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NOEL by Christopher Leeson Copyright 1996 Revised 11/99 Lee "Dandyman" Scarp studied the fat man across the table like his life depended on it -- and maybe it did. Somebody'd squealed; Guido Gurina, the boss of Kansas City's rackets, had found out that some of Scarp's boy were dealing in joy powder -- and so now here was Gurina's underboss, "Joe Jelly" Madagino, wanting to "talk." But ever since the obese mobster had opened his mouth Scarp had mostly just sat and listened. "If you deal, you die," Joe was saying. A simple rule, that; Guido Gurina liked simple rules. Numbers were okay, juice, too. Hijacking, gambling, labor extortion -- that was just business. But drugs made the soldiers too rich too quickly -- and a man with money in the bank is a man "without respect," as the old men put it. Worse, too many of the mugs dealing in hocus started using it themselves, which made for even worse problems. "Your boys who've done this," the fat man said in the patois of the Italian ghetto, "they're dead men, right." Scarp knew that was a statement, not a question. "Right, Mr. Madagino," nodded the young capo, his mien as cold as the ice floating in his water glass. Scarp had an accent, too, but it was the dialect of Kansas City's roughneck neighborhoods, the lingo of the gin joints and pool halls, not Sicily. "You'll give them up, then? Just like that? No lip, trouble?" Joe Jelly was asking, his watery eyes narrow and suspicious. "They knew the rule." Joe nodded. "You are being reasonable. Good. You will take care of it yourself." Again, Joe wasn't asking, he was telling. "I'll take care of my own business," Scarp promised. "You can count on it." "Benny, he is your cousin, I know. It is hard to kill family." Scarp bit his thumb, an old world gesture that the old Eyties still used. "If he's done wrong, if he's broken the rules, I'll kill him myself." "You are one mean son of a bitch, Dandyman," Madagino laughed, his soft, gelatinous body jiggling repulsively as he mimicked the clipped speech of the younger men. Scarp would have promised the underboss anything just then, but his mind was already racing ahead to the day when he would have to take out the fat man, and Guido, too. Even before this crisis the don had only been waiting for the right moment to ice them. Earlier on, it might have been tricky finding a man with the motivation to do it, but not now. Cousin Benny and his pals in dope would be glad to handle the job; they'd better be, if they wanted to live. "Ughh!" grunted the fat man, gripping his spare tire with both hands. "Indigestion, sir?" Scarp asked politely. "Si!" laughed Joe Jelly, "I feel like I've been poisoned. Maybe we should hit Strollo!" Scarp laughed, too. "That would be a shame. The old man makes the best ravioli in Kansas City." Madagino heaved his bulk up from his bench. "I got to take a crap!" he muttered. "I will be right back." Scarp was left sitting alone at the table; he glanced absently across the room. The Christmas decorations were up -- big phony candy canes and rubber holly. Of more interest to the gangster was the cute number sitting at a corner table holding hands with a pasty-faced accountant type. Normally Scarp would have been over there in a flash, pushing the maggot out the door and muscling in on the frail, but this was not a night for fun and games. There were funerals to think about. He lit a cigarette and took a deep drag. Lee Scarp, born Leon Scarpatto, was an up and comer in the Midwest; everyone knew it and all the smart guys were watching him. He'd been giving Guido a case of the creeps -- and that was why the old man was riding him so hard lately. No soldier since Bugsy Siegel had risen to capo as quickly as Scarp. -- And why not? Scarp was at the top of his game, quick to see the smart dodges -- like the murder for hire, like the narcotics. It was just too bad if Guido Gurina had rules that got in the way, because Scarp had rules of his own, and rule number one was that you don't get into Scarp's way with any of your rules. Not even a Guido Gurina got a pass from the future boss of Kansas City -- not for long, anyway. The mobster idly studied the ruby sheen of his wine glass and the reflection of the tacky chandelier that looked, incongruously under the circumstances, like the Star of Bethlehem. He took that for a lucky sign, an omen that he was following his own star. He had ambition, Scarp did, and he'd been cutting deals -- big sweet deals -- with the top bosses in some of the most powerful families as far away as Detroit. If he took out Guido and his lieutenant now, the Kansas City territory would fall into his lap. It wouldn't be war; this was 1947, not 1929. The other families knew that Scarp had brains and the guts to always deliver the goods he promised; they'd accommodate him. But war or not, now that Gurina had thrown down the gauntlet Scarp had to move Jim quick to take over the whole territory himself before he got whacked. There was no way he could tap- dance around the drug scam for very long, not even if he let his lieutenants take the fall for the present. Rule or ruin, that was the ante in every deal that Lee Scarp played. Lee glanced up at the red and green reflections in the polished brass picture frame on the wall. In it, the owner, Strollo, had put his son's Purple Heart on display. The gangster smirked; the boy had gone to Tunisia and all he had to show for his heroics was a badge on his chest and a wheelchair under his ass. Scarp had spent the war years in combat, too, but he'd waged his war right here in Kansas City. The war "over there" had been for saps and the Purple Heart was a laugh anyway. It only meant that the younger Strollo had schmucked into a hail of shrapnel -- and that was just plain stupid. What were American- Italians doing fighting with Italian-Italians for some frigging piece of Africa anyway? It would have made more sense to pin medals on those smart boys who fragged officers for trying to send them into the meat grinder; those were the guys who were going to be somebody when the dust settled. Just then two beefy men slouched in from 27th and Scarp, glancing their way, knew them right off -- soldiers from the Caszo family. Strollo's was popular with the mob, but, even so, he wondered whether the top-flight cuisine was the only thing that had brought the two bumpmen to this end of town. "Georgio, Mike. What's up?" Scarp asked coolly, carefully watching their hard, prison-pale faces. They remained quiet as they moved closer and separated a little. A kind of bell went off in the capo's head and his glance danced around looking for a bolthole. "What's up is the payoff, Dandyman," grunted Mike as both men drew their revolvers. As quick as lightning Scarp went for his own piece, but not quick enough. The steel-jacketed slugs tore into his chest like air-hammer-driven railroad spikes -- and then things went dark. The perforated gangster fell face-first into his platter of ravioli, but the guns kept roaring. The Terrible Two had the balls to finish any work they started. Then, their chambers empty, the pair pocketed their heaters and tramped nonchalantly out the restaurant door as silently as they had entered. The help and diners, frozen in place while the bullets were flying, gave vent to their panic as soon as the killers were out of sight. One of them with some presence of mind yelled, "Let's get out of here before the police come!" Nobody wanted to be a court witness for a mob shooting and so the customers gushed into the street like blood from a hemorrhaging wound. Llikewise, the staff disappeared into the kitchen -- where they would claim to have been all along. Joe Jelly waddled out of the men's room just then and plucked his sweat- stained fedora from the rack. He only once looked back, as if in afterthought, to sneer at the man whose Judas he had been. "Nice Christmas