' My girlfriend
Cindy saw it and she just loved it and she doesn't like any pictures.
Her boyfriend has got the cutest little …"
I held up my hand to
stop the chatterbox express before it became a runaway train. "Just
the facts ma'am," I reminded her.
"Well anyway, I
was just standing there waiting to get in the can to powder my nose
when I see Benny talking to this goon."
"This goon got a
name?"
"Louie. Louie the
Lugwrench. People say he does knee surgery. He works on people's
petunias."
"That's patella."
I said.
"Yeah, that too!"
"Anyway, him and
Louie get into this beef. Next thing I know, they both leave, and
I ain't seen Benny since."
"Does your boyfriend
have any enemies?"
"My Bennie?"
she flashed her baby blues at me in anger, "Why, no. Bennie
is a sweetie pie. He wouldn't hurt the hair on a flea."
"Does Bennie have
a favorite hang out?"
"Yeah, he likes
to shoot pool at this joint called the Kopper Kettle. That's where
we met."
I knew the place. It
was your typical working class gin mill on the other side of town.
"Anything else you
can tell me ma'am?"
"I'll do anything
to get my Bennie back."
I contemplated that statement
for a moment, and though better of it.
"Well, that's it
then." I told her my fee and added that it did not include
expenses.
My eyes were transfixed
on her caboose as she sashayed out of the office.
I poured myself another
stiff one, downed it in a gulp and headed out to the Kopper Kettle.
I knew one of the bar maids there, Clair.
"Hey sweetheart,"
I said sliding a fiver on the table. "How's it going tonight?"
"Stayin' outta trouble
and stayin' out of jail." She responded.
I knew Clair, she wouldn't
be working a place like this if she didn't have to. She had a heart
of gold beneath that rough exterior.
"How about a scotch
and water?" I asked.
"That's not your
usual poison," she responded.
"Well, I got a big
case, baby and I need something to settle the old nerves."
"Anyone I know?"
She asked.
"Well, that depends.
Do you know a mug by the name of 'Louie the Lugwrench?'"
"What's it to ya,
if I do?"
I got her drift and slid
another fiver across the table. She picked it up and tucked it in
her blouse.
"You know, a girl
like me has got to make a living too!"
"You're breaking
my heart," I told her, "and my bank account. If you have
anything on Louie, spill it!"
"Louie comes in
here a lot, but I ain't seen him in about a week. One of my friends
says she seen him talking with this fancy lady down at the Ritz."
"Got a name on this
fancy dame?"
"No, but my girlfriend
tells me that she comes from some filthy rich family back east.
She supposedly lives up in the old Carlson mansion."
I nursed my scotch and
water and two of its sisters while thinking about the case. I knew
what I had to do. I ordered a couple of more drinks.
-=o=-
I frantically reached
for the handle on the vice that was squeezing my head. I tried to
open the throbbing balls of pain that used to be my eyes and they
failed to respond. I thought I was going to die and then was afraid
that I wouldn't.
It was like I was back
in the Navy aboard ship in high seas as I made several attempts
to get out of my bunk, only to stumble back in. I awoke a second
time with my face on the deck.
I crawled to the sink
and splashed some water on my stubbly face. A pathetic figure looked
back at me from the mirror. My eyeballs looked like a picture of
tree branches drawn in red ink. I dropped to my knees and hugged
the porcelain fixture next to the sink.
I chased a couple of
aspirin down with a belt of medicinal scotch. The phone rang with
an ear-splitting staccato peal. I couldn't find it fast enough to
make the beast shut up. I picked up the receiver and growled something.
It might have been, "Hello."
The tinny voice on the
other end was unfamiliar, but the words hit my brain like a steel
wrecking ball. It said, "I understand you're looking for Louie.
Ifs ya want to know where he is check the old warehouse down by
the waterfront."
Why would some Palooka
call me out of the blue to tell me about Louie? "Who is this?"
I asked gathering what few functioning brain cells I had.
"A friend,"
the strange voice said, and then hung up.
Thoughts slowly unstuck
themselves from the cobwebs that had been my mind. The warehouse!
Of course. Where else would a Joe named Louie hang out?
I thought about scouring
my teeth with Brillo and gargling with Drano, but settled for the
more conventional toothbrush and mouthwash.
I took a cold shower,
advancing on the evolutionary scale from slime mold to almost human.
I might just live to see another day after all.
I made my way down to
the warehouse.
