When my pager went off, I was upping the ante, holding three deuces and an ace. The other guys around the table stared at me, bewildered. Our Friday night poker game didn’t have many rules, but the one rule we stuck to was no interruptions—pagers were to be muted or left in the other room.

Whoever was calling had enough clout to get around the do-not-disturb function.

"Stan, this is Lady Scarlet. You know who I am and where I live; get your butt over here and use the back door."

No questions were asked; I knew the power of this woman.

I tossed my cards and bolted from the room, leaving the fellas slack-jawed.

When she calls, you move—no ifs, ands, or buts.

I gave the cabbie the address. He glanced at my worn-out suit and crumpled shirt and said, “You can’t be serious.”

"Keep your mouth shut and drive."

Fifteen minutes later, we arrived, and I instructed him to take me to the back entrance of a building that occupied a whole block on the seedier side of Brooklyn.

I approached the small back door and rang the bell. After being examined through a spyhole, the door opened, and a woman dressed in a negligee that left nothing to the imagination ushered me in.

"She's waiting for you in her office."

She led the way while I admired her background motion as it swayed in front of my eyes.

We descended into the basement, an area I had never been in before on my infrequent visits to the most exclusive whore house in the city.

My guide rapped on a mahogany door. A single word answered the rap, "Come."

She opened the door, and the sight that greeted us was breathtaking.

Seated in an armchair with her legs splayed wide open over its arms, a slender big titted red-haired woman was frantically masturbating her pussy.

"Who told you to come in?" she asked.

My guide blushed and said, "You did, my lady."

"I did not. I was talking to myself and said, 'cum' not come in.

"Ruth, you may go. Stan, sit down and enjoy the show while I relieve my stress."

I watched her fingers piston in and out of her pretty pussy when my mouth overtook my brain, and I ventured, "May I give you a hand, My Lady."

"Thank you for the offer, Stan. I did not request you come to help me relieve my stress. You are too hamfisted for that, and I need you as a private dick, not a private prick."

"Just sit quietly and watch, and if you must, feel free to join me, and we can jerk off in rhythm," she said with a lascivious grin.

What's a man to do in that situation? I pulled my gat out of my waistband, placed it on a side table and extracted my cock from the confines of my boxers, and joined her stress relief session.

She watched intently as I started beating my meat, and she licked her lips in a way that was deliciously erotic. Her emerald green eyes glazed as she frantically pistoned her pussy and moaned.

We both erupted at almost the same instant. Her juices squirted, and my ropes of cum erupted in an arc which I aimed to land on the Persian carpet at my feet.

She stared at my deflated shaft and licked her lips once more before rising out of her armchair and wiping herself off with a washcloth. She then slipped on a negligee, approached the sofa where I sat, and handed me a washcloth.

"I almost regret saying this," she said, "but put that away for now. If you succeed, we might revisit the subject.

I zippered myself back up and stuck the gat in my waistband.

"Succeed at what, My Lady?"

"The tapes are missing."

"What tapes?"

"As you know, I run the country's and maybe the world's most famous and exclusive house of pleasure. I owe my clients and artists a duty to protect them from physical danger and ensure their reputations are not sullied.

"To accomplish the above, my clients are subjected to an investigation that would be the envy of a Senate investigating committee before they are admitted as members. In my house, all the rooms are constantly recorded on video, which performs a constant random scan of all the rooms to detect anything that might be amiss.

"About an hour ago, Bertha, the woman monitoring the video recording equipment, was found unconscious, and the tapes had disappeared. Even you must understand the peril that puts me, my clients, and artists in."

"May I ask a few questions, My Lady?

"If you have to. Drop the My Lady shit, my name is Scarlet."

"What are artists? You keep using the term."

"Artists are the men and women who provide the services we offer in this house."

"You mean the hookers who work for you?"

"Stan, I was beginning to like you. Hookers are the poor creatures who roam the streets looking for clients or work in disreputable establishments. My boys and girls are not hookers or whores. They are skilled lovers whose mission is to provide a client with pleasure."

"You have male... artists?"