present, huh, Dandyman? The color suits you. -- And it's seasonal!" His puffy face twisted with satisfaction as the underboss waddled out into the street. # Scarp's head began to clear and he realized that his nose was stuffed with ravioli. Cursing, the coughing, snorting gangster pushed himself up from the table with both hands and cleared his eyes with his cuffs. For a few seconds he couldn't remember where he was; the room was dark with just the light from the street lamps outside and the Christmas bulbs up on the walls. Then, with a jolt, his hands went flying to his chest where, to his surprise, he found no wounds, nor even a trace of blood. Scarp fell back against the bench. "What in hell is going on?" he muttered half-audibly. "You look a sight, Lee," someone said. "Here, let me help you out." A woman's voice; Scarp turned sharply and saw a svelte silhouette in the faint tungsten glow. Jumpy, his hand groped for the .38 on the floor. "Are you going to drill me for drawing a napkin on you, tough guy?" the shadowy woman asked with an ironic lilt and not a trace of fear. "Who are you?" Scarp demanded. "Come out where I can see you!" She stepped closer and pressed the button of a wall lamp. The sixty-watt bulb made the silver sequin on her dress shimmer like neon. She looked about twenty-five -- tall, slim, with cleavage like the Grand Canyon. Her hair was long and dark, but Scarp's gaze was drawn to the neckline of her slit-to-the-hip evening dress; she couldn't have shown off much more without attracting the censure of the precinct boys. Looking up at the woman's face again, Scarp noted her ruby lipstick and green eye shadow with approval. "What are you, babe, a torch singer?" Standing above him, she bent slightly to wipe his sauce-smeared face. "I can be," she said, "if you really want a torch singer." The gangster jerked his head back and snatched the cloth from her hand. As he mopped his own face, he growled, "Cut the comedy, sister. Who in hell are you anyway?" Her blue eyes glittered, as if he had just said something either hilarious or stupid. "Let's just say that I'm the best thing that ever happened to you, Lee Scarp." Then she added, "By the way, we're not in Hell." The mobster stood up suspiciously. "You look sort of familiar -- and you talk familiar, too. Do I know you?" The young woman tossed her head back. "You can call me Noel." "Noel, huh? You don't look like anything I ever found under my Christmas tree." "Maybe I was there but you just didn't notice," she replied with a sly smile. But the gangster had more important things on his mind than a woman, no matter how chesty. "I've got to get back to my own digs, doll," Scarp rumbled, stepping out of the booth. "When Joe Jelly figures out that his boys missed, my life won't be worth a whore's piss." The woman just stood there, one hand resting upon her hip and the other upon her cheek. There was that smile again. "Now how do you suppose a couple of top torpedoes like Mike and Georgio missed at that range?" It surprised Scarp that the unknown dame knew those names. "Fuck, I don't know how! Those bums were the best. -- Where do you know them from?" She shrugged her ivory shoulders. "I know a lot of people -- but there's no use chewing the fat in this dump, Lee; I can take you anywhere you want to go." Now Scarp noticed something wrong; there were no people. The restaurant was empty, 27th deserted. There should have at least been a cop? Any penny- ante shooting drew flatheads like horse apples drew flies. Suddenly the sharp-eyed gangster spied motion in the big wall mirror -- two people, a man and a woman, were watching from behind. Even before Scarp could look over his shoulder, the eavesdroppers had ducked out of sight, vanishing down the aisle that led to Strollo's kitchen. "There's somebody back there!" the capo blurted, not sure if it was important or not. Probably it was only the restaurant help. "Anyone with you?" "Not a soul." Noel had given the last word that same teasing accent of hers. Scarp sized her up again, not liking her attitude; she acted like she knew something that he didn't. "Don't worry about it, Lover," the brunette went on. "There's lots of people around, if you know where to look." Without another word the woman walked -- slinked -- up close to the mirror, and there she paused to take a compact from her purse. While she fussed with her lipstick the mobster stepped up behind her. "Dames and their make-up," Scarp scoffed. She looked up and took in his reflection with a tight little smile. "Like what you see, tough guy?" "What if I do?" "Since we'll be shacking up for a long time, I decided I'd have to look like the girl of your dreams. -- That's why you think I look familiar; nice touch, huh?" "What do you know about my dreams?" When she didn't answer immediately he grabbed her shoulders and turned her around. "And who says we're going to shack up? I decide those things -- get it?" She met his glare without a trace of uneasiness. "Let's go for a drive, hon. We've got a lot to talk about." "Like what, for instance?" Noel pointed to the table where Scarp had been sitting. "Like that, Dandyman." The bullet-riddled corpse of Lee Scarp still lay face-down in a platter of Italian food. One couldn't tell where the catsup stopped and the blood began. # In his state, Scarp didn't make much protest as Noel led him to the asphalt lot behind the restaurant and held open the door to the passenger's side for him. In his bewildered state of mind he didn't even notice that the December weather had yielded to a June-like mildness. A couple minutes later the woman was speeding him through the empty streets of Kansas City in her Ford convertible. "Where are we going?" "Your place." He looked around; seeing a main drag like Gilham Road this empty was spooky. "Where are all the people?" "Do you really want people?" Noel asked. "Yeh, I want people!" The glare of headlights up ahead dazzled Scarp for just an instant and when his eyes cleared the streets were full of cars, the sidewalks burgeoned with pedestrians. "What you ask for, you get. But I never figured you for a people sort of person," Noel remarked lightly. He didn't answer. After all the woman had told him, his mind was caroming like a pool ball. Before he realized it, Noel had pulled over to the curb. To Scarp's surprise, "his place" really was his place, the Hotel Addison where he'd been living ever since he'd hit the big time and moved uptown; even the Christmas lights in the lobby were the same. But there were differences that he noticed straight off. He'd always had a couple of his boys hanging around the foyer, watching the traffic in and out, but everyone in the lobby now was a stranger, even the clerk at the desk. Things just weren't adding up and, dazed, the don let Noel escort him into the elevator like a somnambulist. Once up in his apartment, Scarp cased it anxiously; nothing looked out of place. "You bitch! You told me I was dead. -- If I'm dead and this is Hell, what's my apartment doing here?" "I said it's Purgatory, not Hell," Noel corrected him amiably. "A good Italian boy like you should know the difference. As for this apartment, it's not really the one you knew. -- It's just your idea of what your old apartment was like. That's how this place works; you want it, you get it." "Purgatory, huh? Things haven't looked that bad so far. When's the rough stuff start?" Noel shook her head. "Why do you think there should be rough stuff?" The man grabbed her by the chin and squeezed hard enough to hurt her jawbone. "Listen, bimbo -- don't talk to me like I'm stupid or something. If you won't tell me what I want to know, get the fuck out of here before I paste you!" "I've got no problem," Noel replied without batting an eye. "What do you want to know?" He let her go without grace and she stepped back rubbing her chin. "Who are you? What's your angle?" he growled. "I used to be someone just like