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discoveredinalj“You’re off the case. The Feds are taking it over.”
“What? They can’t do that,” Starsky yelped. He looked from his captain to the nondescript man standing behind his captain’s desk. A man who was now looking more and more like a weasel in a suit with every passing minute.
“Of course I can do that!” Dobey jabbed his thumb down at the nameplate on his desk. “See this sign? It says Captain Dobey. Captain! That means I can do whatever I want with you two jokers, including assigning you both to traffic detail for the next sex... I mean six weeks.”
“That’s not fair!”
“We deserve some answers,” said Hutch, much too calmly. “At least give us that.”
Starsky recognized the dangerous tone in Hutch’s voice, and drew consolation from the fact that he wasn’t the only one furious at this turn of events. Hutch was slouched in the chair in front of Dobey’s desk, looking at the Federal Agent from under knotted eyebrows.
The man in the gray suit stepped forward. “James Turner was supposed to deliver the money he had collected while working as a checker at the adult theaters on your strip to a courier. Instead he tried to steal the cash.”
Starsky eyed him distrustfully. The Fed had his hands spread, and was doing his best to look harmless. In Starsky’s view, however, he was all but sprouting weasel whiskers and a tail. “So whoever was supposed to get the money tracked Jamie down and fed him to Jaws. How is the murder of one fatally stupid kid a Federal matter?”
The man sighed. “Because we have reason to believe the money is going out of the country, and being used to fund the importation of drugs back into America. Specifically cocaine.”
“Out of the country,” said Hutch, thoughtfully. “To South America?”
South America was certainly where most of the drugs had lately been imported from, thought Starsky, but the Fed had been talking about money, not drugs. “Wait, remember that British guy?”
The man’s lips thinned. “Suffice it to say, we have bigger concerns than one dead checker, and we don’t need you getting in the way.”
Starsky thought fast. “Yeah? Well, what if I said I’ve got an inside connection?”
He could feel everyone in the room staring at him. Even Hutch had a startled expression on his face. “Jamie wasn’t just a checker,” said Starsky. “He was gonna be the star of the Director’s next big porno.” Okay, that was exaggerating a bit. Lois hadn’t said anything Jamie being a star. But, Starsky was on a roll and he wasn’t going to quit now. “And now Jamie’s shark bait. Which means the Director’s looking for a new star.”
“Starsk...,” said Hutch, warningly.
Starsky hooked his thumbs in his belt loops and gave them all his most confident grin. “And I happen to believe I might be able to fill that bill.”
Hutch covered his face with both hands and groaned.
Dobey slapped his palms down on his desk with a bang that made Starsky jump. “I didn’t authorize an undercover operation!”
Starsky tried to backpedal, hopefully far enough to avoid the fallout of Dobey’s wrath. “Well, it was kind of a spur of the moment thing...”
Hutch dragged his hands down his face and folded them together under his chin, his elbows propped on the arms of the chair. “I doubt there’ll be much going on under the covers...”
“You can get inside the operation?” asked the Fed, a hint of something like eagerness in his voice. Starsky wondered if he’d actually seen his nose twitch, or if he’d just imagined it. Weasel.
“I’ve been offered an introduction to the Director,” said Starsky.
The man clucked under his breath, thoughtfully.
“No!” snapped Dobey. “Starsky, you’re out of line. I’m not having my officers getting involved in making pornography. I don’t care if you think you’re undercover!”
“But Hutch did that tape for the blackmail sting,” protested Starsky. “Remember? He slept with that girl and let her tape him doing it.”
Hutch abruptly straightened in his chair. “Thank you so much for bringing that up!”
Starsky, realizing that he was about to lose Hutch’s support as well, said, “Hey, you were great. There’s a reason they play that tape at every precinct Christmas party.”
Hutch didn’t seem to take the compliment in the spirit it was intended. “Oh, God,” he said, sinking back down into his chair and closing his eyes.
The Fed stepped forward and held out his hand to Starsky. “I should have introduced myself earlier. I’m Federal Agent Max Keller. My team here is made up of two married men and a woman. None of them want to go under in this case. If you’re willing to work closely with us, then I could agree to using you as an undercover operative for the duration of this investigation.”
Starsky shook his hand. Even weasels could be good guys, sometimes. He grinned triumphantly at Dobey. “We’d get to stay on the case!”
“I don’t like it,” rumbled Dobey.
“I’m his partner,” said Hutch. “If Starsky stays on this case, so do I.”
“I don’t like it,” said Dobey, again.
There was silence in the room. Starsky held his breath. Dobey’s decision would make or break this investigation.
“But I also don’t like murders going unsolved, or drugs coming into my city,” continued Dobey.
Starsky glanced at Hutch, and together they turned to stare at Dobey, expectantly.
“Okay,” snapped Dobey. “Okay!”
Starsky whooped.
“I’m going to need to brief you on the case,” said Agent Keller. “How much do you know about the porn industry in this town?”
“Hutch worked Vice,” offered Starsky, remembering the “Pussy Patrol” t-shirt he’d had commissioned. Hutch’s then-wife hadn’t been impressed.
“Just for a year,” said Hutch.
“Create your cover identities.” Keller handed them a business card. “I’ll see you at the Bay Towers Hotel, room 28, tonight at nine.”
Bodie shifted in his seat and leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. Under different circumstances he knew he’d be impressed. Here he was in a private plane, of the sort that had a lounge in the front half and a soddin’ bedroom in the back. The bathroom had gold fixtures. Karl, Josef and Bobby were having a good enough time, helping themselves to the contents of the bar and chatting amicably among themselves.
