Color Him Gay: The Further Adventures of the Man from C. A. M. P. (7 page)

It seemed an eternity later that they finally stirred and separated. Jackie sat up and lighted a cigarette.

“All right,” he said. “Now suppose you tell me what all that was about?”

Bruce grinned and sat up as well, snuggling close against Jackie's nude body. “I wanted to see if it would be as great a second time with you as it was the first.”

That was an answer Jackie could understand. He knew without conceit that he was good in bed. Sex was, after all, his favorite pastime as well as an essential tool in his arsenal of weapons and he had devoted himself to mastering the subject.

“Still sore at me?” Bruce asked finally in a sober tone.

“No, I guess not.” Jackie said, rubbing one hand affectionately over the soft buttocks. “I believe what you said about not having any choice in the matter.”

“I can make it up to you,” Bruce said, raising himself on one elbow. “I could get the pictures back. I was hoping maybe I could get to you before you paid them.”

“Isn't that dangerous?” Jackie asked, his interest aroused.

“Not if they don't find out who took them,” Bruce explained. “If I'm careful no one will be wiser. But of course it's too late to worry about the pictures now, since you've already paid them.”

“There's something else more important than those pictures.” Jackie said thinking of Dingo Stark and the diary. “Something I want to get badly. Can you show me where they are kept?”

Bruce frowned and shook his head. “That would be dangerous. If anyone saw you there they'd suspect me at once. But I could get it for you if you let me know what it is.”

“It's a diary,” Jackie explained. It was a gamble he knew, but he had to trust someone and Bruce was his only link now with the ring. He described the notebook to the silent blond.

“Are you a cop?” Bruce asked finally.

“Of sorts,” Jackie admitted. “I'm an agent for C.A.M.P.”

Bruce's eyebrows went up. “So that's it. No wonder you had the gun and all. Hell, I would get killed if they knew about this.”

Jackie frowned. “You're right about that. It's dangerous for you to be helping me.

Bruce gave him a smile as he stood and began to dress himself. “I can be pretty cagey myself, you know. I'll get the diary for you. I owe you that much at least.”

“How will you get it to me?” Jackie asked.

“You'll have to pick it up at my place,” Bruce said. “Don't worry. They rarely come around there unless it's to take pictures. There's a back stairs to the building. Come in that way. It's safe. I'll have a
Do Not Disturb
sign tacked to the door.”

Bruce, dressed again for the street, came back to the bed and bent down to kiss him. “Of course,” he said softly. “I'll expect a reward. A repeat performance.”

“You'll get it,” Jackie assured him and meant it. “Tomorrow night?”

“Make it afternoon,” Bruce said. “I'll have the book by then. Come around at two o'clock.”

Jackie sat for a long time in the bed after Bruce had left, contemplating this turn of events. At least if things went well he would have Dingo's diary back. And, if he played it right, he might yet persuade Bruce to lead him to the B.U.T.C.H. headquarters. By this time he owed those hoods, especially Bruno Scotto, quite a few lumps on the head. And that was one debt he was eager to pay off.

* * * *

First thing when he awoke in the morning, which was not until almost noon, Jackie called Dingo at his hotel. It was not the singer, but Steve who answered the phone.

“Jackie,” Steve greeted him with obvious delight, “Did you get the diary?”

Jackie could not help wishing that the excitement in the other's voice were for him and not for the prospect of getting back the diaries.

“Yes and no,” he answered. “I lost my boys last night but I have a new lead. Unless I'm mistaken I'll have it this afternoon.”

“Oh, how wonderful! I can't tell you how pleased I am to hear that. Will you be bringing them over here to the hotel?”

“I'll call first,” Jackie told him. “Tell Dingo to stick around. One way or the other, I should have some news by three o'clock.”

“He's out just now but I'll tell him,” Steve promised.

With that out of the way, Jackie ordered breakfast and showered while he waited for the food to be delivered. His body still tingled with the memory of Bruce and the prospect of still another torrid session with the devilish blond. He could not help hoping that somehow he could free Bruce from the clutches of B.U.T.C.H. as well. No one who could be so divine sexually could be all bad, after all.

He moved his soapy hand away from the spot where it had lingered almost too long. It was just such thoughts that had awakened him this morning in an aroused state and his blood was still warm with eagerness.

His food was there by the time he stepped from the steaming shower. He wrapped a towel around his hips and ate wolfishly. Sex always increased his appetite and unless Bruce had cooled down quite a bit he would need a lot of energy later.

With breakfast out of the way, Jackie dressed and began packing his clothes. Barring any snags he might be ready to leave the hotel before the day was out. Then, with still some time to kill, he left the hotel and wandered about on the streets, an innocent looking tourist enjoying some of the sights of the city.