you, Dandyman," she answered, "But I've been here a long time -- too long. My angle is that I want out -- and there's only one way for me to get out." "How? By finding some sucker like me to take your place?" "No. It's a lot harder than that. I've got to clean up my act." "What are you talking about?" "I used to throw my weight around; I was out for Number One. I thought I was smart, but I only found out after I got here that there were a few things I didn't know." "Like?" "Like when I hurt other people I was only hurting myself. -- I also figured out that people who help other people are actually doing more for themselves than for anybody else. It's taken me a long time to get where I am now, and I'm sure as hell not turning back before I go all the way." "You're going to join the Salvation Army or something?" "No, Lee, I'm going to be your girl Friday. You can use me. I know the ropes. I'm going to take care of you. You're the only chance I've got, so I'm going to give you the royal treatment." "How can you take care of me?" the capo sneered. "I can get you anything you need. Food, recreation, women. Anything. Getting what you want is my job -- it's what I do from now on." "Just so you can bust out of this joint?" "That's one reason." "If you're pressing so much weight around here, why play waitress? Why not just put up your feet, let other schmoes do the hustling, and live a little?" "Doing that would keep me here forever, and I don't want to stay, Lee." "You said this wasn't Hell." "Purgatory is a little like Heaven and a little like Hell." "Yeh? Which comes first?" "That will always be up to you, because you're finally the big man, the top boss for just as long as you want. Nobody from the mayor down to the garbage collector is ever going to try to gainsay you -- unless you want him to." "Why would I want some ginzo to get in my way?" "For variety." "Fuck variety!" he snapped, thinking that the dame had to be crazy. But, mulling it over, most of what she'd been telling him actually sounded pretty good -- if the skirt was on the level, that is. "What you're describing has got to be Heaven, babe." "There's a difference, believe me." He arched his neck. "I don't like that smart aleck attitude of yours, Gams. Who are you, really? Satan?" Noel laughed. "You're the closest thing to Satan that's ever going to sneak up on either one of us in Purgatory, Lee. Like I said, I used to be mortal; I was sent here like you, to get educated. I've learned my McGuffey and now I've been bumped up to be a kind of trustee -- like in prison. You remember State Pen, don't you, Dandyman?" "I remember. But get this straight, Gams: The only reason I'm letting you hang around is because you look like a good fuck. Is fucking part of your job description?" "It is, if you say so." "Oh, baby, I do. You're built like a brick shithouse." She gave a short, soft laugh. "You really know how to flatter a girl." "There's no percentage in flattery, toots. Now, either get out of that dress, or make tracks for the exit." "Maybe I'll do both," Noel came back with a fluttering wave of her red- painted nails. "Ciao!" To Scarp's surprise, the brunette then sashayed out the door and shut it behind her. Then he heard her stiletto heels clicking on the vanished oak of the stairwell. The mobster snorted contemptuously; she had left too soon -- there was still a whole lot he didn't know. Also, he really had wanted to hump her. Left alone in his familiar apartment, all the talk about death and Purgatory began to sound nuts; Scarp had stopped believing in either Heaven or Hell about fifteen seconds after leaving the orphanage. But if they did exist, he wondered what a guy had to do to go to Hell more than Scarp had already done in spades? Well, he considered, maybe the Boss of Bosses, the Big Guy who ran this territory, was good people like the ones he'd known _ not the goody-goody that the priests said He was. Maybe He respected a man who could handle himself, one who could go to the top against the odds. So what if Scarp had killed some dozen or two mugs along the way? They'd deserved it; maybe he'd just been God's avenger. -- And, besides, if no one ever really died, what did it matter who you killed on earth? Having satisfied himself that he had this Purgatory setup figured out, Scarp next wondered how was he going to make the most out of what had happened to him. But what, exactly, had happened to him? ******** Chapter 2 It didn't take long, though, for Scarp to begin to wonder if he wasn't still alive, hallucinating in some hospital emergency room with a bullet in his brain. "Are you just going to stand out there all night, Lover Boy?" a woman called from the bedroom. Surprised, Scarp spun toward the door. Who could be on the other side? Annette? No, it didn't sound like her! The don drew his .38, took shelter behind the wall, and pushed the door in with his heel. No reaction; he took a quick glance inside, then sucked in his breath; Noel was in bed, naked except for a pair of lace panties. "How did you do that?!" he demanded, stepping into the room. "The bedroom doesn't have a fire escape." "You ain't seen nothing yet, tough guy," she promised with a wink. "I'm the genie and you're the man holding the bottle. -- I'd figured you'd get around to wishing me naked, so I saved you the trouble." Scarp got hold of himself; it was just a magician's stunt, that's all. Hell, he'd seen a lot better in lounge acts. Lowering his gun slightly, the gangster advanced toward her. "Speaking of bottles --" she remarked just as a bottle and two long- stemmed glasses appeared on a silver tray. Scarp froze in his tracks. If this was a stage trick, it was a damned good one; she hadn't even used smoke or a silk scarf. Noel filled two glasses with champagne and Scarp, sitting down on the edge of the bed, reached for one of them. He felt the cold, solid reality of the brimming crystal against his flesh. "I don't believe what I'm seeing. Maybe I am dead." "I could get to like this," said the brunette. "What? Me dead?" "No. Having someone who needs me." "You're screwy! Why go giddy just because you get to serve drinks like some fucking maid in a cathouse?!" "I've been a maid in a cathouse. -- in fact, I've done a lot of things to get where I am!" Noel lifted her glass in a pretended toast. When her host remained morose and unresponsive she shrugged and took a sip. "Get that glass out of your face," Scarp ordered abruptly. Noel obeyed and Scarp immediately grabbed her, kissing her hard on the mouth. When he eased up, she gently pushed him back. "You might not like doing it with me." "Why not? Are you frigid?" She sent him another of her bold looks. "Mister, I can come like a satchel charge." "So?" "So since when did Lee Scarp have eyes for my kind of woman?" "What kind of woman are you?" "A woman who you can't hurt or scare. I'm no frail, Lee; you have to understand that about me, or you won't understand anything at all. If you actually do want a frail, no sweat. I can find you plenty of frails." "I'll get to them, Gams, don't worry. But right now what I need is a genie." "I don't have to guess what your wish is," she remarked as she slid her panties down below her ankles and flipped them away with her toe. Scarp liked what he saw. Standing up, he likewise stripped to the skin. He was a strong, lean, hard-bodied man who worked out in the gym a lot. He'd been worried about becoming a tub of lard like most of the big boys -- Joe Jelly, for instance. Then he reached out and touched Noel's breast like a shopper checking out a ripe tomato; it felt damned ripe -- firm enough but soft enough, too. "Let's make it a real party," he said as he plucked the bottle from the tray and poured some of its contents over his cock and balls. "Now why don't you just lick it off?" Scarp suggested once his libation was made. "You've got style, Dandyman." "Only my friends call me Dandyman." "I'd be your