"Of course, many of my clients are women. This is a coed establishment."

"I see. What do you want from me?"

"Find those tapes."

"What's in it for me?"

"If you agree, I will keep your middle name secret. Got it, Fauntleroy?"

"How the hell did you ever find that out?" I said, blushing.

"Your dad is a client."

"Why the despicable old bastard," I said in a rage.

"I have no idea whether he was born out of wedlock, but I know he thinks you are wasting your Yale education as a private detective. He believes you belong working with him so as to be able to inherit the bank when he retires.

"Second, if you find the tapes and get them back, you will be comped for life as a member here."

"No shit?"

"As you eloquently put it, 'No Shit.' Any other questions?"

"Yes, My L... Scarlet. Why me?"

"Stan, I don't want you to take offense at what I say. Do you agree?"

"I've got a thick skin, so shoot."

"You're dumb."

"What?"

"You told me you wouldn't take offense, so listen to my reasoning."

"It took a dumb person to steal those tapes, knowing that the power of the men desporting themselves in these videos are among the most powerful in this city and possibly the world. I'm not saying he is stupid, but he is dumb.

"You, likewise, under that exterior image you project, are not stupid, but you are dumb, as evidenced by the career you pursue.

"I could have hired Shylock Hormes..."

"Don't you dare mention the name of that pretentious know-it-all in front of me?"

"Touched a nerve, didn't I?

"Let me finish what I was trying to say. I chose you because you have the knack of coming up with the weirdest solutions to crimes you investigate. Who else could have figured out that the drowned corps whose head had been bashed in and who was found in the locked-up rooftop swimming pool was not murdered by a third party but was the pilot of a plane doing aerobatics over the city."

"Remember, Scarlet, everyone laughed at me till the coast guard found the plane floating eighty miles out in the Atlantic."

"Yes, Stan, however, all the cases you have solved involved off-the-wall flashes of intuition like the one about the serial killer cop who was murdering the pretzel vendors because he hated pretzels.

"So, what is your first hunch about this case?"

"What is the size of this tape that disappeared?"

"Three tapes each the size of an LP record and approximately half an inch thick."

"And the only exit and entrance to the house are the main front and small back door?"

"Yes, and both are guarded and watched 24/7 by a receptionist."

"Well, at first thought, there were several possibilities. How many clients or artists knew about your snoop room?"

"None of the clients and all of the artists."

"The artists who were on duty when it happened, are they still here?"

"Yes. All of them have stayed in the house. They all live here."

"They do?"

"Yes, the third floor consists of apartments; they all live here."

"How about the clients?"

"Till this is solved, Stan, I have ceased operations. There are no clients in the house."

"So one of the clients could have smuggled out the tapes."

"Unlikely."

"Why not?"

"Stan, the ground floor consists of our reception, the grand salon and our two orgy rooms."

"Two orgy rooms, Why?"

"One orgy room is coed, and the other is for women only. Some women do not want male involvement. You can access the second-floor function rooms only by the grand staircase from the grand salon or the VIP entrance, the door you entered at the back of the house. That one is used by VIPs who need to be discrete, and very few use that entrance. The third floor is only accessible to artists as that is where their residences are, and NO clients are ever allowed to go there. Both exterior doors are supervised 24/7. And the snoop room is located in the attic above the third floor and can only be accessed by a small interior stairway from the third floor."

"Does that not narrow it down to it being one of your so-called artists who is the perpetrator?"

"No. I can not believe that. I'd trust all of them with my life."

"Well, I will start by interviewing them before I give an opinion. I will also need a list of all the clients in the house today."

"I will see that you get it. Remember that if you ever reveal anything about them, your middle name will be broadcast far and wide, Fauntleroy."

"Mum's the word. When can I question your... 'artists'?"

"They are upset, so be gentle with them, Stan. They are all in the dining room. Supper is being served."

"At this time?"

"Sure. Due to the nature of their duties, supper is usually served about now."

She led me out of the office, down a long corridor, and into a vast room where about twenty men and women were seated. As we entered, the buzz of conversation died down, and forty pairs of eyes scrutinized me.