But Bodie’s shirt was sticking to the oily salve Doyle had smeared on his back, and every time he moved, it pulled. His nose was throbbing dully and he’d lost peripheral vision in his right eye. And all he could hear from the bedroom were gasps and grunts as Trevor shagged the stewardesses. Who weren’t real stewardesses, anyway, just more of his airhead birds decked out in tiny skirts.
There was something fundamentally unfair about a universe that rewarded mean bastards like Trevor with money – inherited from rich parents who’d had the good taste to die young. And big houses. Also inherited from the aforementioned dead parents. And fancy cars. Purchased himself, because Trevor would never drive an old car. And all the brainless blonde birds a man could ever want.
It wasn’t even as if he was good looking. He was just a short stout sod with thinning ginger hair.
When Bodie had first gone undercover as Trevor’s personal bodyguard, he’d relished living the good life vicariously. With no real threats to Trevor’s life in the offing, he’d been able to enjoy the expensive clothes, the fine food and the parties. But it had worn thin quickly.
There was the first time Trevor had held a gun to a bird’s head while he fucked her, and Bodie had wondered if he was going to have to blow his cover to save her coked-up little arse. There was also the first time he’d come across a guest getting sick in the bathroom, asked if he could help, and was greeted with a demand to cop a hit of heroin, but quick!
“Why do you do this to yourself?” he’d asked one pretty young girl.
She’d been humming a song to herself, leaning against him as she watched the sun set over the river that wound through the back of Trevor’s property. She stopped and tilted her head back to smile at him. “Because I’m beautiful and everyone loves me. Because I can be anyone I want, do anything I want, go anywhere I want, and someone else will pay for it. Because I can dance with a drink in my hand.”
And then, a week later, Trevor had her beaten in front of thirty-five drunken bastards for his own personal amusement.
Bodie sighed and shifted his weight from one elbow to the other, glancing over at Doyle.
“You can peel your nose off the window, mate,” said Bodie. “There’s nothing to see.” The pilot had them cruising above a layer of cumulous clouds, just miles of great puffy white piles with an impossibly blue sky above.
Doyle looked away from the window, leaned back in his seat and stretched his long legs out in front of him. His sunglasses were tucked neatly into his breast pocket. Up here, he had no more need to cover his bruises than Bodie did.
Bodie eyed him enviously. He’d like to be able to lean back, but it would be murder on his back.
“What’s that magazine?” asked Doyle, nodding at the one in Bodie’s hand.
“Mayfair,” said Bodie. “You already read all the articles, and you told me the birds were boring.”
“Plucked and painted within an inch of their lives,” said Doyle. “I like some authenticity, right?” His eyes flicked to the back of the plane as one of the girls with Trevor shrieked, no doubt faking her orgasm.
Bodie inclined his head fractionally toward the bedroom. “What about you? Are you a member of the mile high club?”
Doyle looked thoughtful. “Had a stewardess once. But she wasn’t flying at the time.”
“Don’t think it counts then.”
They fell silent as the door to the bedroom opened, and Trevor emerged with a girl hanging off either arm. He helped himself to a drink, and then came over and sat down across from them. “You two look positively stiff. Relax! If I’m not safe cruising at this altitude, where am I safe?”
He seemed to have forgotten about the events of the morning, and was now all jolly good humour and generosity. Bodie had already pocketed one American hundred dollar bill, which Trevor had told him to use to replace that shirt.
As if it had been destroyed accidentally, somehow.
Bodie glanced over at the window. “A rocket launcher--.”
Doyle kicked him, warningly.
Trevor didn’t seem to notice. He had pulled one of the mini-skirted birds onto his lap and was licking the side of her neck, making her giggle. “You’ve got to try this one. She’s fucking fantastic. What’s that you were saying, darling? Before, I mean.”
The girl smiled. “I said you can fly me.”
“Fly me, hah!” Trevor laughed, expansively. “Great slogan. God, I love Americans.” He grabbed the girl around her waist and stood her up in front of him. “Here, love, why don’t you pick one of those two and give ‘im a ride? I’d like to see it from the ground, if you know what I mean.”
Bodie shot Doyle a quick glance, only to find Doyle looking just as alarmed as he felt.
“Oh,” said the girl. She slipped her index finger into her mouth and sucked on it thoughtfully as she regarded them both. Then she smiled and leaned down to kiss Bodie on his cheek. “I like this one. He looks dangerous.”
No, thought Bodie. No fucking way. “I don’t like being watched,” he said, flatly.
Trevor stopped smiling. “I think for what I pay you, you can like whatever I tell you to like.”
I’m going to die, thought Bodie, fatalistically. I’m going to die because there’s no conceivable way I could ever get it up with that fat little toad staring at me. Maybe I can kill him first, before Karl or Josef realize what’s going on.
The girl draped herself over Bodie’s shoulders, causing him to grit his teeth as her weight came down on his abused back. She ran her fingers down the inside of his thighs, and he thought he’d never felt anything less erotic in his life.
Bodie grabbed her arm in a firm grip, eliciting a squeak of alarm. “I said, no!”
Trevor’s expression darkened.
But before he could speak, Doyle stood up.
“Come here, love.” Doyle took the girl from Bodie and sat back down, settling her in his lap. “Don’t mind him. He’s just shy.”