friend." "I don't need friends." "Well, you've got one now, whether you like it or not." He scoffed. "Friendship just means you want something." She shook her head. "If that's what you think, don't ever give me anything you don't want to." "You can count on that! What kind of friend are you? You told me you're only doing a job because you want to get sprung. -- Okay, so do your job!" He took a handful of her black hair and pulled her nearer. "Start sucking, babe, and don't stop till I say so! _ And do it like a whore." Noel looked up into his face, amused, but somehow pensive at the same time. "I do whore very well," she assured him. This broad was a cool one, that was for sure, Scarp thought. Who was she really? She had offered to procure girls for him; had she been a madam back on earth? Most madams started out as noks themselves -- maybe that was how she had gotten into Purgatory. Bad girl, he chuckled silently, breathing in her florid perfume, anticipating the warm, wet feel of her mouth. Good thing she didn't seem to be a vegetarian. Noel grasped the base of his straining penis between her fingers and, holding his tool securely, began licking the long, blood-engorged shaft. She kept at it a while and Scarp felt his balls begin to stir. Everything about Noel gave him a hard-on; whoever had sent her his way sure knew what he wanted in a woman. -- But that was also what set him on edge; he couldn't let any broad get more of him than his cock, no matter what. "It's time for more bubbly," he finally growled. Noel pulled backed a little, allowing Scarp to re-anoint his cock and balls. "This time get it all; I hate feeling sticky." Compliant, Noel licked off Scarp's scrotum and then, taking hold of his doused penis with a thumb and forefinger, ovaled her lips and engulfed him utterly, sliding his rampant erection down her throat like a sword-swallower. Scarp gasped; it was a technique that he had only lucked upon a couple times before. Women were only good for cock-sucking, he'd always said, and most of them weren't even good for that. This dame was something special and he again had to remind himself to watch her carefully. Noel began sliding his prick in and out of her warm mouth; he let her keep at it as long as he dared. "Cut it out!" muttered Scarp at last. "I don't want to shoot the works without the payoff." Noel eased back and Scarp pushed her down flat-backed, flinging her knees apart. Moving himself into position, Scarp casually guided his cock to its dock, at which point he shoved his hips forward determinedly, driving himself into the warmth of her body. It felt fine and the gangster pumped a few times until he found his stride, then fell into a natural rhythm of long, piston-like strokes. Noel, by no means willing to play it passive, timed her own counter-thrusts to his tempo. It felt just too good; as much as Scarp wanted to make the fun last, the woman's mouth had already put him on a hair trigger. Unable to hold back, he yelled as a shudder ripped through him and a jet of hot sperm anointed into her pussy. Noel went up like a skyrocket, too. The mobster had to admit that she really could come like a satchel charge. Scarp pulled away, not tired, but needing something to drink. Once he'd downed another glass of champagne, the mobster felt like he was ready to fuck like sixty all over again. The capo tossed the empty crystal away and it shattered on the wall. "Fresh glass, genie!" he ordered, enjoying having a woman like that at his beck and call. In another wink, the new glass came to be. "I'm going to like this place," Scarp chuckled. # As Scarp dressed, Noel watched from a chair. "I can see why they call you the Dandyman," she observed suddenly. "When I was a kid," the gangster reminisced, "I wore whatever rags the parish got in donation and didn't have a nickel to my name. I'd still rather have ritzy clothes than a broad. "-- Well, doll, what do you do for kicks around this burg?" Scarp had already asked about some of his old chums -- the "good people" who had already "gone over" -- usually riddled with bullets. Noel had had to nix that; nobody he knew was around, she'd said. Every man had his own private Purgatory. "But we can get people to impersonate your old pals," Noel suggested off- handedly. "You're kidding?" "No, I'm not." "Actors?" "No, just people who want to help you." "Why use strangers? I want the real thing!" "Come on, Lee, do you really suppose that any of your chums would want to go back to playing second banana to you now that they've got territories of their own?" "No, they wouldn't," Scarp agreed reluctantly. "-- But, hey, Gams," he pressed, "can't you pull some strings and get the S.O.B.'s over here whether they like it or not?" She shook her head. "I'm a trustee, Lee, not God Almighty." Scarp didn't like the idea of having any kind of limits at all. It seemed to contradict the whole notion that he could have "anything." "Well," he asked irritably, "are you going to recommend a nightspot or not?" "How about a casino? Duke's." Duke's was a hangout that Scarp knew well -- Gurina family business. "Duke's here? Hah! I always said that that joint was going to Hell!" "You can have anything, go anyplace," she reminded him. "I could take you to the Taj Mahal if you wanted." "Don't like Indian booze," Scarp quipped. "Let's just check out Duke's." Of a sudden he frowned, bothered by second thoughts. "The only thing is, that place is like a snake -- shiny but dangerous. I feel kind of naked going in without my backups." "We could get you some trigger men, but why bother? Nobody here wants to hurt you, Lee, unless you want them to." "There you go again, you nutty broad! -- Why the fuck do you suppose that I'd want to get bumped off?" "You can't be bumped off because you're already dead. Besides, there's no percentage in causing you trouble; the people here can't get ahead unless they make you happy. You're very important to everybody." Scarp understood self-interest, but why should he believe everything this babe told him? After all, he'd gotten where he was by not trusting anybody. "Let's go, Gams," he said finally. A limo met them in front of the hotel and breezed them along Prospect to Duke's. Despite his gag about Duke's going to Hell, the club had always had "class" -- more like a posh restaurant than an illegal gambling house. There were blackjack tables, craps pits, and roulette wheels -- everything high-stakes and all crowded with the uptown set. Scarp noticed that the men looked like top-draw players, and the women were all fancy-dressed -- like models or hired escorts. Busy, short-skirted cocktail waitresses catered drinks and cigarettes, but there was such an overflow of feminine pulchritude that night that it took him a couple minutes to get around to ogling the hired help as much as they deserved. Then Scarp remembered what Noel had told him. "These bums aren't for real?" he asked with a scowl. "They're all faking it?" "That's right." "I don't get it. How can anyone expect to earn a ticket to the Pearly Gates by shooting the works in a creep joint? By pushing hooch to stewbums?" "This is the world you made, Lee, the world you want to live in. The day you want Sunday school classes and church ladies, you'll get Sunday school classes and church ladies." "I got a bellyful of Sunday school back at the orphanage, Dollface." He could have said a couple things about church ladies, but didn't bother. "Sunday school must have done you some good, Dandyman. You gave that parish a lot of dough over the last twenty years." "Nobody knew that!" Scarp snapped. "I know it, and the Big Boss knows it." "You guys are worse than the feds! Just don't get any wrong ideas about me, Gams. -- What I did doesn't count; I just wanted those kids to have the chance I never had." "You're getting your chance now." "Here's order number two, genie: Button your lip!" Noel sighed. Scarp spent a couple minutes looking