Chapter 6
Carol came into my office and stood by the desk, a tight smile on her usually relaxed lips.
"Well, honey, tonight is zero hour," she said.
I knew what she meant. I knew that she dreaded what she must do. But she was game. And then suddenly I realized that I wasn't.
'We're changing this particular tactical maneuver, baby."
She shook her head, negatively. "No, we are not! I'm way ahead of you. You think that I might find myself in trouble bigger than I can take care of."
I reached out and got hold of her hand and pulled her down to my lap.
"You are so right, gorgeous!"
"A job is a job, Mike, and you know it"
"Yes. But I've reconsidered on this particular job."
"Don't get soft. This is the only way to trap the dame-or dames-and you know it"
"Perhaps you're right. But you're still the guinea pig."
"I've been a guinea pig before."
"Of course. But this is different"
She teased me with her lips, a quick brush a-gainst my own. "How is it different?"
"Must I draw a picture, Carol? I'm in love with you. And suddenly that makes all the difference in the world."
"It thrills me to hear you say that," she said coyly. "But that doesn't change the complexion of the picture one iota. Let's just say that some day we will marry-if you're still willing. You still have your job. So because I love you, I'll be a clinging vine and tell you that it's too dangerous, I can't let you go out tonight." She jiggled her head. "Silly, isn't it?"
What she said made sense. Still, I was worried. I wasn't too concerned about Carol meeting the Lesbian. I knew that she was fully able to protect herself, physically if it came to that. But there might be an accomplice. Lesbians still have men friends.
"All right," I agreed at last. "But we've got to play it safe. Brief me, so I can hold up my end of the line."
My end of the line wasn't exactly a snap, either. In some way I had to get inside the house for photographs and tape recordings of any incriminating conversation.
"Honey, briefing you will be simple. All I know is: I meet the dame at Fourth and Main. I presume that she will be in a car and that we will go to some house, some rendezvous."
"And then she will tell you how wonderful it will be to turn Lesbian and be part of this great fraternity of lovers."
"Right. And furthermore, I'll act as a very willing, slightly dumb pupil ready to take the plunge."
"You'd what?"
"Don't you see, Mike? I've got to play along.
To a point"
To a point?"
"Well, I won't go to bed with her, if that's what's worrying you."
"It's worrying me, all right. Honey, Lesbians are never normal. Perhaps the dame is sadistic-or even murderous."
Tt could be. But I'll watch out for little Carol."
Something else was bothering me as well. The woman she was to meet was a photographer, Julia Anderson.
The woman who had approached Lisa Cummins was Barry Morris' wife. That meant that there was more than one Lesbian involved-presuming, of course, that each of the women were Lesbians.
"All right," I said reluctantly, "Play along. I'll try to tail you to the trysting place, wherever that is. In some way I've got to get inside the house or near enough to record your voices or find a window shade up for pictures."
"It won't be easy," Carol said. "I can't carry a recorder, not even a pocket job, for this gal might start the hands treatment and feel it in my clothing. Or if she's real suspicious, shell examine my bag. So I'm going in clean as a newborn babe."
I pulled her up close. "Well, whatever you do, will you please be careful?"
She gave me a peck of a kiss, leaned against me just long enough to let me feel those king-sized breasts of hers.
"Yes, poppa!"
I sat far back from the corner watching. Carol stood half concealed in a doorway at Fourth and Main, waiting for the pickup. I glanced at my watch. It was zero hour, right now. Possibly the woman had gotten suspicious and wouldn't make the contact.
That was a short-lived supposition. Within seconds a car pulled up to the curb, a horn beeped just once. Carol walked forward and got into the front seat.
I pressed the starter, turned out into the light traffic and started the tail. I was nervous, which is a new disease for me. I could guess why. That gal up there in that Lesbian's car suddenly was a lot more than a mere business associate.
Whoever drove the car didn't waste a moment. I almost lost them in the heavy midtown traffic. Then the zooming cars thinned out and it was com-paritively easy to keep those twin tail lights in sight.