Scarlet went to the head of the table and invited me to sit on her left.

"Ladies and gents and others, this is Stan, our private dick here to investigate the outrageous theft that occurred here tonight. Ladies, Stan is a private dick, so no much how he tries to make his dick public to you, you are not to be tempted to let him dip his wick in you."

A cute young blond seated next to me exclaimed, "Spoilsport."

"Molly, you will have to restrain yourself for now. If he can solve this, you can have second dibs on him after I reward him. However, you are permitted to use your feminine whiles to encourage him to solve this conundrum as fast as possible, as we can not welcome any guests while this is unsolved."

I almost jumped out of my seat when a firm hand gripped me around my rod, not the one at my belt, and lovingly explored it.

I must have given an audible gasp of surprise, for Scarlett exclaimed, "Molly, behave!"

"I was just finding out for myself if it would be worth my while to offer Stan some further inducement to motivate him. What do you think, Stan, tit for tat?" she said, turning towards me and leaning forward to expose two of the prettiest tits I had ever seen.

Being ever the gentleman, I reached over and gave the two proffered morsels a gentle squeeze. She moaned appreciatively while I indulged in my mammary fixation and drooled like an idiot, thinking of how delicious it would be to suck on those diamond-hard nipples.

"That's enough, kids. Stan, how do we proceed?"

I reluctantly tore my hand away from those fantastic tits, straightened my rampant erection in my boxers and thought about the problem for a few seconds.

"Well, we'll have to start by searching the premises."

"We've already done that," a distinguished-looking middle-aged man with a beard said.

"Not my way, I'll bet. We will be doing that in pairs."

"You don't trust us?" he said in an aggrieved voice.

"Buddy, in my game, you don't trust anyone. Who are you, by the way?"

"Peter, glad to meet you, Stan," he said with a marked British accent as he extended his hand, and we briefly played King of the Mountain. Surprised by his strength, I scrutinized his face, and then it dawned on me: I knew of him.

"No, you're not. You're Slippery Sam, the king of the con men. What are you doing here?"

Lady Scarlet snickered. "Busted, Peter, your fame precedes you."

"Stan, to answer your question, I work here. I am one of Lady Scarlet's artists," Peter answered my question with a smirk."

"With your reputation, Slippery Sam, Peter, or whatever you call yourself today, you are the last person I would trust."

Scarlett spoke up and said, "Stan, the two people you can trust are Peter and that little slut with the big tits who is chomping at the bit to jump into bed with you."

"You trust Slippery Sam, the king of the con?" I said with a tone of skepticism.

"I know it boggles the mind. However, I have to trust my husband and our daughter Molly."

My jaw dropped, and I sat there scrutinizing the assembled group.

If I had not known what these people did for a living, I would have thought I was sitting at a family reunion... apart from how they were dressed or, should I say, undressed.

The amount of flesh showing would have been frowned on at a beach under our stupid laws and bylaws.

Sitting across from me were two midgets, a male and a female, dressed in little more than crisscrossed leather straps and loincloths. The female displayed magnificent mammary pulchritude while the male, if I was any judge, boasted a cock that would have made Long Dong Silver envious.

The rest ranged from early twenties to a woman who could have been a grandmother. There was not a single woman with whom I would not have jumped into bed despite being very selective about my bedmates.

***

"Folks, may I have your attention? Which one of you is Bertha?"

"That would be me," said a massive woman who would have rivaled an NFL lineman in size and mass, though that mass was very seductively distributed. She was seated, wrapped in a bathrobe with a bandage around her skull.

"You were on duty in the snoop room when the theft occurred? Tell me what happened."

"Stan, I have no idea. I was knitting a pair of booties for my future grandchild and keeping an eye on the monitors when, from out of nowhere, someone hit me on the back of the head. The next thing I was conscious of was lying on the floor with a cracked skull."

"How long were you out?"

It was about fifteen minutes.

"How bad is your injury? Can I see it?"