I cased the joint from
all angles and decided to go in. Nobody seemed to be there except
a couple of rats (the four-legged kind) scurrying between the cartons.
And then I saw it. The
shadow. It must have been 10 feet tall if it was an inch. "Mr.
Fescue?" It asked. "Louie?" I answered.
"Don't turn around,"
it commanded. I couldn't believe I let him get the drop on me like
this. I looked closer at the shadow and saw a familiar shape in
its hand. The shadow was packing heat.
"Drop your gun and
put your hands behind your back," I was instructed. Next thing
I know, he was slapping cuffs on me. Then came the handkerchief
with the chloroform.
-=o=-
The slap of cold water
hit my kisser with the impact of a hurricane. As I sputtered and
coughed my way into consciousness, I noticed I was on my back and
the cold hard steel of the cuffs bit into my back like the auger
on an oil rig. Then I noticed. I was naked! They must have cut the
clothes off me. I was laying on the floor in my birthday suit wearing
nothing but iron bracelets.
I looked around and saw
nothing that could tell me where I was. The only thing I noticed
was the slight tang of sea air.
A voice purred at me
from over my head, "Well, my Mr. Fescue. I've seen you look
better."
I arched my head back.
"Elvira!" I exclaimed.
There she stood, tall
and towering, dressed all in black. She laughed and haughtily put
a cigarette holder to her lips. A hand came in with a light. I shifted
my gaze to the owner of the hand. "Louie?" I said.
"We've met before,
though only briefly." There was more to Louie than met the
eye. I was expecting your run-of-the-mill mobster. Instead this
muscle was really muscle. He was about 4 foot 5, and that was across
the shoulders. He was probably only half as tall as King Kong. He
made my Marine Corps Drill Sergeant look like a girl scout.
"What's going on
here?" I asked.
Elvira circled me like
a vulture, her stiletto heels beating a tattoo on the steel deck
of the floor. She looked me over like a piece of meat she was contemplating
buying at the butcher. She walked down to my feet and then half
way back up. She lifted a leg straddled me and stomped down her
foot with a doom proclaiming clang. I looked up at her like some
hick-town yokel gaping at the Empire State building. She looked
down at me like I was a cockroach she considered stomping into kingdom
come.
I felt more than naked
with those cold blue eyes staring me in the kisser.
She flicked an ash that
floated down like a leaf in fall. "You, Mr. Fescue," she
explained, "are cargo. I am taking you to a private island
where women rule and men obey. You are the last of our contingent
to be captured. We sail within the hour."
(To be continued).
-=o=-
I was brought to another
area of the ship where there were a bunch of us naked Joes. Louie
ran a chain through the loop in my handcuffs. It was long enough
to reach my bunk and a bucket that was supposed to serve as a head
for several of us.
"What's going on
here?" I asked to no one in particular.
Well, no one answered
all at once. It seemed that they all had stories similar to mine.
My head ached. I decided
some shut-eye was what I needed.
The rattling chain woke
me up in time to see Louie standing at the bulkhead with a whip
in his hand. I could see the chain binding me to the wall snaking
its way into a hole in the wall. I looked back at Louie and noticed
some shadowy figures behind him.
"Up on your feet
slaves!" he barked.
I made it a point never
to argue with men bigger than me, especially when they have whips
and I'm naked with my hands bound behind my back. We were looped
together, and dragged through the hatch and up a ladder to the main
deck.
It wasn't until I got
out in the sun that I could see the shadowy figures for what they
were. They were dames! Every one of them. There were skirts of every
description from girls in their 20's to old broads as older than
me . They were all dressed in sailor outfits complete from sailor
hat to deck shoes. Louie lined us naked men up in front of them.
A voice came from above and I looked up to see HER again.
This time she was dressed
all in white. Her windswept robes made her look like something unreal;
like some angel with a Christmas tree stuck up her butt. Her expression
was not angelic at all. It was anything but.
"Good morning, gentlemen,"
she said with a mockery in her voice at the word, "gentlemen."
"I know you are all wondering why we invited you on this trip.
You will find that out all too soon."
I couldn't put the pieces
together. What happened to the sweet innocent girl in my office?
Was this her evil twin? She looked the same, but harder. She sounded
the same - well the voice was right, but the way she spoke now was
all hoi-polloi. Then it hit me like an ice pick to the heart. This
was the "rich bitch" Louie was seen with. So she played
me for a sucker.
She went on, "You
are heading for a place in the Caribbean called, "Ile de Femme."