around the casino, then got the itch to play. "Hey, beautiful," he called back to Noel, "I don't have any scratch on me. What do you do for bread around here?" "Just ask for it." "Ask who?" "Anybody." Scarp liked that idea and made for the cashier's window where he demanded ten thousand dollars in chits, giving nothing in exchange except a snarling, "Make it snappy!" The middle-aged woman on duty piled up several stacks of colored disks and shoved them at him under the bars. Scarp felt good enough just then to toss one ten-dollar chit back to her for a tip. "Thank you, Sir," she said, tapping the rubber disk on the counter as a sign to her supervisor, before dropping it through her tip slot. Scarp was starting to like the city better and better; he elbowed himself up to a crowded blackjack table and pushed an old banker type out of his way. "Hey!" the man protested angrily. But as the codger turned and saw Scarp's sneering face he choked up as if he'd run into a ghost. "What are you looking at, bum?" the mobster growled. "You're face -- uh -- I mean --" Scarp didn't like the duffer's puss either, so he slammed a fist into his pot belly and sent him down like a sack of oatmeal. A floor man barged up just then to calm things down. "Sorry, Mr. Scarp," the casino employee apologized when he recognized the don, "-- the old fart just had a few too many. We'll toss him out for you!" "Yeh, you just do that, buddy," Scarp said through a curled lip. "The kind of people you clowns let into this place!" The gangster turned, feeling good after the exercise, and placed his first bet. The dealer dealt him twenty-one right off. After that, he got twenty-one every deal. In what seemed like no more than an hour Scarp had stacks of thousand dollar chits and a half dozen hero-worshiping showgirls crowding his shoulders cheering him on. It was fun for a while, but finally Scarp stopped paying attention when he caught on that the house was letting him win every hand. If he could have all the money he wanted just by asking for it, if he couldn't lose no matter how recklessly he bet, if the whole damned game was fixed in his favor, it was garbage -- it was like playing for toothpicks. "Having a good time, hon?" Noel now asked, wedging her way carefully between the showgirls. "Shit fuck! I've never been so bored in my life!" "Why, Dandyman? You're winning!" "Winning, hell! The fix is in!" "Don't sweat it, lover," she said encouragingly. "I can get you a little excitement." "Anything's better than this! What do you have in mind?" "Just watch." Suddenly a snooty-looking debutante tapped Scarp on the shoulder. "You're holding up the game, wop! The people they let in here!" The young woman craned. "Where's the manager?" Scarp turned angrily. "Shut your trap, whore!" The woman reacted with shock, then slapped his face -- hard. The big diamond ring on her finger struck his cheekbone like a brass knuckle. "Watch who you're calling a whore, you two-bit gangster! Do you know who my husband is?!" Nobody had dared to talk down to Scarp since he'd been a kid, and the insult of being talked down to stung even worse than the blow with the ring. He would have killed her if she had been a man, but Scarp preferred to treat uppity broads differently. It was always fun to take them down a peg, rub their faces in the dirt. "You sure look like a whore to me," Scarp said, a bright idea coming to mind. "Well, I never!" sniffed the debutante as she picked up her purse and turned away. Scarp grabbed her roughly and spun her around. "Maybe you never, bitch, but you're going to start doing a lot of it! Right, Gams?" "I think I know where you're coming from, tough guy," Noel responded slyly. "Cute idea." Suddenly the offending woman was no longer expensively dressed and coiffured, but instead wore a cheap bar-hopping outfit with yards of cleavage and a tight skirt that ended above the knees. Her hair and make-up was done up to be trashy and provocative without a modicum of class, and her perfume was powerful but of a cheap dime-store variety. The transformed society girl looked incredulously at her clothing. "How did you do this?" she gasped. "I did it with my little genie," said Scarp, "and it suits you to a T. Where's your sugar man?" "Sugar man! You barbarian!" She looked excitedly around, shouting: "Arthur!" "So Arthur's your pimp? Good deal! Give us Arthur, Gams." "I'm right on it, Dandyman." At that instant a big man stomped up in a flashy cocked hat and tasteless suit. His hair was slicked down and he had laid on cologne so thick it would have gagged a honey bee. "Arthur?!" the new-minted streetwalker croaked at the sight of her now- metamorphosed husband. "What are you hanging around here for, bitch!" the pimp snarled. "Did I tell you to start losing my money at the card table?!" The hooker stared incredulously. "You're money? It's mine!" Arthur grabbed her arm and shook her. "What are you saying, bitch?! You've got nothing, get it?! I found you, I made you." He snatched away her purse and took whatever cash he found in it. "Is this all you've got? Come here, floozie, we're going somewhere to talk!" He seized her arm again. "Let go of me!" his captive cried, looking frantically to the security guard. But the employee remained impassive as Arthur dragged his working girl toward the exit. Scarp, laughing, turned to Noel. "Can you keep her that way permanently, doll? I mean, turning tricks on the boulevard, and still remembering who she used to be?" "Anything you want, you get, but do you think it's fair?" "Sure I think it's fair. The bitch deserves it." Noel sighed. "Yes, she does, I suppose, -- but don't we all?" ******* Chapter 3 For the next several months, if it wasn't in fact several years, or several decades, or even several centuries, Lee Scarp enjoyed being a ten-ton gorilla in a world that marched to his personal drum beat. He sloshed down whole warehouses of imported liquor and never got drunk. He punched out strangers, even cops, whenever he felt like it, and every day in every way he did exactly what he wanted to whenever he wanted to do it. And he did it with a vengeance. He was lionized by the staffs of the swankiest restaurants and fawned over by beautiful women -- scores of the latter, even dames he recognized from the films. Whenever the capo eyeballed a jane he liked, he had only to say, "Come on, babe, let's fuck," and she'd slip her hand into his pocket. Purgatory was a satyr's dream; once Scarp took a whole chorus line home with him. He had the energy to jazz every waking hour and never get tired. Or, for variety, he sometimes ordered a couple at random, or even a whole crowd of people, to start screwing while he just sat back and watched. It was like a living stag film anytime, anywhere he wanted one. And it all got to him. It would have gotten to a bronze statue. # The boss of bosses, Guido Gurina, sat across from "Joe Jelly" Madagino, along with the two top bumpmen of Kansas City, Georgio Pizoli and Mike Feinberg. The four men were examining their newly-dealt cards with faces of stone. "Two," Gurina rumbled and Mike peeled him a couple cards off the top of the Bicycle deck. The room was dark, except for a single light bulb above the table, swaying slowly with the vibrations of the East Side traffic. "I woulda given anything to see Scarp lying there," laughed the big boss suddenly. "You shoulda taken a picture, Joe! I'da had it framed!" Gurina had a face like Santa Claus, and a laugh like a rusty hinge. "I wish I had a camera with me," chuckled his porky underboss. "-- One card for me, Mike," he mumbled over his shoulder. The bumpman flipped him a card and he added it to his hand. "You boys did a good job," nodded Gurina, eyeing the hit men. "I take care of good boys." "We know you do," grinned Georgio, tickled to be complimented by the head of the family. Suddenly the door crashed open and a man in a black suit charged in swinging the barrel