"Ask my doctor," she answered, pointing to a stunning redhead dressed in an almost see-through negligee with a stethoscope hung around her neck.

"Doctor...? I see. You make house calls, Doctor?"

"Stan, I live here. My name is Anne, and before you ask, I am a doctor and an artist in this house. To forestall any further questions, I am a licensed physician and a graduate of Harvard Medical.

"Bertha suffered a concussion from a blow to the back of her head by a blunt instrument, which has left her with a dent measuring approximately one square inch."

"Her skull was not broken?"

"Not to the best of my knowledge. I can also give you a thorough physical exam when you conclude this investigation."

Looking at her and her sultry green eyes and other remarkable physical attributes, my cock twitched, and Molly barked, "Get in line, Bitch. Mother is first; I'm second, and the rest of you can fight it out for places from three to fifteen."

Scarlet snapped out, "Molly, behave. Do you want Stan to think that we're all horny sluts?"

"Well, aren't we, Mum?"

Thoughts of many nights of voluptuous sex streamed through my mind, and I brought myself back to the present and the task at hand. I was now more than ever eager to complete this job.

'It's a pity we don't have tapes of your clients exiting the premises."

"But we do. The front door is on a separate system, and those tapes are available." Scarlet exclaimed.

"Have they been examined?"

"Of course."

"Well, first, let's have a house search. My understanding is that the ground floor contains the grand salon and two orgy rooms, the second floor comprises function rooms, the third are living quarters and finally, an attic containing the snoop room. Is that correct?"

"Yes, and of course, this basement contains my office, kitchens, utility rooms and the dining room we are in right now."

"We will split up into teams of five. Each nook and cranny is to be searched, and the five assigned to each floor will be together during the search. Any questions?"

My answer was a rumble of no's from the assembly. They started to get up, and Scarlet divided them into teams.

"By the way, could someone tell me what function rooms are? I asked.

Peter spoke up. "Function rooms are where we perform as artists. They differ to suit the needs of our clients. We have two rooms, which are dungeons for the ones who are looking for a bit of BDSM. Those are presided over by Master Max and Mistress Cynthia," he said, gesturing to the two midgets. "The medical examination room is our clinique and the domain of Doctor Anne. The other rooms are the cheerleader's room, the jock's bedroom, the massage room, the prison cell and so on."

"I see. Peter, stay here with me in case I have more questions."

"You keeping an eye on me, Stan?"

"You will have to gain my trust, Peter. I am not sure that Scarlet is not thinking about you with her gonads.

"You referred to Master Max and Mistress Cynthia presiding over the dungeons. Were you kidding me?"

"No, of course not. They are very highly regarded in their field. They have clients who travel from all over the world seeking their services."

"Interesting. I always imagined BDSM Masters as tall, athletic, and wearing a goatee and Mistresses as tall and resembling Morticia from the Adams family in latex and thigh-high boots."

"Think a little, Stan. Submissives who are into that kink thrive on being humiliated. So imagine the humiliation if you were the President of a major company and were ordered to place yourself across the lap of a Master or Mistress to be spanked, and that Master was half your height. Would you feel humiliated?"

"I see what you mean. Surrendering to someone like that would be humiliating."

"Then imagine if you were fucked by him. His cock is over ten inches long and proportionally thick. While Mistress Cynthia can edge a man or woman for hours on end till they beg and scream to be permitted to cum. BDSM is not about pain. It is about giving up control to a Master or Mistress who can do whatever they want to you for your ultimate sexual pleasure."

"If they have that clientele, they must be raking in millions yearly."

"Stan, we artists are on salary. Our mission is to satisfy the needs of our clients. We have very nice apartments on the third floor; excellent food and full medical and pension benefits are served here. Scarlet takes pride in providing the finest service, so she needs to have a very talented staff."

"I now know that Molly is your daughter. What is her talent?"

"I wouldn't know. She is not one of the artists."

"She isn't?"

"No. Molly is doing a graduate degree in psychology at the university. The thesis, which she is working on, is on deviant sexual behavior. She seems very taken by you, Stan. Treat her gently if you get involved with her, or I will make your life a living hell."