Placated for the moment, Trevor leaned back in his chair and took a sip of his drink.
The tension in aircraft eased noticeably. There was a quiet series of snaps as safeties were once more engaged, hands dropped away from pistols, and Karl and the others resumed their conversation. Bodie realized belatedly that they had all been on high alert while he was facing off against Trevor. Watching him. Maybe they weren’t as stupid as they looked.
“I think he bruised my arm,” complained the girl in Doyle’s lap. She looked excessively young, with a fine blonde fringe cut straight across her forehead. Her lips were full, red, and pouting.
Doyle captured her arm and looked at it seriously. Then he kissed it. “Better?”
She laughed. “Much! Would you like to see what I can do?”
Doyle was working his way up her shoulder with his lips, pushing her short sleeve up to bare more skin. “What would that be?”
She slid off his lap and pushed his knees open. “You’ll like this,” she said as she knelt between his legs.
Bodie decided to get himself a drink. He didn’t feel like sitting next to Doyle while he got a blowjob. But as soon as he started to push himself to his feet, Trevor shook his head. “You don’t want to miss this,” he said. “Once in a lifetime opportunity.”
“I’ve seen-,” started Bodie.
“You’ve never seen this,” said Trevor.
Bodie sat down. Despite his misgivings, his curiosity was piqued. What did this girl have going for her that made her blowjobs so much more special than anyone else’s?
Even Doyle seemed intrigued. He was more than half hard by the time she’d worked his zip down. He glanced up and met Bodie’s gaze with an embarrassed look in his eyes.
Bodie looked away, uncomfortably. If he could have had his way, he’d grab both Doyle and the girl, toss them into the bedroom and lock the door. When he looked back, the girl was taking Doyle into her red mouth, her eyes closed.
Just a blowjob, he thought. But the girl’s head kept going lower. And lower. She began breathing noisily through her nose and Bodie realized what Trevor had meant. She was taking Doyle right down into her throat. Just like in that movie.
Doyle’s eyes were very wide and his expression was far more astonished than aroused. Saliva was beginning to leak from the corners of the girl’s mouth and she was making an incredible amount of noise. Bodie glanced up and found Karl, Josef and Bobby all craning their necks to see. He tried scowling at them, but they ignored him, grinning and elbowing each other.
And then Bodie looked down and saw that Trevor had undone his own zip and was pumping himself enthusiastically with his fat fist.
Bodie had just discovered his own personal definition of hell. Trapped in a jet with Doyle getting deep throated on the one side, and Trevor tossing himself off on the other, and an audience of slavering morons thrown in for good measure.
It was the longest flight of Bodie’s life.
Trevor came first, casually using the hand towel that Bobby gave him to clean up. Doyle took quite a bit longer. Bodie suspected he must be feeling some performance anxiety. Though, from the look on his face after his eyes closed and his hips began to move, he was having a pretty good time. Doyle’s orgasm, when it finally arrived, was most definitely not faked.
All things considered, however, Bodie was relieved it wasn’t him getting drooled on.
An hour later, Trevor had once more disappeared into the bedroom with the girls, evidently having done his charity bit for the flight. Doyle was back to staring out the window. He didn’t seem inclined to talk after his experience with the blonde bird, and everyone else had gone back to ignoring the two of them.
The silence began to wear heavily. “And the amber waves of grain,” quoted Bodie, catching a glimpse of patchwork fields below when the plane banked.
Doyle shrugged without taking his eyes from the window. “My first time abroad, and already I’m bored to tears.”
“Cabin service not to your taste?” asked Bodie. Then he thought that Doyle might not want to be reminded of that just yet. “Travel really isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. But the good news is that we’re closer than we were five hours ago.”
This time Doyle actually looked at him. “Cracked up? Practising your Americanisms, are you?”
“Could do my John Wayne impression.” Bodie immediately dropped his voice to a Western drawl. “All them thar cow-pokes will mistake me for one of they own.” He was acting the fool, he knew it. But he had his reward in Doyle’s laugh.
“That’s dreadful,” said Doyle, grinning. “They’ll mistake you for a lunatic, is what.”
Satisfied, Bodie started to lean back in his seat. His back immediately reminded him of why that was a bad idea. He decided to get himself another drink instead. “I must be a lunatic,” he said, as he got up.
Bodie collected two bottles of beer, and turned. “Stopped in New York for refuelling, and never once stepped out to take in the sights. No Times Square. No Statue of Liberty.” He heard a rumble of agreement from Bobby, who had his nose buried in a dirty magazine.
“Where are we now?” asked Doyle.
“I’m not sure, exactly. Middle America. If we headed South we’d hit the Mississippi River, and Memphis, Tennessee.” Bodie sat back down with Doyle and handed him a beer.
“Thinking of dropping in on Elvis?”
Bodie tried his impersonation of the King. “Uh-huh, uh-huh.”
Doyle shook his head, pityingly.
“C’mon, Hutch. There’s no downside to this. Me and a bevy of beauties, keeping America safe from drugs...” To Hutch, it sounded as if Starsky was trying to convince himself that he could make this undercover operation work.
Hutch looked dubiously at the entrance to the Aphrodite Club. Black silhouette cut outs of dancing girls decorated the marquee of the old theater building, and a neon sign trumpeted ‘Live! Girls!’ “What if the Director decides a Jewish guy from New York isn’t what he’s looking for?”