of a chopper. "I take care of good boys, too!" he sneered. "It's Scarp!" yelled Gurina. "He's alive! Get him!" The poker players grabbed for their automatics, but the assassin cut loose with a deafening chatter and the thugs jumped like minnows under the impact of the bullets. Then they were down, but Gurina was still twitching, apparently the last one left alive. Scarp stood above him just for a few seconds, then emptied his magazine into his face, turning the old man's head into bloody hamburger. As soon as the hit was finished, Noel stepped up behind the killer. "Did that feel good, hon?" she asked cheerily. "It felt good the first fifty times," rasped Scarp, "-- now it's just crap! Can't these bozos change their lines? The same shtick every time. Fuck! -- I'm sick of it! Tell these idiots to get up." "You know the rules, Lee. You'll have to disappear before they can come back to life." "This place has more rules than San Quentin! Shit!" "I suppose it does. -- Well, what should we do for fun next, Dandyman?" "I don't know!" Scarp shouted as he stormed from the room. Noel looked back sympathetically at the slaughtered card players, shook her head, and then closed the door respectfully. # One could never tell how time passed in Purgatory, but it was later. At least it seemed much later, but for all Scarp knew it was the very next day. The mobster had gone out for a night on the town, but instead of enjoying either the cuisine or the chorus line of Club Le Blanc, sat glowering at the tablecloth, oblivious to all. Noel leaned forward with concerned eyes. "Lee, I'm getting worried about you. Every place we've gone lately has been almost empty." "Is that my fault?" "In a way it is. What you want is what you get; have you gotten tired of people already?" "Already? It seems like it's been a million years. Anyhow, they're not real people. Those phonies give me the creeps." "There's nothing phony about them, Lee. They're as real as you or I. Don't you appreciate how hard they're working to make you happy?" "Appreciate? Appreciate what? -- They're zombies! You can shoot them, strangle them, you can cut them in half -- and they just keep coming!" Scarp knew of what he spoke. He'd tried bloody mayhem with every vicious twist of a warped imagination. But murder was like eating bananas; unless you were a nut case, you always reached a point when you felt like barfing at the sight of one more banana. "And something else is funny," he put in. "What?" asked Noel with interest, her elbow on the table and her chin resting upon her hand. "I just realized that since I hit town, I haven't seen daylight once. Isn't there any sun in Purgatory? Is this supposed to be some kind of punishment?" "This isn't about punishment, Lee. Like I told you, what you don't want or don't need, you don't get." "You're always saying that!" Scarp exclaimed. "Do you think I'm some kind of feeb? You've been treating me like a sap since I got here and I'm thinking that maybe I ought to stuff something into that smart mouth of yours." "Did you have anything special in mind, big guy?" she smiled with anticipation. Scarp glared. He could terrify anybody, both before or after he was dead -- except that nothing shook Noel. What did she know that he didn't? How was she able to endure not only Hell with all its boredom, but also his insults and emotional abuse? Just now he felt like beating her head against the wall, but hesitated, knowing that doing so would be wrong, even dangerous. Just then the waiter came over -- a big ugly bald man with large, bushy eyebrows. His repulsiveness gave Scarp an idea. "Would you like dessert now, Mr. Scarp?" the employee asked politely. Noel glanced down at her plastic-coated menu; Scarp pulled it away suddenly and the girl looked up quizzically. "Don't you want me to eat?" she asked. "Oh, you'll eat!" He looked up at the waiter. "I'll order for the lady. Give her some `le prong de creme.'" "I don't follow you, sir," replied the waiter. "That's not on the menu. It is French?" "French is exactly what it is. Get your dick out, stupid." "M-My dick?" the waiter stammered. "Really, sir, I -- " "Do you know me, bum? I run this city. I run you -- just like I run this bimbo here. Capice? The big man looked askance at Noel, but her face was steady, unbothered, and a faint smile curled her lips. "Don't ask for her permission, you piece of crap! You do what I tell you!" "Mr. Scarp is right," Noel said nonchalantly. "It's okay." The man, despite his clear misgivings, unzipped his pants. "Cheer up, punk," Scarp smirked. "Gams has a mouth like a cesspool pump. You'll love it." Noel hung her ermine stole upon an empty chair and asked, "Where do you want us to do it?" "Here. Right in front of everybody." Noel lifted her head and surveyed the practically-empty dining room. "All right," she nodded with a shrug and motioned the waiter closer. He came, reluctantly, and she delicately fished his equipment out of his open fly. Then, with practiced fingers, she began to stroke its length. As the man's cock rose to excited life, Noel opened her mouth and touched her tongue to its quickening head. The club employee steadied himself by grasping her bare shoulders while she commenced licking him like a lollipop. "Now, take his pecker in your mouth, bitch," Scarp ordered. Anticipation had already brought an uncomfortable stiffness to his own crotch. The penis continued to grow with the manipulation of Noel's nimble fingers, the head inflating rapidly, its end becoming pink. Then, slowly, Noel brought the organ to her ripe lips and parted her jaws to receive it. Scarp whistled softly; he'd been in the waiter's place too many times to count and knew exactly what he was feeling. "That's better," the don grinned evilly. "Now the payoff." Compliant and patient, Noel began moving her lips up and down, coloring the hard, thick cock with her lipstick. The waiter moaned and Scarp knew how the stud's balls must be aching. Noel was the only woman whose fucking he'd never gotten tired of, and now his heart pounded so rapidly that he had to fight the urge to take hold of his own rod. But Lee Scarp would never stoop to acting like a pervert in public. "Okay, change positions!" barked the gangster. "Lick her cunt while she sucks you off." The waiter shot the girl a pained glance, but Noel smiled encouragingly. "It's all right," her glance seemed to say. "You're not hurting me." "Crazy broad," thought Scarp. No matter what he did to bring her down, she still had class -- in fact, she was about the classiest broad he'd ever known. But that only made him the more determined to get a rise out of her. Noel and the waiter took their positions on the floor and Noel obligingly slipped off her panties. Then, lifting her skirts, she settled herself astride the man's face. Scarp could read the instant in which the waiter's tongue found her slit because her expression changed -- became like a cat's face when you stroked its belly. Also now, she was leaning forward to take the penis into her hands. "That's it," Scarp said approvingly. "Start sucking." Noel teased the organ, then advanced down its length until her nose was buried in tawny pubic hair. As Scarp watched with gritted teeth, she began bobbing her head up and down, her velvety lips caressed every inch of him. Before long, the waiter's hips began to jerk and her mouth was flooded with a thick, heavy juice. She simultaneously went into spasms as his persistent cunnilingus forced her own rush upon her. Scarp, shivering, swallowed the remainder of his drink with a single gulp. Noel glanced up at him over her shoulder and, sensing that he wanted no more action, sat up, took a napkin from the table, and wiped her mouth. She then offered the cloth to the waiter and he gratefully mopped his entire face with it. Then, finally rising, the bald man zipped his pants. The high-spirited gangster handed his date a glass of sparkling Burgundy. "Wash