Nick Carter - Istanbul

Mousy was beginning to look miserable.

"Right. Both with their throats cut. Only difference being that one of them was found in the Golden Horn instead of in the Bosphorus."

"We've got a razor man on our hands," Nick Carter said, almost to himself. "The good old fashioned straight edge razor. A nasty weapon."

Mousy stared at him. "How do you know? The Turkish MO said he couldn't be sure."

Mousy happened to be looking straight into Nick Carter's eyes as he spoke. He could never quite remember the color of this big man's eyes. They changed. Now he thought they were green, a deep sea green, and for a moment a shark swirled and turned in the depths. Mousy shivered.

"I know," said Nick Carter softly. "It's got the feel. A razor man is a sadist — loves his work." He looked at Mousy and grinned and suddenly the little man felt better.

Nick said: "Better get some sleep now, Mousy. Remember I got a date to take you to the movies tonight!"

The little agent made a face. "The things I do fot AXE! Letting myself be dressed as a girl and taken to see feelthy moving peectures!" But he laughed. "You promised you would never tell anyone back in Washington about this?"

"I know," said Nick. "Now beat it. I'll call you when it's time to begin the beguine."

The tall anvil shouldered man who had been standing so long in the chill shadows stirred at last. He took a deep breath and peered around and for a moment his eyes were vacant and unfocused.

Nick glanced at his wrist watch. He had been standing motionless for nearly an hour. He flexed the big, long smooth running muscles and took a few deep breaths, did a few knee bends. Then he glanced toward the niche where the girl slept. Best get on with it.

Nick took a large and powerful flash from a clammy ledge and went to the niche. Mija Gialellis was sleeping on her side, her cheek cushioned on her arms. Her breathing was slow and peaceful. If she's got a bad conscience, Nick thought, she doesn't let it bother her. But then maybe she's a pro — or a junky!

Nick wasted no time. He directed the powerful beam full into her face. The girl came awake with a frightened little cry — "Uhhhh!"

"Don't be afraid," Nick said. "I'm not going to hurt you. But I've got to do this. Take off your clothes!"

"What!" Her red mouth was a round red O of astonishment as she stared into the light, her smoky brown eyes narrowed. She was fully clothed, yet instinctively she clutched the single sleazy blanket to her breasts.

"Look," said Nick Carter patiently. "I'll explain it once. No more. Then if you don't cooperate I'll take off your clothes myself. Okay. You say you're a cured addict! You say you want to help us! Maybe it's true, I hope it is. But I can't take your word for it — surely you can see that? So take off your clothes, please, so I can look for fresh needle marks. If you're clean — fine. If not — well, then we'll know, won't we? Now start undressing. I won't touch you. I'm working, Mija! This isn't pleasure for me." Nick couldn't help wondering if that last statement was a hundred percent true?

"Yok!" The Turkish NO that really means NO! She sat up on the cot, still clutching the blanket to her. "This is a horrible thing you do to me! I will not! You cannot make me!"

Smiling to reassure her, keeping his own voice low, Nick said: "Evet! Yes I can! I will if you force me. Now!"

Her mouth began to tremble. In a voice of entreaty she whispered, "Rica ederim?"

Nick firmed his voice. "Begging won't help, Mija. Now start undressing. Right now!" N3's voice cracked like a whip.

The girl glanced wildly around. "No use screaming for help," Nick told her. "You don't need it — and it won't do any good. I give the orders."

She hesitated. Nick reached a hand for the blanket. In the angled light she saw the planes of his face as hard as stone. She twisted away. "Yok! I… I will do it!"

"Good." He stepped back and directed the flash on her. "That will save everybody a lot of trouble. Take off all your clothes and then stretch out on the cot face down."

Mija Gialellis sat on the edge of the cot and began to undress, her lovely face distorted by a scowl of rage. "I am to hate you for this," she spat. "Forever I hate you! If I am live to be many years I shall hate you and…"

"Shut up," Nick told her. "You talk too much. Just keep quiet and get on with it. It'll be over just that much sooner."

Mija unbuttoned her blouse and shrugged out of it. She put it on the cot and bent forward to begin sliding off the black stretch pants.

"Your brassiere, too," Nick commanded. "I said everything. I meant everything!"

She gave him a look of pure hatred. "You are filthy! You want the peeps show!"

Nick gave her a look. "What I don't want is to lose patience with you! But…" He took a step toward the cot.

"Yok!"

She craned behind her to unsnap the black brassiere and slide it down slim arms. Mija tossed it on the floor with a gasp of frustrated rage. She glared at him, making no effort to cover her small melon sized breasts. "You are; satisfy now?"

Nick repressed a grin. She was working up a full head of steam. Sternly he said, "No. I'm not. Now the pants, please."

Her firm breasts, red-ochre tipped, rippled as she leaned to obey. She did not look at him now. Her flesh was a tawny shade, a trifle lighter than olive and smooth with a fine texture. The top of her head, in the blaze of the flashlight, glistened like a black helmet. Nick heard her choke back a sob, whether in rage or hurt modesty he did not know. Or care. They were getting on with the job. Soon he would know at least part of the truth about her.

The stretch pants were on the floor. She was wearing a pair of very skimpy white panties. Nick waited. She did not move.

"Off with them," he commanded.

She stared sullenly at the floor. "I will not. It is too much!"

"Damn it!" Nick moved.

"Hayir!" The more gentle no this time. "I… I will do myself." A stretch and slither of elastic and nylon and the panties were on the floor.

"That's fine," said Nick. He smiled at her, trying to ease things a bit. "You could make a good living striping in the States, you know. You take long enough. Now turn over on the cot."

Mija scowled. "Y… you promise you will not touch me?"

"I promise. Now turn over!"

The girl turned over and lay face down. Nick took a step forward and saw her tense. "Relax," he said cheerfully. "This won't hurt a bit."

Beginning at her ankles he moved the flash up along the splendid body. Her legs were longer than he had thought at first, the ankles sturdy but clean boned, the flesh behind the knees taut flexured. Nick realized that Mija had the body of a fine girl athlete. He saw that she was trembling ever so slightly. To put her at ease he asked, casually, if she had ever been an athlete. To his surprise she answered.

"Yes. Since I am a little girl until… you know…"

Nick nodded savagely. He knew. Until she got the monkey on her back! Until life became a desperate stretch of time from one fix to another!

Nick took the light up over fine lean hips and buttocks that were just rounded enough. A waist amazingly small. Strong column of spine, lying sinuous under muscles that rippled beneath tawny velvet smooth skin. Her shoulders were wide for a girl.

So far Nick had not detected a blemish, not even a mole. But he knew what he would find when she turned over. Just so none of them were fresh!

"Okay," he told her. "You can turn over now."

He had expected another argument, but instead Mija rolled docilely over on her back. She kept her eyes tightly closed.

Nick saw them then. Little white stipples, countless tiny scars around her shoulders and the inner upper arms. Both shoulders. Both arms. This kid had been a mainliner. It was a marvel she had ever made it back. If she had!