Starsky had been paying attention during Federal Agent Keller’s briefing. “Well, given that before the Director was a big shot, he was Teddy Stanke from Pensacola, I think he might have some sympathy. And anyway, I’m not going to be myself, am I?”
“Oh, right.” Hutch grimaced. “You’re who, again? Studly Hungwell?”
“Funny.” Starsky jabbed Hutch in the chest with his forefinger. “You do realize that if my audition falls through, you’re going to have to step up to the plate.”
“Oh, no.” Hutch shook his head. “No, no, no.”
“Why not? It’s not like you’re some kind of blushing virgin.”
“Starsky, that’s not the point. You’re not just doing the girl. You’re doing her in front of a crowd of people with cameras running. Everyone’s going to be staring at you!”
Starsky’s eyes went unfocused, no doubt seeing visions of naked girls dancing in his head. “Yeah... Kind of a turn on, isn’t it?”
Hutch glanced down, observed the material evidence of Starsky’s current state of mind, and sighed. Then he reached over and pinched Starsky’s thigh. Hard. “No, it’s not. Because I’m not an exhibitionist.”
“Ow!” Starsky gave him a wounded look, and rubbed his leg. “I’m not an exhibitionist!”
Hutch felt no guilt. He’d successfully distracted Starsky’s mind – and other parts south – from the girls for the moment.
“Well, not like that, anyway,” clarified Starsky. “You make it sound so dirty, when really it’s just that I don’t have a bunch of hang-ups about my body like you do.”
Hutch decided he’d had enough of this conversation. “Fine, hot shot. Let’s go and see if the Director will buy that manly body of yours.” He opened the car door and got out, letting Starsky scramble to catch up as he crossed the street.
The Aphrodite club was busier than they’d expected. Starsky and Hutch stopped just inside the door, briefly dazzled by the lights and noise. A girl in a fringed leather jacket bumped into Hutch’s back. He tried to move out of her way and ended up knocking Starsky into an alarmingly large tattooed man. Apologies were proffered hastily and Hutch grabbed Starsky and looked for a safer spot to stand.
Shoved into a corner, they stopped and simply stared. There was a circular stage in the center of the room, and smaller stages in each of the corners. The music was excessively loud and Hutch could feel the heavy throbbing beat right down in the soles of his shoes.
“What’s that?” shouted Starsky, gesturing at the center stage.
“I think that’s supposed to be Annie Oakley,” Hutch shouted back.
“Sure, but is the person playing her a guy or a girl?” The burlesque performer was doing a slow striptease, making good use of both cowboy hat and gun.
“We’ll find out when that gun belt comes off, won’t we?” Hutch sincerely hoped ‘Annie’ wasn’t actually putting the barrel of that weapon where it appeared to be going. Maybe it was a water pistol?
“Oh, hey! I know you guys.”
Hutch jumped, startled by the voice behind him. He turned and found himself looking down into a familiar face. “Lois! You said you would connect us with the Director.”
Her expression brightened. “Both of you?” Lois was wearing a costume that appeared to consist primarily of the shredded remains of a beaded curtain. And for some reason, it made her look more naked than ever.
“Uh, no. Actually, just him.”
Starsky seemed to have gone catatonic, so Hutch grabbed his arm and dragged him forward.
“Aw, too bad. Both of you would be kinda neat. You know, dark and blond, together on one girl. Sexy.”
“That’s, uh...” Hutch stumbled over his words for a moment. The naked lust in Lois’ eyes was disturbing. “N-not our thing.”
“Well, you’re in luck,” said Lois. “The Director’s here, and he’s going out of his mind because he hasn’t got enough barbarians for the shoot tomorrow.”
Hutch heard Starsky ask, “Barbarians?” But he didn’t hear Lois’s answer, if she gave him one. She had Starsky by the hand and was dragging him across the room, toward a booth near the main stage. Hutch followed in their wake, trying to remain inconspicuous.
There were three men at the table, one of whom was shouting into a mobile phone, of the kind Hutch had seen once or twice in Starsky’s car magazines. The cutting edge of telephone technology. He slammed the handset down just as Lois arrived at the table with Starsky in tow.
“I want to introduce you to...” She turned to Starsky. “Hey, I never got your name!”
“Harvey,” said Starsky.
“See?” she announced. “I’ve found a new actor for you. His name’s Harvey. Do I get my finder’s fee?”
The Director was a thin man with a long narrow face. He examined Starsky critically. “Only if he works out, darling, you know the rule.”
Lois pouted. “But just look how cute he is!”
“Hi,” said Starsky.
“Cute are a dime a dozen,” said the Director to Lois. “The question is, can he perform?”
“I had the lead role in my high school play, four years running,” offered Starsky.
Hutch winced. They’d planned a more convincing background, but it sounded as if Starsky had forgotten and was falling back on his real life experience instead.
“See, there was this one time the girl who was supposed to play Camille couldn’t make it, and neither could her understudy, so I...”
Oh yeah, Starsky was definitely drawing from his own life. He was rattled.
And the Director was looking bored. This was not good.
Lois slapped Starsky’s chest with the palm of her hand. “No, silly! That’s not what he means. C’mon, let’s show him what you can do.”
“What?” said Starsky.
Lois turned and leaned over onto the stage, her beaded skirt flying up to reveal tiny silver underpants beneath. “Sissy! Hey, Sissy!”
Sissy – definitely revealed as a girl now, though a lean and rangy sort – was finishing up her cowboy act with a demonstration of rope tricks. She paused and gave Lois an inquiring look.