"OK. Let's go back to work. Where were you when the theft took place?"

"I was with a client in the jock's room and had just come out of the shower when I heard the commotion outside the room."

"Was the woman you were with present at all times?"

"I was not with a woman."

"Who were you with?"

"Stan, we don't discuss our clients, but I guess these are extraordinary circumstances. I was with the Cardinal."

"You were doing the Cardinal?" I exclaimed. "I thought you were married to Scarlet. Are you gay?"

"No. I am bisexual, as is Scarlet. I can swing both ways. However, I prefer women. The Cardinal chooses me as I remind him of the priest who first sodomized him when he was a young man in the seminary."

"Did he shower with you?"

"No, when I went into the shower, he was passed out on the bed, and when I came out, he was still passed out in the same position I had left him in."

"OK, let's take a look at the exit tapes."

Peter set up the projector, and we sat and watched the reels of the people entering and leaving the house. All the people I saw entering were casually dressed, both women and men, and all looked quite good. No one carried tapes under their arms; only one man had a briefcase.

"Who's that?" I asked Peter.

"Mr. Mandingo. He is a diplomat at the UN from an African country."

"That's a possibility," I said.

As we finished watching the tapes, the artists began returning. From their crestfallen looks, it seemed no one had found the recordings.

"Scarlet, I will need a chalkboard. Is there one available?"

"Sure. Peter, honey, can you drag out the one in the storage room? Stan, this is the list of all the clients who were in the house during the theft," she said, handing me a typewritten list of names.

The list had twenty names. As I scanned the names, my jaw dropped. This was the who's who of the city's rich and famous. It included sports figures, politicians, the police chief, actors and celebrities whose names were known to anyone who read the tabloids.

"Do you now see why those tapes must be retrieved, Stan? If they were publicized, many people would get hurt, and I would be ruined."

"But why me? With the head cop on the list, you could have all the innumerable detectives on the force on this case."

"Use your head; the clients have no idea they are taped for their safety and that of my artists. They would find the tapes, and I would never have another client walk into my house."

Peter returned, dragging the blackboard, and I asked him to draw the floor plan for each floor on it.

"Bertha, at approximately what time were you knocked out?"

"Not approximately, but precisely at 11.00 pm. Walter Cronkite was just about to start."

"You, Dr. Anne, when was Bertha discovered coming back to consciousness ?"

"At 11.20."

"From 10.30 to 11.45, we will plot your location and the locations of your clients on the blackboard,

"Peter, were you in the jock's bed room with the Cardinal during that period?"

"We were there from about 10.00 to shortly after 11.00, after which he left, and I came down to the first floor."

"Great, mark your location and times on the board."

"Scarlet, how about you?"

"I was in my office during that period with my wayward child Molly, having a vigorous discussion about her morality and ethics."

"Dr. Anne, how about you?"

"I was in the clinique with Mrs. Davenport conducting a thorough gynecological and anal exploration from 10.00 till I was summoned to attend to Bertha. My client left immediately after that."

We went around the table and ended up with the blackboard looking like a battle plan for the Napoleonic Wars, with times, dates, and arrows representing the movement of the artists and their clients.

I reviewed the exit tapes, and the times coincided with what the artists told me.

After reflecting for a few minutes, I turned to the group and said, "The person who absconded with the tapes was a woman or a poltergeist."

"Stan, not only are you dumb, but you're an idiot," When Scarlet said that, the rest of the assembly chuckled.

"Hear me out. We have ascertained that each of your so-called guests was in one of your artists' company before and after the theft. Right?"

It would have been impossible for any man to have carried the tapes out without being caught on the entrance video except for Mr. Mandingo. We can exclude him as he was supposedly on the first floor playing pinochle with Juicy Lucy, a Mr. Fast, and I'm sorry, I don't have all your names yet. You over there."

"My name is Belinda, handsome."

"And Belinda. So that leaves us with someone who could conceal the tapes under her skirt or coat or whatever."

