Chapter 5
Peter Trask went in the front door of The Golden Parrot. He bad wondered whether they would go in the front door or the side entrance, and it was reassuring that there was nothing secretive about going in. Men seen going in are usually seen leaving. He hadn't really been worried, he was just noticing things. The guy in the checked suit went in first and the little greasy guy followed Trask.
They went through the bar.
It was dark and the only customers at this hour were Deacon and his showgirl. They were drinking coffee at a table. The barman was reading the racing paper. He wore a white jacket and a bow tie because this was the best night club in the area. The jacket was clean. He looked up when they came in and nodded toward the door leading to Arnold's office. Trask looked closely to see if the barman was at all nervous and decided that he was not. Nothing out of the ordinary was planned, at least as far as he knew. But then, in this area, many strange things might be normal. The barman started reading the scratch sheet again without waiting for them to reach the office.
They crossed the red-carpeted floor and then the hardwood dance floor. The big guy dragged his heels. The little guy walked on his toes. A wooden poster leaned in the corner. Later someone would put it in the street to attract customers for the evening show. A girl in G-string and pasties smiled sickeningly on a purple background. Trask noticed that her name was written across her stomach in bright red letters. Her name was Sonny Rise. She was the star of the show, and pretty ugly.
The big guy knocked. "Come in," someone said.
They went in. The office was plush. It was better than the club. The carpets were newer and there was plenty of polished wood and a fireplace. Max Arnold was sitting behind a huge wooden desk, smoking a huge cigar. He had a huge ring on the little finger of his right hand and it looked like gold. On the desk there was a mahogany cigar box open with big fat cigars in it. There was a gold table lighter and a brass paperweight with no papers under it and a blonde girl. The blonde girl was wearing a lavender dress with ostrich feathers at the hem and cockatoo feathers at the neck. It buttoned clown the front with big black buttons and she was in the process of unbuttoning these one by one. She didn't notice the men come in because her hair had fallen over her eyes.
"Hello, Pete," Arnold said.
Trask nodded.
"Shall we stay, boss?"
"You have butter on your shirt," Arnold said.
"This mug threw toast at me."
Arnold laughed.
"It wasn't so funny."
"He threw coffee on me, too."
"Haw," Arnold bellowed.
"It was hot, too. I wanted to bash him but I wasn't sure if I ought to. Shall I bash him now?"
"No, of course not. I explained to you that I wanted to see Pete as a friend."
"Yeah. That's why I didn't bash him."
"You did right, Moose."
The blonde had all the buttons undone now. She pulled the dress open so that Max could see. Moose squinted at her and the little guy wiped self-consciously at his butter.
"What did you want, Arnold?" Trask asked.
"No need to be belligerent, Pete. You act as if we weren't going to be friends."
"That's just how he acted with us, too, boss," the little guy said. 'llnfriendly,"
"I wanted to offer you a job, Pete."
"You don't even know me."
"It's no trick. I know of you."
"Go on, I'll listen."
"Look, Maxie," said the girl. "Ain't I got a better build than that Sonny Rise? I got bigger boobs and all. She's just an old hag compared to me."
"I had a telephone call this morning. From the hospital. It seems that one of the men who worked for me is there. It seems that he fell out a hotel window."
"No, he didn't fall. I dropped him out," Trask said.
Arnold smiled.
"Something like that, yes," he said.
"Gee, what a mean man!" Clara said. She swung around to look at Peter. She wore no brassiere. The cockatoo feathers fluttered and her breasts swayed as her body turned. She really did have bigger breasts than Sonny Rise, and they didn't droop so much. The nipples tilted upward and the cockatoo feathers hung down over them the way that her hair hung over her eyes. She parted the hair to peer at the mean man and one nipple popped through the feathers and seemed to wink at him.
"Well, I had a little job for Fee. A safe little job. But now he won't be able to do it."
"No thanks. I wouldn't want to take the place of a small-time punk who bets evens that he'll throw a five."
"No, you wouldn't. And I wouldn't want you to. You're too valuable for that. It would just be a start and after that you can work for me steady. Odd jobs, nothing very rough. Maybe throw a few drunks out of the club. Maybe collect a few debts. All pretty legal. Two hundred a week."
"Sounds all right," Trask said. "What's this first little job?"