We were across town now. The car made a left turn, entered the coastal highway and headed north.
The houses thinned out; we were in open country at last. The road threaded through tall pines, kept the ocean in sight. And suddenly the taillights disappeared and for a moment I was frantic.
Then I saw the service road and made a right turn, dropping still further behind. More pine forest now, and a winding S-curved road that climbed almost constantly once it left the coastal flats. And suddenly I saw the dark hulk of a house. I doused the lights, pulled off to the side of the road and cut the ignition key.
In the sudden quietness when the motor stopped, I heard the distant exhaust of the car, saw it climbing along a private drive that hung on the edge of a cliff. Now the car disappeared inside a low building, the motor was turned off. I heard the slam of a car door.
I looked around, wondering where I could hide my own car. To the left, almost unseen from the road, was a grove of aspens. I pulled behind the screen, pocketed the keys. I picked up my gear and stole forward. It was a stiff climb, worming up the cliff. Suddenly I was wondering if there would be a dog.
The house was huge once I neared it. There was no light, but that was understandable. I heard the whir of an air conditioner and that meant that the windows would be sealed. More trouble.
I took my time, checking each step. I could see the car in what was a three car garage. I circled to the left, wormed closer to the low building.
Then I got a pleasant surprise. The noise I heard wasn't an air conditioner. Evidently it was a home power plant that operated an electrical generator.
This spot was so off the highway and buried so deep in the woods that there was no public utility service, hence the individual power generator.
Well, that at least was better than air conditioning and locked windows. The noise of the generator might even cover up any slight sound I might make, checking the house.
I worked along the side of the building, stopping at each window, checking with the stetho-mike. But even with the volume turned up, I could hear nothing but extraneous noises-no voices from within. These noises, I realized at last, were the sounds of insects, highly amplified.
The house was a two story affair, a Victorian type of frame dwelling that had been popular at the turn of the century. It was old, but in good repair. I decided at last that the women must be upstairs or the sensitive stetho-mike would have picked up the voices.
I wormed back to the garage, checked the car. It wasn't a Lincoln, and the license plate was not JS-5465-7.
Just to play it safe, I shot a picture of the car with the special 35mm camera I had had equipped with the transistorized black strobe flash. There was no light at all when the shutter clicked. The light was there all right, but in a wavelength the human eye couldn't see. But the infrared film in the camera could react to it. I shot another long shot of the house, then stood there, debating whether or not I should try to get inside.
Carol was somewhere in that house-with a woman who was a Lesbian. That gave me goose pimples just thinking about it.
And then the noise of an approaching car suddenly changed her perspective in a hurry.
At the moment I was near the rear entrance to the house. There wasn't time to seek shelter. Already the car's lights flooded the service road coming up the steep hill. All I could do was drop down behind some shrubbery.
The car turned into the remaining empty stall of the garage. I waited. A door slammed. A figure came up the walk toward me.
It wasn't a woman. The light was dim but even so there was enough illumination to outline that bearded face, the beret on the man's head. Mario Ortega!
It was instinct that triggered my action now.
Ortega was on the stoop, within reaching distance. His hand fished into his pocket for something. A key ring presumably, for his hand raised to the door knob.
I simply stepped forward from the shrubbery that bordered the stoop and sliced down hard on his neck.
This judo trick never fails, if it is administered properly. There is never an outcry. I was lucky in striking him in the one vulnerable spot. I saw his knees buckle, and I caught him as he caved in. The key ring he was using to unlock the door tinkled to the flagstones. I scooped it up and lifted him to my shoulders and stole back toward the garage.
He was moaning softly now. I knew I had a-bout a minute at the outside, before he regained consciousness.
I stuffed my handkerchief into his mouth, unstrapped the leather carrying strap from the camera and used it to tie his wrists behind him. Then I slid his form onto the back seat of his car and started to leave.
He moved and I went back and rocked one off his chin just for luck. It isn't pleasant, hitting a man when he can't strike back, but in this case it was necessary.