* * * *

A little before two, he caught a cab and gave the address of Bruce's apartment. His excitement mounted with each passing block. If only Bruce hadn't failed or slipped up in any way.

Following Bruce's instructions, he circled around to the rear of the building and entered from that way. At Bruce's door, he saw the
Do Not Disturb
sign fastened to the door with a thumbtack. With a sigh of relief, he rapped lightly on the door.

Bruce greeted him with a pleased grin, motioning him quickly inside.

“Did you get it?” Jackie asked anxiously. As much as he was looking forward to seeing Bruce, the diary was still his first concern.

“I told you I can be cagey,” Bruce reminded him. He opened a drawer of the desk and pulled out the notebook. Jackie recognized it at once as Dingo's diary. Luck was running with him again!

“Wonderful,” he said enthusiastically. He threw his arms around the blond and hugged him happily.

“Now, do I get my reward?” Bruce asked with a flirtatious smile. “You promised me a repeat performance.”

“That's a promise I'll be happy to keep,” Jackie assured him. His lips sought and found the sweet full ones waiting for him. Bruce's tongue, a fiery sword, searched his mouth, darting about sensuously.

“I half expected to find you waiting for me naked again,” Jackie whispered, his tongue tickling one pink ear.

“That can be quickly taken care of,” Bruce assured him. Their bodies, crushed together in an embrace, were both rocklike with anticipation.

They walked together into the bedroom. Jackie was pleased by the way Bruce watched him as he undressed, his eyes gleaming more brightly as each article of clothing was shed.

There was no rush this time. They took it slowly, kissing one another tenderly, hands stroking healthy, young bodies. Jackie lay entranced as Bruce's flicking tongue examined all of him, starting smoldering fires in countless places. Bruce's hands tugged at him, turning him over and Jackie consented silently. Tit for tat, he reminded himself. The tongue explored his back, moving lower until his buttocks too were treated to delights. He felt the first, cautious attempt of Bruce to take him and raise up to meet the advance. There was a moment of pain that grew into an intense thrill as Bruce pushed against him. Bruce's fingers closed about Jackie's throbbing flesh, stroking slowly at first and then with increasing speed and fervor.

Their sweating bodies slapped together and rolled until Bruce was on his back and Jackie atop him. Jackie closed his eyes and flung his head back, his nostrils flaring. He twisted, seeking Bruce's mouth. There was no pain now, only the blinding heat of their furious loving. Beneath them the bed creaked and groaned with the frenzy of their movements.

Bruce was frantic, raging beyond control now. Jackie welcomed his thrusts, felt them grow more violent as the end neared.Their finish was a torrent that swept through them wildly, a shuddering, choking eternity of spasms that died away slowly, its sweetness lingering.

* * * *

Afterward they showered together, playfully teasing one another. Their wrestling ended in an embrace and a long, happy kiss that resulted in renewed excitement. With the water of the shower pouring about him, Jackie stood with his legs braced apart. Bruce, kneeling before him, once again paid homage to his true master. When it was over, Jackie was beginning to ache with the exertion.

“Come on,” he said, whacking the blonde's naked buttocks with a towel. “I need to catch my breath.”

They lay happily in one another's arms across the bed. Music from a nearby radio drifted in through the open window.

“Haven't you ever thought about leaving the organization?” Jackie asked finally, making his bid for Bruce's future assistance. Now that the diaries were in his possession he was eager to deal with B.U.T.C.H. further. “Like going straight?”

Bruce seemed sad as he thought of the question. “Oh yes, I've thought about it. But it isn't possible, you know. B.U.T.C.H. doesn't allow anyone to resign.”

Jackie knew what he meant. When one left the ranks of the outfit he was never able to tell anyone about the group.

“I could see that you're protected,” Jackie assured him. “C.A.M.P. would look out for you, get you out of town if necessary. Besides, there wouldn't be any danger if we were able to break them up.”

“No one can do that,” Bruce argued. “They're too wily and too strong.”

“C.A.M.P. could do it,” Jackie insisted, determined to sway the young man. “If you'd only tell me how to find their headquarters.”

Bruce studied him for a long minute. “If I did, would it mean that I could continue seeing you? On a serious basis?”

Jackie leaned over and planted a kiss in the vicinity of Bruce's thighs. “It's sweet of you to ask that,” he said, meeting Bruce's eyes evenly. “But I couldn't promise you that, not even as badly as I want to get hold of those beasts. I'm not the sort to settle down, even with someone I like as much as you.”

“But I could see you some times?” Bruce pursued his eyes wide and hopeful.