Clara got off the desk and took the dress off. She tossed it on a chair. She wore a garter belt and dark stockings and a pair of very small bikini panties.
"Why can't I strip in the club?" she asked.
"Wow!" Moose said.
"Just collecting a package. Easy, something even Fee could have done. By the way, no hard feelings about him. In fact, I thought it was funny."
"I laughed too," Trask said.
"Is it a deal?"
"All right."
"That mean I can't bash him?" Moose said. "I'm afraid so," Arnold said.
"You ain't even looking at me!" Clara said. "How can you tell I can't strip good?"
She raised one long leg and bent the knee and began to roll her stocking down.
"Cigar, Pete?"
Peter took a cigar and Arnold held the desk lighter , out to him. Moose was looking glum. He wanted to bash Trask. The buttery little man was looking lustful. He was looking at Clara. She had one stocking off now and was starting on the other. She had very good legs.
"Now. Here's the first job. Listen carefully because the details are important. At exactly ten-thirty this evening you are to go to the park. Go in the Center Street entrance and walk down the path toward the lake. Stop at the first bench on the right and sit down. Have a smoke. Reach in the bushes behind you when you're sure no one is looking. You will find a package there. It shouldn't be too big. Put it in your pocket and stroll out casually. Don't open it, bring it directly to me. Got that?"
"What's in it?"
"That doesn't concern you. Part of your job is not asking questions. In fact, that's about ninety per cent of your job and that's worth one hundred and eighty dollars a week. Is everything straight?"
Clara took the garter belt off and dropped it on the desk. She was frowning because Max wasn't paying much attention. She took the elastic band of the panties and tugged at it. Moose gaped at her. His Adam's apple worked up and down.
"Yeah. It's straight."
"Right. You can go now. I'll expect you back here by eleven tonight. And, Pete, I'd better give you your pay in advance. Just to show that we trust each other."
He took the money from his breast pocket and handed it to Pete. It had already been counted. Trask took it. Arnold was obviously used to getting his own way. Trask put the money in his side pocket with his other money. He didn't bother to count it either. He knew it would be right.
Clara slid the panties down and off.
She was quite naked.
"Wow!" said Moose.
Trask left. The barman didn't look up from the paper. Deacon and his girl had gone. Trask went back to the diner to have some coffee.
"Wish I could bash him," Moose said. He wanted to talk about something so that he could stay in the office longer. Clara was doing a little dance to show Max that, not only was she stacked, but she could dance as well.
"You trust him with that money, boss? Or are we going to follow him?" the little guy said.
"I'm going to trust him. It's safer that way. If it's a trap then we're clean. If he tries to keep the money we can find him all right. But I have an idea that he'll do as he's told. He looks like the type that can take orders as long as he's well paid. And, Moose, he doesn't look like the type to take a bashing without fighting back."
"I'd bash him easy," Moose said.
Moose was strong and had bashed quite a bit.
"Maybe," Arnold said. "And maybe you might have to. Who knows? I might be wrong."
"You're wrong about me," Clara said.
She danced over and shook her naked waist at Arnold's nose. She had a deep navel and very white skin.
"That will be all for now, boys," Max said. They left, reluctantly.
In the club Moose said, "Boy, oh boy! Would I ever like to get my hands on that dame, Irving." Irving looked a him.
"She'd never waste her time on you," he said. "Can't you tell a high-class dame when you see one?"
Moose looked hurt and they went to the bar to have a drink. Moose drank beer. Irving drank hot buttered rum.
"Can I strip tonight?" Clara asked.
Max turned toward her. He knew that a man must mix business with pleasure and he had finished his business. He swung his legs out from under the desk and Clara sat on his lap. She wore more perfume than Sonny Rise, too. Max thought that she smelled very classic. It was Evening in Paris and he had given it to her for her birthday. She wasn't sure when her birthday was, but every once in a while she announced that it was her birthday and he gave her a present. She had announced this four or five times in the three months that she had been with Max, and he could see that she was getting old.
He thought she held her age well, though. She didn't have any wrinkles in her face and her body wasn't saggy or flabby or any of the things that come with age. In fact, her body was just about perfect.
He looked at the smooth, pink-tipped breasts and the rounded waist. He ran his hands over her swelling hips and chewed the end of his cigar to fragments. He put the mutilated cigar in the pink marble ash tray and wiped his mouth on a monogrammed handkerchief.