I stole back to the house and tried one of the keys in the door lock. It didn't fit. It was the seventh key that finally turned the lock.
I stole inside. There was no light in this small foyer, but I saw dim illumination at the head of the stairs that led to the second floor rooms.
I hesitated, listening. And suddenly I was asking myself: what was Mario Ortega doing here? Did he live here, with some Lesbian? Or had the woman called him here for some specific purpose?
I crept up the stairs, hoping the boards didn't creak. A small incandescent burned in the hallway here and there were two closed doors on either side. Evidently there were four rooms on the second floor.
I used the stetho-mike on the first door and heard a faint mumble of voices, moved to the next It was dimmer here, so I moved across the hall.
And suddenly the voices were loud and clear and I hurriedly turned down the volume.
Carol and the Lesbian were in this room!
But the door was closed, no doubt locked. I could record their voices, but infrared pictures were out, unless I crashed into the room. And that would really upset the apple cart.
Then I noticed something that struck me as strange.
Near the door was a large professional tripod, the kind photographers use for heavy cameras in studio work. But what struck me as unusual was the fact that it was racked down so the baseboard was only two feet above the floor and it pointed at the wall of the roof, to the left of the door.
I tiptoed to it and suddenly I knew what the setup was. I knew, too, why Mario Ortega had come here.
There was a square of glass built into the wall of this room-a special polarized glass that emits light in only one direction. I got down on my knees so my eyes were level with the glass-and suddenly I felt my heart hammering wildly.
The room I peered into was fully lighted. I saw the heavy drapes on the well, the bed.
I saw Carol-and her companion.
I had never seen the woman before. It wasn't Barry Morris' wife, of that I was certain. The woman appeared to be in her late thirties. She was a brunette, tall, willowy with a remarkably good figure. Her face wasn't hard to take, either, if you like the oval, high-cheek-boned type. But there was a brittleness there-in her lips and in her eyes.
I raised up and suddenly I saw the second pane of glass set into the wall. This one was long and narrow, at eye level. Then it became apparent how the gimmick worked. The camera lens was focused through the lower prism, while the photographer stood and peered into the room through this higher eye-piece, checking his picture, knowing just when to press a cable release that clicked the camera's shutter. With a fast, wide angle lens, a camera mounted here would cover most of the room-especially the low bed. That bed, of course, would be the center of the action. There was plenty of light in the room for a normal exposure, using any type of fast sports-type film.
I pressed the stetho-mike to the wall and the woman's voice came through very nicely, a husky eagerness in her voice.
"My dear, you are very lovely," the woman said to Carol.
Carol shrugged, her face deadpan. "What's that supposed to mean?" she asked, chewing her gum a bit faster. With Carol, a stick of chewing gum was a character prop.
"Honey, get smart," the woman urged. "Why let a man paw you, hurt you with his rough hands, perhaps even make you pregnant, when love can be so much more beautiful and satisfying?"
Evidently Carol was playing it real dumb. "What are you talking about?" she asked.
"Women can form a deep physical affection for each other. It doesn't have to be a man-"
"You mean, you and me?"
"You and me or any two women."
"That's real crazy!" Carol said, with a grimace. "I wouldn't like that a bit"
"Have you ever tried?"
Carol shook her head. "I'm funny that way. I don't even let my boy friend go that far."
I was watching the woman's eyes. The thought of a virgin within her grasp really spurred her.
"Honey, why do you think we took the nude picture of you?"
"You told me I could use it-to get into show business."
The woman nodded. "You could. But there are far easier ways to make a living."
"You mean, this woman-kind of love?"
"Why not? There are hundreds of women, starving for girls-young virgin girls, just like you."
Carol moved a step nearer. "Is that why you fixed up my picture-put a naked man in it-made it lewd, so you could force me-"
"We have no intention of forcing you, honey. The picture is merely an-an insurance policy."
"I don't like that," Carol said, pouting. "It gives me the shivers just looking at that man in the picture."