“We want you to rope this dude,” said Lois. “He thinks he’s Grade A.”
There was a scattering of whistles from the spectators around the stage, and a few shouts of ‘go for it!’
“What?” said Starsky, again.
“Go on,” said Lois, urgently. “Get up on stage. You want to be a star, you’ve got to show the Director your stuff. Don’t worry, Sissy will take care of everything.”
Hutch thought this might be the moment when Starsky would call the whole deal off. He knew that’s what he’d do if he were in Starsky’s shoes.
Instead, Starsky hesitantly climbed up onto the edge of the stage. He rocked nervously on the balls of his feet.
Sissy smiled and beckoned him forward with one finger.
Starsky took one slow step forward, and then another. Without warning, Sissy whipped the rope over her head and threw a perfect loop over him. As it fell down to his knees, she yanked it sharply.
Starsky landed on his rear with a thud and Sissy pounced onto him. She straddled him and pumped her fist in the air to the cheers of the spectators. Then she leaned down and whispered something into Starsky’s ear. Starsky began to grin.
Hutch felt a presence at his side, and looked down to see Lois standing next to him. “The Director just had to let a guy go, because he was having problems with his penis,” she said, conversationally. “So if your friend works out, he’ll be really happy.”
“Problems with his, um...?”
“Yeah,” said Lois. “He just couldn’t get it to stay up. I must’ve used up a whole tube of lipstick trying to fluff him up for the camera. I mean, he was real good-looking, but... you know what I think?”
Sissy had turned herself around and was unbuttoning Starsky’s jeans. Suddenly Starsky drew his knees up and rolled her over beneath him, kicking the rope off his feet. Sissy gave Starsky a quick nod and Hutch realized they were acting out some sort of prearranged plan.
“Hey!” said Lois.
“Oh, uh...” Hutch tried to remember what she’d been saying. “What do you think?”
Now Starsky was tying Sissy’s feet to her hands, as if she was a calf. Everyone in the room was now staring at the stage, whooping loudly.
Hutch could feel himself shriveling up at the mere of thought of being on stage in Starsky’s place. But Starsky... God, Starsky looked like he was in his element, playing to the crowd.
“Well,” said Lois. “What you’ve got to realize is that this guy’s big claim to fame was that he did double penetration.”
“He did what?” Hutch dragged his attention away from the stage and focused on Lois with a frown. She couldn’t have just said what he thought she’d said.
“Double penetration,” explained Lois, patiently. “You know one guy up the girl’s pussy, and the other up her ass. It’s not as much fun as it looks. It’s sweaty and nasty, and most guys have a hard time keeping it up when their penis is rubbing against another guy’s penis.”
Starsky’s penis, on the other hand, was currently in Sissy’s face. She was kneeling in front of him, still wrapped up in her own rope, and talking quickly. Starsky nodded, then took her head in one hand, and guided himself into her mouth.
Hutch felt like his own balls might be taking up permanent residence in his abdomen. His libido had been so thoroughly traumatized, it was never going to come back out to play again.
The crowd was chanting, “Do her! Do her!” And – Good God, thought Hutch – Starsky was thrusting in time with their shouts.
“But what was I supposed to say?” asked Lois, undisturbed. “Baby, you need to just accept yourself and get a job doing gay porn?”
Hutch made a vague sound of agreement, still watching Starsky. From the look of intense concentration on his face, Hutch assumed he must be right on the edge. He glanced over at the Director and found him leaning forward with an expression of approval.
The noise of the crowd changed to a roar, followed by applause. Hutch turned around just in time to see Starsky pull back and finish right in Sissy’s face. The music cut out for a moment, and the ambient noise shifted to conversation and laughter.
Starsky tucked himself back into his jeans and then knelt to help Sissy out of her ropes. Hutch heard him ask, “How was I?”
“You got it in my eye, you goof!” But Sissy was laughing. She stood and kissed him on the cheek. “You were fine, really. You showed them the money shot, and that’s what counts.” As she hopped off the stage, she made an A-OK sign with her thumb and forefinger at the Director.
Starsky slid off the stage looking abashed now that the attention was off of him. The Director pulled out a notebook ledger, and wrote something inside. Then he looked up. “Name?”
“Uh... Harvey Wallbanger,” said Starsky.
The Director gave him an impatient glare. “Your real name. And I’ll need to see some ID.”
“Dave Steinberg,” said Starsky. Reaching into his pocket he produced the fake ID Agent Kelly had given him. “Am I going to be in a movie? How much do I get paid?”
“You’ll get a hundred dollars a day, paid in cash after the film’s in the can.” Sharp eyes examined Starsky, from his navy blazer down to his sneakers. “We can work out an advance if you need money for food or rent.”
“A hundred dollars a day! And an advance?” Starsky’s eyes were very round. He looked over at Hutch, questioningly.
Hutch shook his head. Taking the Director’s money, even in support of an undercover role, wouldn’t be smart.
“Nah,” said Starsky, regretfully. “I’m a little short, sure. But I’ve got a buddy looking out for me.”
“Your choice,” said the Director, clearly not interested in explanations. “We’ll be shooting at 1475 Beachside. Tomorrow, 7 a.m. Don’t be late.” Digging into his pocket he came up with a small vial of white powder. He flipped it to Lois, who caught it. “There you go, your finder’s fee.”
“Gee, thanks!” Lois left without a backward look at either Starsky or Hutch.
For a moment, Hutch entertained the thought of walking up to the Director and busting his ass right here in front of everyone.