“I'm always in the mood for your sort of entertaining,” Jackie told him.

Bruce was silent and thoughtful for a moment. “All right,” he said finally in a nervous voice. “I'll do it, for you and for myself.”

Jackie was beside himself with excitement. “You're great,” he exclaimed, hugging him ecstatically.

Bruce's smile was pleased but still anxious, “I think I'd better have a drink,” he said, getting up from he bed. “This is the most difficult decision I've ever made in my life.”

“And the wisest,” Jackie said somberly. “Make that two drinks.”

He watched as Bruce crossed the room. The nude cheeks jiggled and bounced bewitchingly with each step and Jackie found his excitement returning, his body rising to action again.

The knife seemed to come from nowhere, appearing in the center of Bruce's wide back as though by magic. There was a second of frozen motion as Bruce stood rooted to the spot. Then, as Jackie jumped to his feet in horror, the blond crumpled and fell to the floor.

Jackie dived for his gun, throwing himself low. There was no one at the window now. With the gun in his hand he raced to it and stuck his head out in time to catch a glimpse of a familiar figure just jumping from the bottom of the old, iron fire escape. Jackie lifted the gun but there was no time to aim and fire before Fred had disappeared around the corner of the building.

With an oath Jackie turned and hurried back to the figure on the floor. The aim had been perfect. Bruce was already breathing his last.

His eyelids fluttered and he looked up into Jackie's face with glazed eyes. The ghost of a smile played over his lips.

“Don't talk,” Jackie warned with a breaking voice, although he knew it was too late to do anything now. “I'll get a doctor.”

“Fisherman's Wharf,” Bruce managed to whisper. He tried to say something else but the sound he produced was only a sputtering gasp. His head rolled on Jackie's arm, his body jerked once and he was dead.

Jackie lowered the limp body to the floor and brushed away the tears that had clouded his eyes. B.U.T.C.H. was adding rapidly to the score he had to settle with them.

Jackie dressed quickly, forcing aside the numbing sadness that threatened to engulf him. He had to think clearly now. There was no time for grief. Later he would be able to think about Bruce and cry for him, but now he had other things to occupy him: Dingo Stark and the diary which he had at least managed to repossess, and B.U.T.C.H. More than ever he was determined to put an end to that evil organization.

He left the apartment, taking the diary with him. On the street he was wary lest Fred still be around, waiting for an opportunity to seize the diary again. He saw no one and managed to flag a cab quickly. Once, looking out the back window of the taxi, he thought he recognized the car behind him as the same one he had followed from Golden Gate Park to Chinatown, but he was not certain and when he looked again it was not to be seen.

Back at his hotel he paused in the lobby and called the police from a pay phone, to inform them of Bruce's death, hanging up before there was time to trace a call. When he reached his room he placed a call at once to Dingo. Once again it was Steve who answered the phone.

“Did you get it,” Steve asked anxiously.

“I got it,” Jackie said grimly. And so, he thought silently, had Bruce.

“You sound angry,” Steve said.

“I am,” Jackie answered. “But I can't explain just now. Is Dingo there?”

“He's out again,” Steve answered. “But he should be back shortly. Can you bring the diary over now?”

Jackie hesitated briefly. The safest place for the diary, he knew, would be with the local office of C.A.M.P. But Steve had a right to be concerned and want to see the book himself.

It was puzzling and even annoying that Dingo, who had so much at stake, did not seem concerned enough about the diary's recovery to be on hand for the call, but that, Jackie reminded himself, was his privilege.

“I'll bring it over,” he said aloud into the phone.

“Oh, by the way,” Steve said almost as an afterthought, “We've changed rooms.”

Jackie repeated the new room number before hanging up. Then, still carrying the diary with him, he headed for the hotel in which Dingo and Steve were staying.

He was delayed briefly in the lobby of their hotel by a procession of lovely ladies in Eastern garb, their multi-colored saris brilliantly conspicuous. He remembered vaguely reading of the visit of a woman from India, a Princess of some importance in her country's political life. No doubt she was staying in the same hotel and this was her entourage. They were surrounded by a circle of guards who were at pains to see that the ladies were protected from reporters and curious bystanders.

The group took over the elevators, leaving the other guests to wait until they had been delivered to their floor.

Jackie made it at last to Steve's room. Steve answered his knock quickly, his dark eyes wider than ever with excitement. Jackie handed the diary over to him.

Steve stared at it for a moment and even thumbed through a page or two as though unable to believe his eyes. Finally he looked back at Jackie, beaming with happiness. Jackie's bad mood melted somewhat in the radiance of that smile and the muscles in the pit of his stomach began to tingle.