"Now, as to the poltergeist. Each client was with an artist during the presumed time sequence. Nobody was seen roaming the corridors or ascending to the attic. That argues that an invisible man, a teleport, or a poltergeist knocked out Bertha and stole the tapes.

"Of course, there is one other possibility: one of the artists is in cahoots with a client and is lying to us about where they were and what took place in the time interval we are reviewing."

With my hands on my hips, I glared at them, and they glared back at me.

"In any case, I am tired and am going home to sleep. I will return in the morning when my brain is less fuzzy."

"No, you're not," Molly said.

"You're coming up to the third floor, and you can share my bed."

"I am?"

"No way," interjected Scarlet. "He does not get rewarded until he solves the case."

"Mother, don't stand between me and the man I have decided to marry. If you are a good girl, I will lend him to you at some point in the future."

I stood there, bemused, while the two women glared at each other. Finally, my tongue untied, and I said, "I'm going to what?"

"You and I are going to get married. You're cute and funny, and you obviously need a keeper. That would be me. Of course, if you don't want to marry me, it will confirm your stupidity, and you can go on your solitary way."

Molly stood up possessively, took my hand, and dragged me out of the room and up the stairs to her apartment on the third floor.

She wrapped her arms around my neck when the apartment door closed behind us. The resulting kiss made me see stars as our tongues undertook a voyage of exploration, and we became intimately acquainted with each other's mouths.

We made our way to her bedroom, leaving a trail of clothes behind us. She pushed me flat on my back on the bed before crawling on top of me.

"Molly, what was that damned foolishness about wanting to marry me?"

"That was not damned foolishness. Though if you don't want to marry me, I guess it would be OK for us to live in sin, and I will raise our bastard children for you."

"Molly, I am a starving private detective who barely makes ends meet. What do you see in me that makes you think I'd be a good husband and father who can support a family?"

"Well, you like my tits. At least, I think you do. During the whole time downstairs, your eyes never left me, and I love those sad brown eyes. Last but not least, I find you extremely handsome. When you look at me, I become quivery all over.

"As for your financial situation, don't worry. I'm rich."

"You are?"

"Dummy, who will inherit this bordello and all its assets when mommy dear retires?"

"You?"

"Got it in one, super sleuth. Why do you think I'm doing my Master's degree in psychology and especially studying deviant psychology?"

"I can see how that would be an asset in running this joint, but, Molly, I want to be something other than a kept man. I want to contribute."

"Just think how when you are President of your father's bank, which you will undoubtedly inherit, the contacts you would make here could benefit you.

"Now let me freshen up, and I'll be back soon."

I ogled as I admired the back view of her long legs and rounded tush swaying out of the bedroom. Lying there, thinking about what she said, I hit the wall. My eyes closed, and I fell asleep.

I was vaguely conscious when she returned, spooning her body around mine while her hand wrapped itself around my cock and held it possessively. I was so tired I just let myself sink deeper into sleep.

***

The smell of freshly brewed coffee woke me as I felt Molly crawl on the bed.

"Hi, handsome. Rested?"

"Mmmph. Got a toothbrush I can borrow?"

"Use mine. We already have exchanged any infectious diseases which we might have."

"OK. Be right back."

I returned to bed and kissed Molly

"Have you considered my proposal, or was it a proposition?"

"I have."

"And?"

"I agree to either your proposal or your proposition, whichever you decide."

"What made you decide?"

"These," I said, grabbing her tits and pinching her ass. "Also, your smiles, kisses and the fact that you would be a fun partner."

I see," she said. "My convincer was this," she said, stroking my cock. It is very handsome, just as you are.

"However, there is one point I need to clarify: Are you into ornithology, or is it baseball?"

"What? Are you crazy?"

"I'm perfectly sane. I'm curious if you are. All night, you kept muttering the word Cardinal. If you are a St. Louis Cardinal fan, the deal is off, and the same if you intend to build an aviary on the roof."

"I root for the Dodgers, and I know nothing about birds, at least not the type that fly. I must have been sorting for the clients in the house yesterday in my sleep."