Starsky grabbed his arm. “I know what you’re thinking,” he said.
“It’d be worth it,” said Hutch, wistfully imagining frog-marching the Director out of the building in cuffs.
“No, it wouldn’t,” said Starsky, shepherding him towards the exit. “And you know it.”
Hutch did know it. One vial of coke wouldn’t get the Director even a day of jail time, and the Federal case would be blown to hell. “But it’s a sweet fantasy, isn’t it?”
“Oh, yeah,” said Starsky, and the hunger in his voice was far more intense than any emotion he’d shown on stage.
Inside the car, the silence was almost palpable when contrasted with the noise and lights of the club. Instead of driving away immediately, Starsky leaned back in his seat and ran his fingers through his hair with a tired groan.
“Well, you did it,” said Hutch.
“Oh jeez, Hutch,” said Starsky, with sudden dismay. “I’m a porn star. If my mom finds out, she’ll kill me!”
It was dark by the time Trevor’s plane taxied into Bay City International Airport.
Doyle watched Trevor slip a thick wad of American dollars to a man in uniform, no doubt so that the fellow would overlook the minor issue of their guns. And then it was simply a matter of waiting for the bags to be loaded and the limousine to arrive.
Outside the airport, Doyle stood back from the others, next to Bodie. He looked around with keen interest, smelling salt in the air and taking in the unfamiliar shapes of the potted palm trees lined up opposite the loading lane. Bay City seemed excessively green to his eyes. Fern-like plants sprouted from every corner.
The night was hot and humid, and there was something unsettling about the way the vehicles were all travelling on the opposite side of the road. It felt as if he’d stepped into a mirror universe. Even the buses looked different. Longer and squarer, somehow.
“So how does it feel to be a member of the mile high club?” asked Bodie, quietly.
Doyle grimaced. “I’ve been contemplating taking a vow of celibacy when we get back home.”
“Isn’t that a bit drastic? You seemed to enjoy yourself.”
“The bird was lovely, but when His Lordship whipped out his dumpy little cock and started wanking...” Doyle shuddered. If he could choose one memory to wipe from his mind, that would be the one.
Still, it wasn’t all bad, because here he was in America. Not that he’d be playing the tourist. And he certainly wasn’t going to make a berk of himself by getting excited about it in front of Bodie, who’d travelled just about everywhere...
Bodie nudged his shoulder. “Exciting, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” said Doyle, grinning despite himself.
1475 Beachside turned out to be a large warehouse, as anonymous as any along that strip of road. A small paper sign tacked up by the door identified it as the home of ‘BabeView Productions’.
Starsky had imagined something like the amateur soft core set-ups he’d occasionally stumbled across during busts. A Super-8 camera or two. A few lights. Girls in costume, and everyone tripping over each other, crammed into the basement of someone’s home.
This was entirely different. In fact, what it resembled more than anything was a Hollywood soundstage. There were dollies and rolling ladders and boom mikes. Scaffolding against the walls. At one end of the warehouse, workmen were piling boulders on top of each other and sticking branches in among them. A generator hummed nearby as electricians worked to untangle a twisted nest of wires and lighting arrays. Two plaster Greek columns leaned against the wall, next to a facade of a full-scale Greek temple.
Well, perhaps three-quarter scale, Starsky amended silently. He’d never seen a Greek temple in person, so he had no idea how big they actually were. He did, however, have a suspicion that the temple columns were not usually statues of naked chicks with big boobs.
But if they were, he wanted a plane ticket to Greece ASAP.
At the other end of the warehouse there were racks of clothes lined up, chairs, and a long mirror at which girls in bathrobes were having their make-up done. There was one girl, sitting in an old dentist’s chair, with her knees spread... Starsky blinked and looked again. She appeared to be getting her pubic hair trimmed and styled.
He nudged Hutch. “Will you look at--.”
“What are you doing here?”
Starsky jumped and turned to find an older woman glaring at the two of them, a clipboard tucked under her arm.
“Uh, I’m Harvey, I mean Dave Steinberg, and this is a friend of mine,” said Starsky, quickly. “I was told to be here...”
“You’re on the list. He’s not. We don’t need any more performers,” said the woman, sternly. “And even if I was inclined to arrange an audition for him...”
Hutch paled. “No, no. I-I’m, I’m not... I mean, I can’t!”
Starsky grabbed Hutch’s arm. They had to play this right, because it was going to look very suspicious if Hutch had to provide backup from a car parked across the street. “He doesn’t want to act, he’s got stage fright. It’s just, he’s my best friend...
“Oh!” interrupted a familiar female voice. “Oh, you mean he’s your friend? Well, that explains a lot!”
Starsky turned to see Sissy standing in the door with her hands on her hips. She was wearing shorts and a t-shirt, her hair pulled back into a casual pony tail and she had a gym bag over her shoulder.
“I thought you were just nervous last night, but if you really prefer boys...” Sissy examined Hutch for a moment, and then gave an appreciative whistle. “I totally get the attraction. He’s hot!”
“Wait a minute! You said I was really good,” protested Starsky.
“Oh, sure, sweetie, but a girl knows when a guy’s mind is somewhere else. Don’t deny it. You wouldn’t be the first actor who’s mostly gay.” Sissy patted his cheek, reassuringly.
“Can you be mostly gay?” asked Hutch, curiously.