the gism down with this, baby." Noel accepted the proffered crystal and took a sip. "What now, tough guy?" she asked. "Second course?" The capo stared deeply into her sardonic eyes. If he had wanted to get to Noel where it mattered, he saw no sign that he had succeeded. "Do what you want to do." She reclaimed the menu from the other side of the table and regarded it thoughtfully. "Waiter," she said finally, "I believe I'll have baked Alaska." # "When's Christmas?" Scarp asked one night. Noel looked up from her copy of Horace. "Any time you like." "Fuck! You never give me a straight answer." "I give you nothing but straight answers, Lee. I've tried to explain that there's no time here. -- Or if there is something you can call time, it doesn't run in a straight line like you're used to. It's more like a ball of string; everything touches everything else." "So tomorrow can be Christmas, right?" "Right!" Noel affirmed as she rose smoothly and went to the window. "It's a beautiful night, Lee. It's snowing." "Snowing? It was seventy degrees an hour ago! In fact, it's always seventy degrees." Scarp pushed up from his easy chair and joined her. It was snowing outside, all right, and already getting deep. The seasonal decorations had mysteriously gone up since the last time he had looked -- wreaths, giant candy canes, fake holly, Santa Clauses, reindeers _ and blinking lights of every hue. "Do you want Christmas carols?" she asked. "Yeh." Noel crossed to the radio and clicked the knob. "The first noel the angles did say, Was to certain poor shepherds in fields where they lay. . . ." The doorbell rang. "Who the hell is that now?" grumbled Scarp as he turned back into the room. It turned out to be Scarp's first well-wisher, and it wasn't the last. The doorbell rang constantly as neighbors and persons whom he had never met before dropped in holding gift-wrapped boxes in their arms. The don took it in good stride at first, tearing the gifts open like a revenue agent going at a beer keg. -- And the loot wasn't chintzy, either. Scarp cleaned up on fine art, on men's jewelry, on clothes, and even on rare additions to his Roman coin collection. He also listened manfully to his callers' convivial chatter until the pointlessness of it made him testy. Before long he started rushing his callers out the door as quickly as they came, at first politely, but then, before in the thirtieth or fortieth instance, rudely. "Ease up, Dandyman," Noel urged as Scarp bounced another man's glad tidings off the opposite wall of the corridor. "It's Christmas!" "The fuck it is! I don't feel Christmasy!" "Not Christmasy? There's no pleasing you! Look at all the beautiful presents you got!" "Trash! What good is it? You could genie up this kind of junk in five seconds flat if I asked you to." He stomped irritably to the radio and switched off the caroling. "That's true," the brunette admitted while she settled upon a divan littered with festive wrapping paper. "But if you don't really want presents, what was it that you used to like about Christmas?" "I don't know anymore! I can't remember." "You didn't seem to like all those people wishing you well." "Zombies! I don't care about them and they don't care about me." "Well, then would you like to go to Mass?" "Mass? Cut the comedy, Gams!" He leaned forward over the bar holding a glass of gin in his tight fist but not drinking it. Noel got up again, slipped behind him, and placed her arms about his waist. "Maybe it's just that we're forgetting something." "I just said that! -- Don't turn stupid on me." "Try to remember the best Christmas you ever had, Lee. Try to think what made it special." He shrugged, but after a minute he answered. "I think it was at the orphanage." "The orphanage? Lee, you couldn't have gotten a lot of fancy presents in a wretched place like that." "Of course not! -- All I ever got was a few old toys and some strangers' hand-me-downs." "Then maybe it was something other than the gifts. What other people were there?" "Just my pals, and the nuns -- and Father O'Brian." Scarp suddenly smiled, remembering. "Hey, he was a good old bird! If there was ever a priest like Bing Crosby played, it was him. There was this time --" Then the gangster caught himself and his mood changed abruptly. "Why don't you just get out of here?" She wasn't letting go of him. "I couldn't leave you alone on Christmas." He turned in her grasp and pushed her back in exasperation. "This isn't Christmas!" "Of course it is," she said, pressing her thumb to the center of his chest, undaunted by his temper. "If it's Christmas in here, it's Christmas everywhere." "You really are turning stupid!" "Let me ask a stupid question then." "Another one?" "Who are you going to give presents to this Christmas?" "Me give presents? Why would I want to do an idiotic thing like that?" "It's an important part of Christmas _ the loving and sharing part. It isn't about just receiving the symbols of other people's love; it's expressing your feelings outward, too. Isn't there anybody you care about? Isn't there a single person who you'd want to help cheer up?" "No," he said, staring coldly into her coaxing eyes. "-- Nobody." ******* Chapter 4 Thrill followed thrill as dark nights faded one into the other. Scarp tried out everything -- and everything that he liked he did a thousand times, over and over again, until it, too, grew stale. More and more, without even realizing it, he simply hung around his apartment and drank alone. He couldn't even get drunk -- unless he wanted to, of course. But Scarp's pride would never let him admit that he wasn't a man who could hold his liquor, so no matter how much bourbon he guzzled, he remained stone-cold sober. Even when the don bestirred himself enough to go out, he would only slouch morosely around the mostly-empty restaurants and nightclubs. One night, Noel found him sitting by himself and ignored in a dark corner of Duke's. "What's wrong?" she asked concernedly. "What do you mean, what's wrong?" he rumbled back. "I mean, what's eating you? You've got it all! You can do anything, have anything! The world is your oyster, Lee -- just like you always wanted." "I'd rather do a stretch in Leavenworth.' "You can even do that if you want to!" "I mean the real Leavenworth, not some zombie imitation!" "I'm sorry, but `zombie' is all there is. You'll have to wish for something else." "I've had everything else -- I've done everything else! I'm sick of it all!" She regarded him keenly. "Your only problem is your lack of imagination!" she suggested. "Why hang around this two-bit town? Why not crash Paris, or Rome? Why not rule a country of your own? You could be a god!" "I'm not cut out to be a god!" "Come on, Lee. Godhood would be a wild new kick, wouldn't it?" "I'm doing what I want to do, okay? So quit nagging me!" "Okay, Lee, I understand you're bored. So why not unwind with a little blackjack?" He clenched his teeth. "Aren't you listening, stupid?! I'm sick of blackjack, and craps, and roulette, and poker! I always win." "You win because you want to win." "I hate losing!" She gave him a coquettish wink. "You still like sex, don't you? You haven't banged me in quite a while. How come? You used to think I was a pretty good piece." "I don't want you. You've gotten to be too much like a wife." "You mean you're starting to respect me?" "I just mean that you've gotten as boring as everybody else!" "How can you be bored by someone who cares about you?" she asked seriously. "Don't care! I hate caring!" She sat back, regarding him. "Well, if you don't want me anymore, there's always somebody else." "I've had somebody else! I've had everybody else! I'm sick of jellybeans. I want something different. Aren't there any uptight virgins in this fucking place? Somebody who'd be scared of me, somebody who'd hate me touching her?" "Nobody could hate doing it with you, Lee!" she teased. "Get lost!" She leaned forward and