Nick Carter: Rhodesia

"Why?"

"Look at us. Up here in the lap of luxury. Probably fifty people watching our comfort and safety right now. While down below.." She sighed, drank, the hand came back on his leg. "You know — bombs, murder, hunger, poverty. Don't you ever get that sensation? You escorts live the good life. Fine food. Beautiful women. I've heard all about it"

He grinned into the green eyes. She smelled good, looked good, felt good. You could go far astray with a cuddly little sweetie like this and enjoy the trip until one day the bills came in- Swing Now — Pay Later — Weep at Leisure. She was as naive as a regular-party Chicago district attorney with an alderman brother.

"It's a complex job," he said politely. It would be fun to take the needle out of her cute hand and jab it in her lovely rump.

"For complex men? Ill bet you and Boyd break hearts month in, month out I can see you in the moonlight on the Riviera with the older, lonesome types. The L. A. widows with a million in blue chips dead daddy killed himself to get. The ones in the front row at Birch meetings who wave the pamphlets."

"They've all been sucked into the gaming tables."

"Not with you and Gus around. I'm a woman. I know."

"I'm not sure if you're reminding me or yourself, Booty. But there are a few things you don't know about an escort He is an underpaid, overworked, feverish gypsy. He's prone to frequent dysentery from the strange foods because you can't dodge all the bugs. He's afraid to drink water or eat fresh vegetables or ice cream even in the U.SA. Avoiding them has become a conditioned reflex. His luggage is usually filled with dirty shirts and impressed suits. His watch is in a repair shop in San Francisco, his new suit was missed at a Hong Kong tailor, and he's trying to get along on two pairs of shoes with holes in the soles till he gets to Rome where he has two new pair. They were made six months ago."

They were silent for a moment. Then Booty said doubtfully, "You're putting me on."

"Listen to this — his skin has itched ever since he picked up something mysterious in Calcutta. The doctors have given him seven versions of antihistamines and recommend a year's session of allergy tests, meaning they're mystified. He buys little odd lots of stocks by living like a beggar when he's in the States because he can't resist the true-blue, sure-fire tips his rich travelers give him. But he's out of the country so much he can't watch the market and all his buys go down. He's lost touch with all the friends he likes. He'd like to own a dog but you can see how impossible that is. As for hobbies and interests, he can forget them unless he collects match covers from hotels he hopes hell never see again or restaurants that have made him sick."

"Urrf." Booty made a growly sound and Nick stopped. "I know you re teasing me, but a lot of it sounds as if it could be true. If you and Gus show signs of living like that during the nest month, I'm starting a society for the prevention of cruelty to."

"Just watch."

Lufthansa served the usual magnificent dinner. Over the brandy and coffee the green eyes locked onto Nick's again. He felt the hairs on his neck tighten pleasantly. It's the perfume, he told himself, but he always had been susceptible to the alert blonde type. She said, "You made a mistake.'*

"How?"

"You told me all about an escort's life in the third person. You never said I or we. You guessed at a lot of that and made some up."

Nick sighed, kept his face expressionless. A Chicago DA all the way. "You'll see for yourself."

The stewardess took the cups away and tendrils of golden hair were tickling his cheek. Booty said, "If it is true, you poor man, I'll feel so sorry for you I'll just have to cheer you up and try and make you happy. I mean, you can ask me for anything. I think it's horrible in this day and age that fine young men like you and Gus have to live like galley slaves."

He saw the twinkle in the emerald orbs, felt the hand — no glass in it now — on his leg. Some of the cabin lights had been turned off and the aisle was empty for the moment- He turned his head and fastened his lips to the soft red ones. She had been building up to it, he was sure, half in mockery, half shaping her woman's weapon, yet her head gave a tiny jerk as their lips met — but it did not retreat It was a nice, well-fitted, aromatic, and pliable molding of flesh. He had meant it to be a five-second thing. It was like stepping into sweet, cushiony quicksand with the menace hidden — or eating peanuts. The first move was the trap. He closed his eyes for a moment to savor the soft, tingly sensations that shot across to his lips and teeth and tongue like discharges from a powered circuit He opened one eye, saw that her lids were down, and shut out the world again for just a few seconds.

A hand tapped his shoulder and he snapped alert and drew back. "Janet doesn't feel well," Gus Boyd said softly. "Not serious. Just a touch of air sickness. She says she's prone to it I've given her a couple of pills. But she'd like to see you for a minute please. Booty."

Booty climbed out of the seat and Gus joined Nick. The younger man looked more relaxed, his attitude more friendly, as if what he had just seen guaranteed Nick's professional status. "That's a curie," he said. "Janet is a doll, but I can't keep my eyes off Teddy. She has the playful look. Glad to see you're getting acquainted. That Booty looks like speed with class."

"Plus brains. She started a third degree. I gave her a sad story about an escort's hard life and need for kindness."

Gus laughed. "That's a new approach. And it might work. Most of the boys blow themselves up, and hell, anybody with an ounce of sense knows they're just Grey Line guides without the megaphones. Janet pumped me pretty good, too. I talked about the wonders well see in Rhodesia."

"This is not a cheap tour. All their families loaded?"

"Except Ruth's, I think. She's on some sort of a scholarship deal or gift financed by her college. Washburn in accounting keeps me advised so I'll have an idea who to work for tips. Doesn't matter much with this bunch. Young gals are rotten. Selfish bitches."

Nick's eyebrows rose in the gloom. "I used to prefer the older girls," he replied "Some of them would be very grateful."

"Of course. Chuck Aforzio made a wonderful score last year. Married this old gal from Arizona. With homes in five or six other places. Supposed to be worth forty or fifty million. He's a cool cat Did you know him?"

"No."

"How long were you at American Express, Andy?"

"Off and on for four, five years. I handled a lot of the special F. I. T. tours. But I never happened to touch Rhodesia although I've been in most of the rest of Africa. So don't forget you're the senior escort, Gus, and I won't. You can order me around wherever you need a hole plugged in the line. I know Manning probably told you I have a piece of the action and I'm along for the ride and may leave you for a few days. But if I do, I'll try and tell you in advance. Meanwhile — you're the boss."

Boyd nodded. "Thanks. I knew the minute I saw you you're regular. If you take hold of Edman I imagine you'll be a good guy to work for. I was afraid I'd get another gay blade. I don't mind the sweethearts, but they can be a damn nuisance when there's real work to be done or the box gets tight You know about the troubles in Rhodesia? A bunch of blacks chased a Triggs and Son group right out of the marketplace. Scratched up a couple. I don't imagine it'll happen again. The Rhodesians are methodical and tough. Chances are we'll get a cop assigned to us. Anyway, I know the contractor. He'll give us a guard or two along with the cars if it looks like well need it."

Nick thanked Boyd for the briefing and then asked casually, "How about side money? With all the sanctions and such are there any really good angles? They mine a lot of gold. Any available for us?"