I could almost read Carol's thoughts at the moment. She was playing it dumb in an effort to get the woman to talk. But she was also wondering whether or not I had gained the inside of the house in some way, whether I was at the moment recording the conversation. If only I had some way to let her know that I was on the job, only a few feet away. But there was no way to accomplish this miracle.
Yes, there was too!
Carol knew all about the black light strobe on the camera, how it operated. There was no visible light. But there was, crazy as it seems, a slight but penetrating heat ray, when the light flashed. I waited, watching the woman more than Carol.
Suddenly the woman turned away from Carol for a moment and faced the bed. I aimed the light at Carol's face and tripped the shutter.
I saw the slight movement of her head. She had felt the heat ray on her face, but I knew she was puzzled. She was wondering just where I was concealed. I saw her eyes swing in my direction, but I knew she could not see the glass prisms. They wouldn't take that chance. I knew the prisms were decoyed in some manner.
But the fact remained that Carol knew I was there, within camera shooting distance, ready to help if an emergency developed. That was the message I wanted to get across. And it had registered.
"Smart girl!" I whispered. "A real smart girl!"
I was proud of her. I suppose I was doubly proud now, for some day soon-
The woman turned back from the bed now. And I felt myself ogling.
She had opened her lounging jacket and she was bare underneath it. No bra. Just two gorgeous breasts, protruding in saucy tautness, breasts topped with strawberry nipples and ringed by large chocolate aureoles. She walked closer to Carol, and those breasts jiggled maddeningly.
"Honey, touch me!" the woman said.
Carol hesitated and the woman reached for her hands.
I didn't want to chance a black light shot at this time, fearing that the woman might feel the heat wave and realize something was amiss. They were only about eight feet away. So I pocketed the 35mm job and used the subminiature in its place. The little sub-miniature, loaded with ultra-fast 16mm film, and triggered with a wonderful shutter and an equally wonderful lens, was a real pinch hitter in a spot like this. I aimed the little camera through the eye level prism, adjusted the range finder until Carol's face was sharp and clear.
It was uncanny, how naturally Carol played the dumb role of a girl on the verge of playing at abnormal sex.
Her eyes seemed fascinated by the woman's breasts. And now the woman caught up her hands and placed them on her own nipples.
"Caress me with your fingertips!" she said. "Feel my response. Doesn't that start your own tingle?"
Carol's fingers were on the woman's nipples now. She moved her hands in a circular motion and an expression of carnal pleasure crossed the woman's face.
Carol's expression was deadpan. But to one who knew her as I did, I could see the tension in her face, in her tight lips. But she kept caressing the woman's nipples. Now her hands cupped the huge breasts in accelerated movement
"You're getting a charge out of this!" Carol said at last "Aren't you?"
"Yes, yes!" the woman said, her excitement building.
"I don't feel a thing," Carol admitted. "You will, dear. Give yourself time." Her hands grasped Carol's as if she would move them faster over her breasts.
"Wouldn't it feel better if a man was doing this?" Carol asked at last, still playing dumb.
The woman made a face. "Honey, I hate men! A woman's hands, a woman's body for me."
'Why do you want me to love you?" Carol asked further. "Surely there are woman who desire this-your own kind of woman?"
"There are never enough," the woman said. "Never enough."
"So you recruit girls, like me, to love you?"
"Yes. Honey, you might rebel at this, right now. But once you enjoy it, you'll thank me."
Looking at Carol, I could see the revulsion on her face. But she was a trooper, ready to go all the way. She was playing it dumb, but there was purpose behind every word.
"I've got a lot of school friends falling for this racket. Is this where they'll wind up?"
The woman smiled. "Honey, they'll all fall in line, in time. They'll love it!"
Carol's hands worked faster on the woman's breasts now. And suddenly I was wondering: was she feeling some sexual stimulation, caressing this woman's big breasts?
I didn't believe so. It would be much like a normally-sexed man, caressing another man. It would be obnoxious. The very thought of contact would be obnoxious.