"Good, just stay in bed and have your coffee. I will go and press your pants and try to get rid of some of the stains on your jacket so that you will be presentable when you ask my dad for my hand in marriage. There is a copy of the Daily News beside your coffee, as I don't think you are the type that reads the Times."

I watched her glide out of the room with love-struck eyes before reaching for the coffee and the tabloid.

The second page had an article about the Cardinal. He was initiating a new morality campaign to rid the city of hookers, pimps and other riffraff and was appealing to the well-to-do to obtain support and financing.

'Damn hypocrite,' was the first thought that went through my mind.

At that moment, it was as if a baseball bat hit me on the head. My intuitions often have that effect.

Clad only in my boxers, I rushed to the hallway and yelled, "Peter! Peter, I need you now."

Doors opened up and down the corridor, and heads peered at me as if they suspected I was crazy.

"Peter emerged from the apartment next door, followed by Lady Scarlet. "What's up, old boy?" he asked.

"In here now," I ordered, gesturing to Molly's living room.

"Peter, I need to clarify something. How long were you in the shower after your session with the Cardinal?"

"I shaved, shampooed, and cleaned myself thoroughly so that I would estimate about fifteen minutes."

"When you came out, was he still in Morpheus's arms?"

"Yes. He came to about five minutes later."

"And you're sure he had not moved during that time?"

"Not a muscle. He was in the exact position I had left him in before entering the shower."

OK. I have two more questions. You told me you were in the jock's session room. Where is that relative to the stairs going to the next floor?"

"Right next to them."

"Lastly, what was he wearing?"

"What he usually wears, a cassock, I think it's called."

"Women's clothes," I murmured.

"Peter, I must have been tired but did not see him on the exit videos."

"That's because he only uses the rear VIP entrance."

"It does not explain how he knew about the snoop room. I need to speak to Bertha."

Scarlet went out and returned with Bertha. I had no idea they made pajamas as big as the ones she wore. Her head was still swathed in bandages. I noticed a gold crucifix displayed on her chest, hanging from a gold chain.

"How are you feeling this morning, Bertha?"

"I've had better mornings, but thank you for asking.

"Would you like a cup of coffee?"

"I sure would.

"Bertha, I will ask you more questions now that I think I understand how the theft occurred. Would that be OK?"

"Shoot, son. As soon as I know who hit me on the head, I will arrange for him to sing alto soprano from that moment forward."

"Tell me, how well are you acquainted with the Cardinal?"

"Extremely well. Before I retired as an artist, he was my regular client."

"How about since then?"

"I see him at the cathedral on Sundays, and he is my confessor."

"Tell me, is it possible that you might have told him about the Snoop room in the attic at one point?"

Bertha's complexion turned ghostly white. She looked at me with a pleading look. "Stan, don't tell me it was him."

"Bertha, I highly suspect he was the one."

"Why the miserable, cowardly son of a bitch. That miserable bastard will be missing his testicles and maybe other select tidbits when I'm

through with him."

"You didn't answer my question, Bertha."

"Many years ago, when I was at confession and told him I was retiring as an artist, he asked me what I would be doing. As I was speaking to a man of the church and what is said at confession is a secret between the sinner and the confessor, I explained to him my new duties and how they would keep me out of sin."

Scarlet wailed, "Bertha, how could you?"

"I'm sorry, Scarlet. I am truly sorry. I now see how stupid I was."

"Scarlet," I said, "that's water under the bridge. We now have to concentrate on getting the tapes back."

"What about sending Bertha to see him? I have never seen her this angry. He might be willing to trade one tape for each of his testicles and the third to save his wang from being carved off," Peter suggested.

Molly, who had been leaning against the wall, said, "No. People like him have a martyr complex and would see the mutilation as payment for his sins and as a pathway to heaven. We need something else as a strategy."

"It's a pity we no longer have a copy of the tapes, as I could use them to blackmail him into returning them," I mused.

Peter turned to Scarlet, gave her a look, pointed to the door, and said, "Get them. This is not a time for niceties."