For those of you who don't know French, that means 'Island of Women'
and I assure you it is a tropical paradise … for us women at
least. You men might not find it so pleasant, if you do not cooperate."
I didn't like the sound
of this.
"Louis will be your
trainer. It would serve you well to learn what he and his staff
has to teach."
Man, this bitch was beginning
to sound like Mrs. Kremsky, my third grade English teacher. I really
hated that broad.
"You will be assigned
to one of the ladies you see before you. She will teach you your
new jobs. Disobey her, and you will answer to Louis."
I was matched up with
a girl named Sydney. Why anyone would name their daughter after
a town in Australia was beyond me. Sydney was about my age, and
"amply figured" if you get my drift.
"OK, 108,"
she said to me. "Come with me and I'll show you your duties.
If you do everything I tell you to do, we'll get along just fine.
Disobey me, and face the consequences."
"What's with the
108, shit?" I asked.
My answer was five fingers
and a palm across my cheek! "Watch your mouth mister, or I'll
clean it out with soap."
"Who do you think
you are, my mother?" I said, biting my tongue the minute the
last word left my bazzoo.
"108 is your number.
You have no name. And, 'Mr. 108' you are already in big trouble.
I'm too busy now to explain it all to you, but you have 10 demerits,
and the day has just begun. Don't worry. We won't forget about the
punishment. It's just put off. You'll pay, and you'd wished that
you had never mouthed off to me."
I couldn't follow this
dame's drift, but decided to keep my yap shut.
Sydney led me to an upper
deck where women were strolling around in casual clothing enjoying
the sea air and the sun. They had an aristocratic air about them.
They scarcely noticed my nakedness. I wound up in a room full of
linens.
"This," Sydney
said, "is the laundry supply room. You will become very familiar
with it. Now pick up that bundle," she said, pointing to a
shelf, "and follow me. I'll teach you how to make a bed and
clean a room. After that, I'll watch your every move to make sure
you do it right."
My stomach felt like
it was running through a washing machine wringer.
Sure enough, I was to
be a chambermaid. At least I was luckier than some of the other
Palookas. I saw some of them on the decks. They were outfitted with
caps and bowties and nothing else as they waited on the rich bitches
fetching them drinks, giving them massages, and getting pinched
and fondled by them.
My job brought me into
the very inner chambers of these rich bitches. I thought I saw all
manner of ladies' unmentionables, especially in the Navy, but these
dames had the weirdest collection of underwear I ever saw. A lot
of it had holes in it exactly in the spots where a woman should
want to cover up. Some of it was made of leather, and others was
made of rubber.
Sydney put me through
my paces. Not only was I to make up the bed and clean the can, and
wash and dust, I was also expected to take in the women's laundry.
It seems that clothes weren't the only thing that these women needed
cleaning. I was taught how to oil a whip and otherwise take care
of other leather products. Rubber stuff was the worst. I had to
wash it, and then pat it dry, and then hang it out to air dry, and
then put this powder all over it and shake it out.
I got good at it. Apparently,
Sydney told the big miss about it and I became the resident leather,
lace and rubber cleaner.
"Mr. 108, you could
be very valuable to us. I don't think I'll put you up for sale."
Mistress Elvira (as we was told to call her) said, "Those other
boys are cute, but they haven't got a brain among them. They're
good cock all right, and will bring a good price at the auctions.
But it's not your penis in which we are interested. If you're a
good boy, we might even let you keep it. I do prefer my slaves castrated."
The very mention of the word "castrated" was prophetic
as my balls sought refuge up my rectum.
Mistress Elvira went
on, "The women are very pleased with the way you take care
of their toys. I might even keep you for my own staff."
-=o=-
I watched from my cage
after we got unloaded. Men were sold at the pier. Crowds of women
gathered around to inspect the goods. Some naked men were among
them carrying things and otherwise looking after their mistresses.
Even little girls had their brothers (I presumed) on leashes. Men
were tied to stakes and the crew girls fondled them to keep them
perpetually erected as their would-be buyers took a closer look
at them.
One by one, the men were
brought to the block to be exhibited. They were ordered to face
the crowd and jerk off. Those who refused were whipped until they
did it. Once a Joe shot his dick, the bidding would begin. I know
how horny I was, and I'm an old fart. These boys have been played
with on the boat all the way over for a week and they didn't get
squat dick more satisfaction than I did. They shot off like Roman
Candles.
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