But Carol's hands were skillful in their manipulation of this woman's breasts. And I saw something, even at this distance. The nipples were swollen and tight. The woman was breathing fast.
And suddenly the woman dropped her skirt and she was naked. And she grabbed Carol's hands and worked them down her body. t was snapping pictures with the subminiature. Inside my pocket, the miniature recorder was picking up the sound impulses of the stetho-mike, recording every word.
"If I find myself going along with your kind of love," Carol said, "are you the only woman I would love?"
"Honey, I'm just one. There are dozens in our group and we're adding new members as well."
"You spoke of an apartment and payment. Who would I see?"
"Honey, I'll make all the arrangements with Nita later. Just let me love you now."
The woman's hands moved forward.
I saw Carol's face harden. But still she made no move of resistance.
The hands were on her blouse now, unbuttoning buttons. And suddenly the blouse was open. The hands reached back, working at the catch on Carol's bra and suddenly the silken garment popped open. That is the only word to describe the action. Carol was quite a gal in the breast department and she imprisoned her glorious mounds very tightly in her own modest way. When the bra unzipped, it was something like an explosion.
I found myself looking at her steep-coned breasts, bare. I was sweating, believe it or not. It was something close to sacrilege. I was a peeping Tom, seeing the girl I loved in her nudity, seeing her that way for the first time.
I had been trying for months to see those provocative breasts, but always there were Carol's hand and the "no-touch" sign in her eyes. But now they were in full view. They were even steeper-planed than I had supposed. The aureoles were contrasting halos around her cherry-red nipples. There was youth and fire and passion in those saucy breasts. And suddenly the woman's hands were on Carol's nipples, caressing them.
"Wowiee!" I said under my breath. "How can she stand there and take it, never moving a muscle!"
Carol was like a statue. The hands were moving faster now and I saw the change in the woman's face, the lewdness in her eyes, her half-opened mouth and twitching tongue, her arching hips. And then she leaned forward and suddenly her lips were on Carol's right breast.
Carol reached down and pulled the woman's head tight against her bosom, as if she desired her to drive her breast deeper into her mouth For a moment I thought she had felt this Lesbian's love, was getting a charge out of it And then I saw differently. As the woman released her right breast and vacuumed her left nipple into her mouth, Carol's hand came down in a swift chopping motion that was deadly in its intent It struck the woman on her collarbone and she slumped forward without a sound.
I hurriedly pocketed the subminiature and the stetho-mike and barged through the door, into the room. Carol had the unconscious woman in her arms.
I ran forward, got my hands under her armpits and lugged her body over to the bed. I eased her down to the covers. Her breasts were still rigid and protruding.
"How'd you get in here?" Carol asked.
"It was pure luck," I said.
I reached for her and she came into my arms with a glad little sigh and suddenly I felt her quivering body. She had been wound up, tight as a spring and no was she relaxed, she was shivering.
"Let's get out of here," Carol said. "She won't know what happened to her. She'll think she fainted or something."
Only then did Carol seem to realize that her breasts were bare and that she was in my arms, that I had seen her nudity.
She gave a yelp and turned quickly, scrounging for her bra.
"Mike, turn your back!"
"Honey, it's too late now."
She seemed to slowly digest that, standing there, her bra in her hand. And then she seemed to think of something else.
This room had a connecting bath. She went inside the bath and I heard the faucet running. I knew she was scrubbing her breasts with soap and water. I was right. When she came out, the cones were delicately red from her manipulations.
"I hope the soap had some germicide in it," she said, and stood there, her fingers trembling as she got the bra back in place.
"Here, let me hook it," I offered and she turned her back to me.
"Ugh!" she said. "It was terrible. Did you see that woman's face? She was getting a charge, touching me. And when I rubbed those big breasts of hers, she was out of this world."
"She's a Lesbian and you're not That accounts for it"
I'm glad I'm not a queer!"