“Oh, Jackie, I can't tell you how happy you've made me,” he said. He raised his arms and stepped forward. Jackie took him into an embrace willingly, his blood racing as the delicate body melted against his.

I shouldn't be doing this, he told himself silently, Dingo will hate me. But he
was
doing it and when he found the ruby lips near his own, waiting to be conquered, he could not prevent himself from burying them under his own mouth.

Far from protesting or withdrawing, Steve returned the kiss with the same ardent enthusiasm, his slender hands clinging to Jackie's shoulders. Whatever resistance Jackie might have had out of deference to Dingo was weakening rapidly.

They ended the kiss at last. Both of them, as their faces separated, were shaken by the emotion they had touched in one another.

“Dingo's still out.” Steve whispered breathlessly. “We're alone here.”

Jackie stared into the depths of the dark eyes. It was like plunging into a smoldering volcano. Steve might look fragile and delicate but beneath that milk white skin was a raging tempest of passion waiting to be set free.

“Is that a suggestion?” Jackie asked.

“I want to show you how grateful I am to you,” Steve said in that throaty voice that sent shivers up and down Jackie's spine. “I know Dingo would want me to please you.”

“Is that your only reason?” Jackie asked. Eager or not, he liked to think that he could arouse something more than gratitude in the lovely creature in his arms.

Steve laughed softly and shook his face. “I want you,” he whispered, pressing his body tightly against the welcoming hardness of Jackie's. “I've wanted you since I first saw you.”

It was the sort of answer that left no room for argument. Jackie kissed him again, all but bursting his seams with desire. His hands made their way down the graceful curve of Steve's back, grasping at the gently rounded orbs below.

“I want to see you,” Steve hissed. “I want to see all of you, please.”

“Always happy to oblige,” Jackie said. At the moment he would have stood on his head if that was the way Steve wanted it.

He stepped back and began to undress, peeling off his clothes rapidly. He was impatient to be done with the preliminaries, aching with desire to explore Steve's maddening body.

Steve watched him with wide eyes, a faint smile playing upon his lips. The shirt went and then the T-shirt. Jackie kicked off his shoes, tugging at his socks. His trousers fell to the floor and he stood, finally clad only in his briefs, the fabric stretched ludicrously where Jackie's arousal was evident.

“The shorts too,” Steve insisted. Jackie complied, rolling them down over his hips and bending to pull them down. He heard the scrape of a drawer opening as he stepped out of them and an ominous click. He raised his eyes and found himself staring down the barrel of a .45 automatic.

* * * *

He groaned and started to pull his shorts back up.

“No, take them off,” Steve snapped, waving the gun warningly.

“Don't tell me you're going to do anything with this now.” Jackie said, indicating his conspicuous arousal. “Guns tend to cool my passion anyway.”

“Take them off,” Steve insisted. Jackie shrugged and did as ordered. There's nothing sillier, he thought glumly, then to stand naked in this condition and talk about anything but sex.

“Don't tell me you're working for B.U.T.C.H.?” he asked when he had kicked his shorts aside.

“Not at all,” Steve assured him. “Although I did do some business with them. They came to me a while back to see if I could give them any dirt about Dingo. They were offering a generous price, so I told them about him and me.”

It was logical of course, and a glaring fact that Jackie had overlooked altogether. B.U.T.C.H. could only have known about Dingo and Steve from one of two sources and obviously they hadn't gotten their information from Dingo.

“But why?” he asked aloud, bewildered. “He was your friend, more than that even. Why would you sell him out like that?”

Steve sneered, his pretty face turned vicious and unattractive. “My friend? Oh sure, he was crazy about me when we lived in those lousy tenements and I was the best lover he could get. Things were fine then. But what happened when he got his big breaks? It was good-bye to little Stevie then; he couldn't afford to be my friend. He's the big star and I get a trip to this country and a few dollars a month. Well, it wasn't enough, if you want to know the truth.”

“Okay, so you got back at him,” Jackie said. “You sold him out and made yourself some money. Why not leave it at that? Why give B.U.T.C.H. the diary as well?”

“Not B.U.T.C.H.,” Steve corrected him. “I'm taking this for Dingo. He was willing to pay them if you hadn't gotten it back and he'll pay me too.”

Jackie felt sick as he contemplated what a shock this would be for Dingo, betrayed by the one person he had most trusted.

“What about me?” Jackie asked. “Or don't you have any scruples about murder either?”

“Oh, I won't murder you,” Steve said with wide-eyed innocence. “I just want to keep you out of the way until I get in touch with Dingo and make a deal. That's why I wanted your clothes off.”