Sissy laughed. “Sure, you can. I mean, I mostly prefer girls myself. I fuck guys for money, and I fuck girls for fun.” She threaded her arm through Hutch’s elbow, and leaned in close to his ear. “To be perfectly honest, I’m glad you’re gay. It simplifies things. ’Cause there’s nothing sadder than having some stud think he’s in love with you, just because you did a couple of scenes with him.”
The woman with the clipboard scowled ferociously. “Director ain’t gonna like it.”
“Let’s see,” said Sissy. Unconcerned, she released Hutch and strolled over to a door a few feet away. After a cursory knock, she opened it and said, “Hey! Harvey here’s got a friend. He wants to hang on set, make sure it’s all on the up and up.”
There was a moment’s silence, and then the Director appeared and looked at Hutch. “He ain’t fuckin’ the talent!”
Sissy sighed dramatically. “No, I said he’s a friend. Like, special, you know? Like Albert’s friend.”
The Director tapped a cigarette out of the pack in his hand. “Yeah, I remember seeing him last night. Not jealous, is he?” He examined Hutch suspiciously.
Hutch shook his head. “No, I’m not the jealous type at all.”
Starsky looked at Hutch’s wide-eyed, please-believe-me expression and felt a bubble of hysterical laughter begin to well up inside. He bit his lip hard, and tried to think of very serious things. Like the fact that the Director could easily have both him and Hutch fed to the sharks if he ever found out they were cops.
“Can he do anything? I don’t need another useless boyfriend, manager, pimp, or whatever disrupting the shooting.” The Director lit his cigarette, and waited for an answer.
“I don’t suppose you’re artistic,” asked the woman with the clipboard. She sounded as if she didn’t expect much from Hutch.
“Uh, I paint,” offered Hutch.
“No,” said Sissy. “She means, can you do hair? Make-up? Costumes? Anything like that? Anna’s been doing the costumes, but she could use some help.”
“Yeah,” agreed the older woman. “We always need more help there.”
Starsky decided this was definitely the right time to jump in. “He’s great at costumes! He even sews.” Which might be a bit of an exaggeration, as the only thing Starsky had ever seen Hutch sew were buttons. But that still counted as sewing, surely.
“I do?” asked Hutch, giving him a startled glance. Then he seemed to realize that everyone was waiting expectantly for his answer. “I mean, yeah, I do!”
Sissy turned back to the Director with a triumphant grin. “There you go. We got another costume designer!”
“Oh boy,” said Hutch, apprehensively.
The Director shrugged. “Fine,” he said. “Come into my office. I’ll take down your information. Don’t expect me to pay you as much as I pay him. Actors get more than the day help. And I hope you remembered to bring ID.” He didn’t wait for an answer, turning and disappearing back into his office without a backward glance.
“See you later,” said Starsky.
Hutch gave him a wan smile, and trudged over to the Director’s office.
Sissy punched Starsky lightly on the shoulder. “I’m glad that’s all sorted out. Now, I’ve got to go and get dressed. Rosa here will look after you. Go get ‘em, tiger. Break a leg, and knock ‘em dead.” She grabbed her gym bag and trotted quickly over toward the make up area. Several of the girls greeted her cheerfully.
Starsky found himself alone, except for Rosa who was looking at him with a narrow-lipped expression of disapproval. It was alarmingly close to the look he’d imagine his mother would be giving him if she was here right now, and he shifted uncomfortably. “Uh, do I get a script?”
“Script? You are new at this, aren’t you?” Rosa snorted and started across the room. Starsky followed her. “Listen up. The film is Gonad the Barbarian. You’re one of the barbarian horde. You and your pals come across a tribe of lesbian Amazons, and you first beat them all in battle, and then you introduce them to the wonders of sex with a real red-blooded man, thereby converting each and every one of them to heterosexuality.”
“I’m really a barbarian?” Starsky thought that sounded pretty good. Especially if he got to carry a sword.
“You’re...” Rosa checked her clipboard. “Barbarian Number Six. And lucky you, it looks like you actually get a couple of lines, and a name. Crogar. Don’t worry, we’ll tell you what to say when it’s time.”
“Crow-bar?”
“CroGAR! Now getcher cute little ass over to the costume rack and let your buddy fix you up with a loin cloth. We start filming in an hour.”
Precisely an hour later, somehow chaos had turned into order. The Director was in his chair, coaching girls through their lines. Spray bottles and tubs of Vaseline were lined up just outside of camera range, and Starsky was waiting to invade with several other ‘barbarians’.
And the star of the movie. Gonad the Barbarian. Starsky tried not to stare. He’d gone through life happily aware that he was a little larger than average, and he’d had a girl once tell him that his penis was “pretty”. He supposed that meant nicely shaped.
“Gonad” made him feel inadequate. And he couldn’t even hate him for it. The guy was a big, good-natured kid of about twenty. While the other guys were pumping themselves up, with a little help from someone who called herself a “fluff girl”, Gonad already had his loincloth tented out almost a foot.
And when he caught Starsky staring, Gonad gave him an engaging smile and said, “It’s the cameras. Soon as I hear them rolling, I just get hard. Dunno what it is.”
Starsky looked down at his own sadly cowed penis and tried to think sexy thoughts. C’mon, little buddy, you can do it. And then he thought, oh hell, you really are little, aren’t you?
The fluff girl stopped in front of him and propped her hands on her hips. “Oh, for goodness sake! Didn’t I just do you?” She dropped to her knees and reached under his loincloth.