I was curious. "Honey, tell me something? All the time that you caressed her and when she kissed your breasts, did you feel anything at all?"
"Mike, how could you ask that?' "Just curious."
"Well, I didn't feel a thing except loathing."
That made me feel real good.
"Did you get the pictures and the tapes?"
I nodded. "I was afraid to use the infrared. That's why I shot the strobe at your face, hoping you'd feel the heat wave."
"I felt it, and honey, it was the only thing that kept me going, knowing you were out there somewhere. But I couldn't figure out where you were hiding."
I showed her the polarized prisms in the wall. "This is how they continued the blackmail and built up their smut library," I explained. "When a girl finally gave in for the Lesbian stuff, Ortega or some other goon shot movies of the love action through these prisms."
"How'd you get inside the house?" Carol asked as we stole down the stairs.
I told her about Ortega. "He's tied up inside his car."
We were at the back door.
Then somewhere within the house, a bell tingled.
It was a telephone. It struck me as funny. This house was buried 'so deep from the beaten path that they had no electric service, yet in some way they had managed to get a telephone. The phone, in this case, must be very important.
The phone rang again and finally we located it in a small ante-room off the rear entrance. Evidently the room was used as an office.
"What do we do?" Carol asked.
"You answer. Your voice sounds pretty much like that woman upstairs."
Carol took down the receiver. I shoved the stetho-mike close to it, started the tape recorder.
"Hello, Julia?" a feminine voice asked.
"Yes!" Carol said, her voice guarded.
"We'd like to come out tonight, Alice and me," the voice continued.
"Who is this?" Carol asked.
"This is Jane. We need the money."
Carol's eyes were on my own. I nodded my head affirmatively.
"How soon?" Carol asked.
"In an hour?"
"In an hour," Carol said.
The phone clicked dead.
"Well, what do you make of that?" Carol questioned.
"I have a good idea. This is some chick who's going to be with a Lesbian pal, while Ortega's camera grinds out the action-for a fee."
"Do we go through with it?"
"Of course."
Then I thought of Ortega, tied up in the car. We needed him right now. We also needed the woman upstairs.
Carol already had interpreted my thought. "I'll get the woman upstairs. You check on Ortega."
"Righto!"
I was on the back stoop when I heard the car. It backed out of the garage, tires squealing. Then it zoomed down the service road and was gone.
I stood there realizing that either Ortega was a sleight-of-hand artist or I had been careless in tying him up.
I barged back inside and Carol was coming down the stairs.
"She was just waking up and I put her back to sleep," Carol said, rubbing the edge of her hand. "She's good for another half hour."
"Ortega has skipped out."
"That's bad!"
"Maybe so. Or it could be just the opposite."
"I don't follow," Carol said. "He'll try to skip now, but he won't go without his gear and the smut negatives and prints."
"So?"
"I've got to get someone to nail him at that Ramsway address."
"The Spanish house?" I nodded.
Already I was dialing long distance. I gave the operator Ed Morgan's home address.
I sat there, heard the phone ringing. No answer. Ed wasn't at home.
This complicated matters. We were miles from the Spanish house, Already Ortega was well on his way there. Even if I tried to make it, time was a-gainst me. And Carol and I had work here.
There was no one else to call.
Yes, there was too, John Lilo!
Long distance again and suddenly I heard his booming voice over the phone. I talked fast.
"John, I'm up here in the hills baiting a trap." Then I told him about Ortega's escape. "I don't think he's the head man but he's the big wheel with the smut camera. He's got the smut at the Ramsway address. He'll come back to the Spanish bungalow before he flees. The thing to do is to get there before he gets loaded and nail him."
"I'm on my way!" Lilo said, and the receiver clicked.
I decided something, then and there. In the future, there would be only one brand of pizza for me.
Suddenly I was thinking of Maria Lilo, her golden body nude in my arms and the fury of her hips as we had sought solace in each other's flesh that night of the barbecue.
I cradled the phone and suddenly Carol's voice was shouting for me. It seemed to come from the very depths of the old house!