The Consummata

Beneath the paintings, at a gray, glass-topped steel desk, sat a woman of almost timeless beauty, fingering the neckline of a sleek black dress, then idly running her fingers through piled-high blonde hair with weird purple highlights. This stunning, mature beauty was slowly scanning the pages of a ledger.

Her birth name had been Louise Cader Gibbs. Her husband had died in a federal prison ten years ago, early in a term resulting from a stock market scandal that had turned Wall Street upside down and sideways. She hadn’t looked up yet, so she didn’t see me grinning.

I said, “Hell, Bunny, you do bounce back, don’t you?”

Then her eyes rose to mine, and hit with the force of a punch. Her face went through a strange transformation as a montage of reminiscences played in her brain and reflected out her eyes.

Finally she chuckled deep in her throat. “Damn,” she said. “Morgan the Raider. The only son of a bitch who ever managed to take that old fox I married for a hunk of his illacquired fortune.”

“It’s what I do,” I said with a shrug. “Or anyway, what I used to do.”

Gaita was looking quizzically at us both. “Madam...I am not surprised you know ofMorgan...but you knowMorgan?”

Bunny sat back and relished the moment, then rose and walked over to me with her hand outstretched. “Know him? Honey, I once paid out a contract to have him killed.” Her hand was strong and warm in mine. “Remember that, Morgan?”

“Rings a bell.”

“But...” Gaita smiled. “...he does not seem to be dead, Madam.”

Bunny laughed that deep laugh again and shook her head. “No, but two times, guys supposed to do the job were found completely dead. And seemed nobody wanted to pick up my contract after that.”

“Can I help it,” I said, “that you hired accident-prone types?”

“Anybody who takes you on, Morgan, is an accident waiting to happen.”

“Still sore?”

“Hell no, Morgan! A major rule of business is knowing when not to throw good money after bad....I wrote it off as a loss. Even found a way to deduct it off my taxes that year.”

“Must have been interesting wording on that tax form.”

She gestured to a chair and I sat, while she perched nearby on the edge of her desk. A lot of leg showed, thanks to a slit in the black dress—nicely rounded gams, more substantial than the Twiggy types, and fine by me.

“Sure burned my husband’s heinie, though,” she said with a chuckle. “He bitched about not getting even with you till the day he died—indignant to the end...and with all the people he screwed over, who never got even with him!”

“We all see the world through our end of the telescope, Bunny.”

She shook her head. Great smile on the gal, lots of white teeth that were maybe even hers. “What did you ever do with that dough? Better than half a million you nipped us for. And that was back when half a mil was money.”

“Well, I saw some of the world I hadn’t seen so far. You know me and boats.” I leaned back and gave her the onceover. “You look pretty damn good, Bunny. Don’t you know madams aren’t supposed to look better than their girls? Crazy hair, though.”

She touched a purple streak. “Sets me off from those girls. Like the man says, a madam has to look like a madam, otherwise she’d disappoint the customers.” She paused and laughed again. “Anyway, I’m not fool enough to believe I can compete with my girls.” She touched her generous bosom. “This chick has got some miles on her...but at least I found my level.”

“What happened to high society?”

She snorted a laugh. “The grande dames booted me out ...and now I socialize more with their husbands than I ever did with them. As a matter of fact, I’ve begun to think I’ve found the profession I was truly cut out for. The old fox knew what he was doing when he bought this place back when he had the bread...this was the only investment we hung onto! So don’t feel sorry for me.”

“Never that, Bunny.”

She stared at me, as if through new eyes. “So you’re the one that got the mission,” she mused. “I didn’t know who it would be.”

“You’re playing kind of funny games, aren’t you, Bunny? Traveling in strange circles?”

Her smile turned sideways. “That makes two of us, doesn’t it?”

“I could expect it of me.”

“But not of me, eh? Well, my old friend, don’t fool yourself. Times have changed, people change with them. I’m here, where I am accepted, instead of castigated, and I have good friends in strange places. Anyway, the old fox and I had investments in Cuba that we lost when that bearded bum took over.”

I grinned big. “Ah. So there lies the source of your Cuban exile sympathies.”

“They’re nice people, and I don’t like to see nice people get hurt.” She reached out and squeezed my arm. “I’m glad it’s you, Morgan. It’ll take a man like you to take Jaimie Halaquez down. I’m going to follow this with pleasure.” She tossed a thumb at Gaita, who had melted back into the periphery. “They’ve assigned you a good one.” Then to Gaita, “Do you have everything ready?”

“For this evening, madam? Yes.”

“Good. Then take Morgan back to your room and keep him out of sight until it’s time. He’ll need a lot of filling in.”

I sat forward. “This little kitten’s already done a good share of filling me in. But you could do some more.”

Bunny’s eyebrows rose. “Oh?”

“What can you tell me about Halaquez?”

The madam was frowning. “What has Gaita told you?”

“That he was a patron here. That he’s a ruthless killer with sadistic tastes that bleed over into his sexual kinks.”

Her laugh held a hollow ring. “Well, Morg, you seem to know the score already.”

I shook my head. “I need to really know this bastard if I’m going to track him. Get specific, doll.”

She frowned. Mentally, she sorted through file cards, selecting just the right facts, just the right words. “He’s an odd one, even for a customer into bondage and discipline. He wants the shame of it, even to torture. His needs extend well beyond what we provide here at Mandor.”

“Such as?”

“The lash.”

My jaw damn near dropped. “He wants to be whipped?”

“Yes. But that is not why we came to forbid him from our doors.”

“You banned his ass?”

She nodded. “The game of submission is such that there are guidelines—lines that don’t get crossed, code words agreed upon to stop the game. But he would push the women hired to dominate him—beg them for more.”

“More torture?”

“More pain. Yes.”

I thought about it. “Okay. So the idiot wants his ass whipped. Whip it, and take his credit card number. Why not?”

“If only it were that simple.” Bunny glanced at Gaita, whose head was lowered. “When the game was over, when the girl had done whatever he asked...he would pay, as required, he would even provide a handsome tip. But on occasion...not every time, perhaps once every three visits, then later on, after every other visit...he would punish the girl.”

Frowning, I said, “I thought these freaks liked being dominated.”

“Oh, they do. But when the game is over, some feel shame, and a sado-masochistic bastard like Halaquez will suddenly take it out on the very person he hired to humiliate him.”