rested her chin on her linked fingers. Scarp didn't even bother to glance at the cleavage her position displayed. "Don't be so hasty, tough guy. I can get you somebody who can fake hating it." "No! -- Everything here is fake. I've had it with fakes!" "There was only one virgin I ever met here, Lee, but she's not a virgin any more." "Oh, isn't that just great!" he grumbled sarcastically. "But she's only done it once, and that was for love." Scarp brow-furrows deepened. "That ain't bad. Who is it?" "That new cigarette girl," she said, pointing at a slim, short-skirted colleen working the tables. Scarp took the young woman in; she had wavy brown hair and big, innocent, fawn-like eyes, and her legs were almost perfect. Despite his weary satiety, Scarp couldn't help but be interested. "That's somebody new," he admitted with a smirk. "Old wine in a new bottle, actually," Noel said enigmatically, but Scarp had long-ago grown tired of asking her what she meant when she used that tone. "She had only one man? She can't be trying very hard -- not with a body like that," judged the gangster. "Before him, she'd always preferred girls," the brunette explained. Scarp grinned at the thought; it would be a double-loaded charge to straighten out a lez the hard way -- the very hard way. "Okay, I'm game," he said. Noel waved the cigarette girl over. "Cigars? Cigarettes? Matches?" the young beauty inquired with detached professionalism. "What's your name?" Scarp asked gruffly. "Mary," she replied. "Mary. Like the Virgin? -- I like that." "Thank you, sir." "You're off work," he stated bluntly. "What do you mean, sir?" she replied with a perplexed frown. Scarp got up suddenly and took the cigarette tray from her. Then, tossing it aside, he grabbed the girl by the wrist; she looked to Noel with horrified appeal. "Do what the gentleman says," the svelte woman instructed the cigarette girl with a glance which told her she was serious. "He's the big boss." Now Mary directed her entreaties back toward Scarp. "Let me go!" she cried, trying to twist away. "You don't have any right!" "I've got every right, and the only place you're going is back to your dressing room -- with me!" The capo dragged his prisoner along behind him and the girl, an unsophisticated kid apparently unused to her spiked pumps, just stumbled along unable to resist his greater strength. The restaurant help looked on without reaction, without even much interest. Suddenly, as Scarp pulled the girl past a large mirror, she caught sight of herself and released a gasp of shock; it was like the mere sight of her own reflection knocked all the fight out of her. Scarp sensed the change instantly and so scooped Mary up under his arm, bustling her along without any more fuss on her part. Scarp knew where the dressing rooms were -- he had screwed plenty of Duke's showgirls and waitresses before this. It was empty, as it always turned out to be whenever he wanted privacy. He swung the girl around and set her down on her own feet. "Listen, sugar -- you can't pretend you don't want it. Any frill who dresses like you in public is begging for a good fuck." "It's only a costume. I'm just doing a job!" "Then I've got a new job for you. -- Take off your costume and panties, but keep the stockings and the heels; you'll look good that way." "Please, I'm not ready for this. Let me go!" "You dumb bitch!" he snarled, threatening her with a balled fist. Stop stalling and get those panties off!" She bit her lip, but her body language communicated capitulation, which was fine with scarp. She drew the little costume off over her head, then slipped her silk briefs down, stepping out of them with a deft motion. Scarp felt a stir in his loins; mostly naked now, she looked every bit as good as the don could had hoped for. "They told me that you were a lesbo," Scarp stated contemptuously as he took her small chin in his rough hand. "When I'm through with you, you'll never want to waste time with another girl as long as you live." "You don't understand!" "I understand plenty. You've had a man one time, didn't you? -- Tell me, did you suck him off?" The horror in her face at the very suggestion told him that she hadn't. "Good," said Scarp. "When you go back to that shmuck, you'll be able to give him a nice surprise." He unzipped his fly and brought out his penis. The girl beheld it as if it were a tool of execution. "Take it in your hands and kiss it," Scarp ordered. "I -- I can't," Mary pleaded. Scarp grabbed a handful of her hair and shook her hard, leaving no doubt that he meant to be obeyed. "Ow! That hurts! Stop it, please!" "Then do what you're told!" Releasing his hold, he forced her down to her knees. He felt more quickening in his crotch; just the sight of the inexperienced and unwilling girl on her knees was giving him a rush that he hadn't experienced in a long while. Reluctantly, Mary took his thick trunk-like organ in her hand. "Now start kissing and licking my wanger," Scarp ordered, "or I'll tie you down and do whatever I want to you." Mary drew back in revulsion for just an instant, then closed her eyes and, self-blinded, she forced her lips forward. Against her every screaming instinct, the cigarette girl gave it a feather-light kiss, though her mouth twisted with disgust. "Lick it!" Scarp barked, taking a new handful of hair and yanking it hard enough to drive home the command. Her face a mask of pain and her eyes red with mortification, Mary stuck out her tongue and touched it to the throbbing cock. At the first taste she immediately drew back, repulsed. Scarp expected her to gag and was, in fact, a little let down when she didn't. "Get with it! I haven't got all day!" he snarled, jerking her hair again. Under the compulsion, the girl began trailing her tongue up and down his long member, looking like she was being subjected to torture. "Not bad. You've got hidden talent, babe. Now take it into your mouth!". Slowly and with loathing, Mary brought his eager, swollen organ to her parted jaws. Just then she glanced up with another futile appeal for mercy in her eyes, but his scowl warned her to get cracking. Mary slipped her lips around the swollen head of his penis as if she were taking poison. Her face had screwed up tight, as if she was again fighting back the impulse to vomit. "That's better!" Scarp said breathily, lurching his hips to shove his cock deeper down the girl's warm throat. "You're just too good. Maybe I'll fix you up with a pimp and put you on the street full-time." He'd done that to lots of girls until he got tired of the trick -- even snooty dames dripping with furs and jewels. He hadn't thought of them in a long time, but stimulated by the girl's nearness, the memory evoked an intense, erotic excitement in him. Mary panicked at the sudden deep intrusion that nearly strangled her and tried to wriggle away, but Scarp held her fast. Her fear and disgust was like perfume in his nostrils. "Here's the secret of being a real pro, chesty: move your head back and forth, just like your mouth was a pussy!" Trembling with hate, Mary did as told and Scarp savored her humiliation as his testicles began to ache with his building passion. Her technique was primitive, but that was part of the thrill; it just showed that she was green, like he wanted her to be. Scarp could feel his heart pounding and he had to fight the urge to let himself go. But that would be too easy on Mary, who he wanted to give a bona fide oil change. There was something just too sweet and clean about the cigarette girl; the biggest part of the kick was in making her dirty, like everything else around him. To save himself from an early explosion, he put his palm on her forehead and pushed her to her back. "Okay, spread your legs," he told her as she lay there in confusion. By the time he finished with the girl she was every bit as soiled as he had wanted to make her. He zipped up and left her cringing on the floor. It had