Scarlet returned five minutes later, carrying a heavy bound album.

She placed it on the table and said, "Stan and Molly, this is not the tapes but pictures we have extracted from the tapes. This, too, is one of our tightly guarded secrets. Only Bertha, Peter and I are aware they exist."

"So, do you have pictures of his execrable saintliness in a compromising position?" I asked.

"Let me see. Yes, here are a couple of them."

I leaned over to look at them and burst out laughing. Peter was seen from the side buggering the prelate's fat ass, who was leaning forward with his hands resting on his knees and a look of rapture on his face. Swinging below the Cardinal's chest was what looked like a heavy gilt cross. Peter was looking at the camera lens and thumbing his nose in that direction.

Molly joined me, started with a titter, and slowly became a full belly laugh. Soon, the five of us were almost rolling on the floor with tears streaming from our eyes.

"Perfect. I said. Molly, are my clothes ready? I have to go to the Cathedral to meet with the Cardinal."

"I'm going with you."

"No. You stay here and tell these people about our future situation relationship."

"Coward," she said as I hastened to get dressed.

***

The Cardinal I discovered did not live at the Cathedral. A pleasant young priest directed me next door to the nearby residence.

When I rang the bell, an unctuous clergyman told me the Cardinal was busy and only received by appointment. Putting on my best Sam Spade tough guy look and speaking out of the side of my mouth, I directed him to tell the Cardinal I was here on behalf of Lady Scarlet and ask if he would grant me a minute of his time.

I cooled my heels on the stoop for about ten minutes before I was ushered into the Cardinal's Office.

The same unctuous clergyman parked himself with his back to the door as I crossed the enormous office to sit in front of the Cardinal's desk.

"I am told, my son, that you are here as a messenger from a certain estimable lady I know."

"Cut the bullshit and get rid of that jerk," I said, indicating the priest guarding the door.

"Father O'Malley is my private secretary and is privy to all that happens in this office."

Standing up, I blocked the view from the door, opened the manila envelope I was carrying and showed the five-by-eleven glossy print to the Cardinal. "Is he privy to this, too?"

"Where did you get this?" the Cardinal said, turning a paler shade of white. Father O'Malley, you may go and see that I am not disturbed.

"Young man, I asked you where you got that picture from?"

"Cardinal, you are not in a position to question me. Let me tell you how things stand. We know that you heisted three tapes from what is known as the snoop room at Lady Scarlet's house. You knocked a sweet, innocent woman over the head, almost cracking her skull. I suspect you used that thing dangling from your neck as a bludgeon.

"I also think I know why you did it. You plan to blackmail the men who are pictured on those tapes to help you in your 'new moral campaign' either to obtain their agreement or to fund your movement.

"Let me tell you what I intend to do. Unless I leave your presence with those three reels of tape, my next stop is visiting some friends at the tabloids.

"Now it is obvious they will not print the pictures in their papers. However, I know they love to gossip. By tonight, a large part of the population in the city will be discussing your degeneracy at the supper table.

"I don't care whether you hold your press conference or not. That is your business. However, if your actions harm Lady Scarlet, we will show the pictures to as many people as possible. So now it's your move."

***

I returned to the house with the three tapes in a briefcase I had borrowed from his unctuousness himself. I arrived as everyone was having lunch. Entering the dining room, I deposited the briefcase on the table. Scarlet stared at it for a few seconds. She then looked at me with a pleading look. I smiled and nodded as I opened the briefcase to show her the contents.

She screeched, jumped up, and ran to me, where she proceeded to show me where her daughter had inherited her talents as a kisser.

When she finally released me, I turned to look at Molly sheepishly. "Have you told them?" I asked.

"Yes. However, you know about mothers-in-law. No matter how much you train them, making them behave is hard."

I turned to Lady Scarlet and said, "Scarlet, I want you to consider Molly's payment for my services to have acquitted your debt. Her payment has yet to be made, but I intend to collect it now."

I went over to Molly, hoisted her over my shoulder, and carried her to her apartment to collect the just rewards for my labors.

© 2024 ChrisM

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