She shifted her weight, rolling her firm buttocks on his fleshy legs, pushing her breasts underneath his triple chin and drumming her long, scarlet fingernails on his shoulder. With the other hand she petted and patted his cheek, pulled at his ear, tweaked his nose and made kitten noises at his ear while kittenishly rubbing herself against him.
Max cleared his throat vigorously two or three times, licked his lips, wiped his face with his monogrammed handkerchief and turned Clara's face so that she was looking at him.
"Listen, baby," he said, "it ain't right for you to be stripping in front of the boys all the time. Makes 'em lose respect, see? They might start getting ideas."
"Why, Daddy, whatever do you mean?" Clara turned her blue saucer eyes on Max and puckered her lips. Innocence itself, sitting naked on Max's lap.
"Well, like wantin' to take you to bed, is what I mean," Max said, with a decisive nod of his balding head.
"Oh, Daddy! Why, I'd never do a thing like that with those low characters. Do you think I'd allow myself to be taken advantage of by them bums?" Clara made tch-tch noises with her puckered lips and rubbed her breasts against Max's chin. "Besides, it's only you in this whole world that I care for. You're so good to me."
She made ringlets around her index finger with tufts of Max's remaining hair. He gave her a big hug which almost tipped them both onto the floor. They recovered themselves, Clara giggling, breasts jiggling, her arms around his neck. Max gave her a wet kiss on the tip of her left breast and they settled down together on the luxurious, leather-upholstered, swivelseated, executive-model reclining chair complete with headrest.
"Know what?" Max asked, his voice phlegmatically tender and sentimental.
"No, what?" Clara's eyes were getting dreamy and she was moving just the slightest bit back and forth.
"I've known a lotta dames, but you're the only one who really upsets me."
"Why? Because I always take off those expensive dresses you buy me?"
"No, Clara honey. Only you should hang 'em up after you take 'em off. You know why I like you? Because you're stacked, that's why."
"You mean I've got bigger boobs than that dame you're paying to show hers off? I'm real pleased you said that, Maxie. It makes me feel all warm inside here," Clara said dreamily.
She put her hands on her waist and rubbed lazy circles, occasionally dropping them to her legs. Her hips were still moving and she could feel Max's body against her buttocks.
"Know what I think, Maxie? I think you should take off that made-to-measure suit before it gets spoiled. It cost a lot of money, you know."
"Nobody knows better than me, sweetheart. That's the first brainy suggestion you ever made. I'm proud of you."
Clara stood up and delicately began to unzip his clothing. Max grinned at her, and the sweat beaded on his brow as fast as he could wipe it off. She unfastened the belt buckle and the trousers fell, making wide blue puddles around his feet which he quickly stepped out of. He kicked his shoes under the desk, yanked his tie from side to side to loosen it and slipped it over his head. Clara helped him out of the jacket and unbuttoned his shirt. He wore nothing under it and his chest swelled like water wings. His paunch drooped sluggishly over the elastic top of his shorts. He was not what one could call a fine figure of a man, without his clothes on.
He bent over with some difficulty and picked up the clothing and draped it over a chair. Clara came sidling up to him and put her arms around his neck, rubbing her breasts against his chest and swaying her hips so that they brushed against him lightly. His body responded with a surge of strength that he had thought well nigh extinct. He pushed himself toward her and she wiggled up to him, moving her legs as he pushed himself with desire.
"Why don't you take your shorts off, honey?" Clara whispered into his ear. Her tongue darted, warm and wet, and explored. Max's new-found strength was centered, leaving his legs feeling like water. He nuzzled his face into Clara's neck and began to kiss her. His legs began to tremble slightly.
Clara helped him off with his shorts and circled his ample waist with her arms as she stood up again. She brushed her heavy breasts against his stomach and he pulled her forcefully against him. He was quivering with urgency as he took her breasts in his hands and squeezed them together. He moved his body. He squeezed her against him, his thumbs strumming the hardened nipples until they stood out and colored, like raspberries. Faster and faster, the storm within him raged. The waves were billowing against the dam of his passion. Smashing against the wall, crashing it down, and the dam broke, racking Max mercilessly.
Later she said, "Can I strip tonight, Maxie?"
And Max sighed. It was certainly hard being a man of cultivated and classic tastes.