As he spoke he stooped and began gathering up Jackie's clothes, keeping the gun carefully trained on Jackie as he did so.

Jackie saw the logic. He could scarcely go out into the crowded hotel in downtown San Francisco in the raw, without getting himself arrested. And it would take him quite a while to convince the police of his story, long enough for Steve to put his plans in action.

Steve had crammed the clothes into an empty suitcase. He snapped it shut and set it by the door, putting the diary next to it. “Just to be sure you don't get yourself rescued,” he said. He went to the telephone and, grabbing the wires, yanked them free of the wall. “I left your keys and your money,” he said, indicating the small pile of things he had left on the floor. “So that things won't be too difficult for you later.”

“You're forgetting one thing,” Jackie told him, too angry to think of caution. “Dingo will be coming back here eventually.”

“Not to this room,” Steve said, unperturbed. “I forgot to tell you, when we changed rooms we took separate rooms, just to be cautious. And I left a message at the desk that they were not to disturb me in this room until morning. So you see, you'll be very much to yourself until the maid comes in the morning. I trust you'll be able to explain things to her.”

He tucked the diary under his arms and picked up the suitcase. “It is a pity,” he said, casting his eyes up and down Jackie's naked, although no longer excited, body. “You are lovely. I wasn't exaggerating when I said I wanted you. Maybe the next time….”

“Don't count on it.” Jackie snapped. Steve only smiled and blew him a kiss as he slipped out the door.

Jackie seated himself morosely on the edge of the bed and contemplated his situation. It was dark outside, but the streets of San Francisco were too well lighted to allow him to wander about in the raw, even if he could get out of the hotel without being noticed. If Steve had left the phone intact he could have called someone to bring him clothes. As it was, he was in a state of isolation as surely as if the doors and windows had bars on them.

Without much hope he stood and went to the closet, peering inside. There was nothing left in the way of wearing apparel. He stood and surveyed the room, studying it sharply for any ideas.

His eyes fell upon the drapes, brightly colored and striped, and a glimmer of hope sprang into his mind as he remembered the entourage of women from India he had seen in the lobby. After all, he thought, a smile spreading across his face, Scarlet O'Hara had dressed herself in her draperies. Of course she had been able to sew them up a bit, but with a little effort he should be able to produce something similar to the saris he had seen earlier.

Working rapidly, he pulled the chair to the window and removed the drapes, spreading them out on the floor. At least there was plenty of material to work with. It was a wild gamble but it was his only hope of getting out of the hotel and back to his own room, where his other clothes waited for him.

He began draping the material around himself. Without pins or thread he would have to depend upon a few well tied knots and a lot of luck to keep the costume together. But, the Romans, he reminded himself, had used no fastenings in their togas. Of course, they had not had to face the crowds of San Francisco either.

He wrapped one panel about his body, under the armpits and continued wrapping until he had produced what appeared to be a cross between a sari and a mummy covering. The other panel he draped over his head, allowing it to fall about his shoulders as a combination headdress and blouse. Finally he tucked one end of the headpiece over the lower half of his face, leaving only his eyes and forehead exposed.

The result, as he studied it in the mirror, was far from setting fashion trends, but it was not so different from the costumes the women had worn through the lobby. He tucked his billfold and his keys into a loosely formed pocked in the folds of his skirt. It was now or never.

With a silent prayer for luck, he opened the door and stepped into the hall. It was empty and he walked hurriedly to the elevator.

Unfortunately, the elevator was occupied. Worse, Jackie recognized the tall, bird-like woman at once. Greta Romney was from his own city of Los Angeles, a well known gossip columnist and notorious newshound. He knew at once, without question, that she was here in the city for one reason: to interview the visiting Princess from India. And he knew too that her nose for news would catch the scent of an interview with one of the Princess' traveling companions.

He half stepped back from the elevator but it was too late. Greta Romney's eyes had grown huge with surprise and delight as she saw him. With a feeling of despair, he stepped into the elevator.

“Oh, you're with the Princess' entourage aren't you?” Miss Romney asked quickly.

Jackie nodded his head; at least his costume was a success. If only he could feign ignorance of the language and somehow escape from Greta Romney before the situation grew any worse.

“I'm Greta Romney,” she said rapidly. “And I've been trying so hard to get an interview with the Princess. If I could even talk with you for a few minutes…?”

Jackie's mind was racing. Perhaps he could ditch her by getting off on the floor where the Princess was staying. But which one had it been? Hopefully, he pushed a button and the elevator whooshed to a stop.

“Oh please, if you could only spare a minute or two. My suitcase is upstairs.” Greta Romney followed him from the elevator, close at his shoulder.