“Eep!” Starsky tried to step back, but she had her fingers behind his balls. “Really, I’m good. Look, it’s already coming up!” One good jolt of adrenaline was all it took to get his hard-on back, and for the first time in his life Starsky was grateful for that particular panic reaction. It was embarrassing as hell in the gym, but he couldn’t have asked for anything better here.
She dropped back onto her heels. “Well, make sure you keep it up. We’re not having five barbarians with hard-ons, and one who’s floppy, running out there to conquer the Amazons.”
Gonad leaned over and said, “Pinch yourself just at the base. See like I’m doing? That keeps the blood all trapped, so you won’t go soft again.”
“Thanks!” Starsky pinched himself grimly. He was relieved to discover that the technique actually worked. And after a moment he began to relax.
Hutch was nearby making some final adjustments to several of the costumes. Still holding himself, Starsky glanced over his shoulder.
“Don’t you think you could have cut this a bit longer?” Starsky used his free hand to tug at the scrap of leather covering his groin. He felt ridiculously naked. He’d been plucked and shaved within an inch of his life. They’d taken all the hair off his shoulders and back, and even most of the hair on his stomach. At least they’d let him keep his chest hair, and he’d flatly refused to let them anywhere near his groin with the scissors. He’d reluctantly trimmed down there himself, uncomfortably reminded of the last time he’d had to cut his pubic hair, when he’d got chewing gum stuck in it.
“Do you want to look like you’re wearing a loin cloth, or a diaper?” snapped Hutch, sounding harried.
“Excuse me, Ken?” interrupted Lois. “I don’t think this shows off my breasts to their best advantage.”
She was wearing a white sheet, cut into squares and knotted at the shoulder. A plastic sword belt held the entire assemblage together at her waist.
Without missing a beat, Hutch reached out and seized the front of her outfit with both hands. One sharp tug and the sheet ripped right down the front and fell open, exposing her breasts. “Hang on!” he said, before she could protest. Grabbing a role of double sided tape, he ripped two pieces off. Taking great care, he stuck one on each of her nipples, and then he pressed the sides of her costume to the tape. “There!”
Lois looked down at herself. She gave a tentative bounce, and then grinned when her costume stayed in place. “Hey, this is great!” She ran off, happily.
“Buddy, I think you’ve got a future in this business,” said Starsky, scratching his denuded left shoulder.
Hutch shook his head. “I’m just glad none of this actually requires sewing.”
Then the guy with the horn blew it really loud, and that was the signal for the invasion. Starsky grabbed his plastic ax and ran.
The first impression Bodie had when he stepped out of the front door of the hotel was of a solid wall of heat. For a brief moment he was transported back to another country, on a darker continent. But the roar of traffic was reassuringly modern, and the words of the people passing by, while strongly accented, were still English.
He stepped aside and waited for Trevor, continuing to scan the street. The impression he got was of a new city, crumbling only a little around the edges. The downtown buildings were all modern, canyons of brick and steel towers. On the drive in from the airport he’d seen a little of the outlying suburbs, and had a vague impression of large homes with flat roofs, done up in white and assorted pastel colours.
There were many more black faces around than he was used to seeing, though mostly on the hotel’s staff, rather than as guests.
Doyle joined him.
“What’s the delay?” asked Bodie. He shifted his weight, feeling the fabric of his shirt rub against the still-sensitive skin of his back. The heat was oppressive.
“He’s chatting up the maid,” said Doyle.
Bodie nodded wisely. “I remember her. She’s got those lovely, big...” He paused. “Eyes.”
“Trust you to notice her eyes,” said Doyle, with disgust. A moment later, though, he grinned. “They are very nice, though.”
The rotating door turned and Karl and Josef joined them outside.
“What heat!” commented Josef, squinting up at the sky.
Karl looked at Bodie and Doyle suspiciously. “You two are like twins. Where there’s one, there’s the other, and always ducking off to talk where no one else can hear.”
Bodie felt a stab of alarm, but he was careful to show nothing but contempt for the implied accusation. “No more than you and your mate there. I’ve heard the rumours about you two lovebirds.”
Josef laughed mockingly. He hit Karl on the shoulder. “Hear that, mate? They think they’ve sussed us out!”
Karl scowled, and crossed his arms.
Doyle’s expression matched Karl’s. “I know him,” he said, indicating Bodie. “I don’t know either of you.”
“Fair enough,” said Karl. “But maybe you want to try being a little friendlier, and a lot less exclusive. Some rumours are worse than others.”
Bodie was glad for his sunglasses, and not because the day was bright. Karl was right, and it was entirely his own fault. When he’d first started on Trevor’s staff he’d been impersonally friendly with everyone, not forming any close attachments but not alienating anyone either. By the time Doyle had shown up he’d been so lonely, and so bloody glad to see a friendly face, that he’d attached himself to him without reservation or caution.
No wonder Karl was suspicious.
The problem, Bodie realized, was that he had no idea how to fix the situation. “Be yourself” just didn’t cover it. He took a cautious sideways look at Doyle, but he was staring straight ahead, his expression unreadable.
Fuck, thought Bodie.
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Date: 2007-08-19 06:50 am (UTC)Love the porn set, btw, and I never thought I'd read a fic where this line made perfect sense.."Well, make sure you keep it up. We’re not having five barbarians with hard-ons, and one who’s floppy, running out there to conquer the Amazons.”
LOL!! Off to the end now..
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Date: 2007-08-19 01:40 pm (UTC)