they wanta get in some sunbathing or swimming or something.' He noted Bolan's raised eyebrows, and added, 'Yeah, there's a pool around back, nice one. This is one of our higher class houses. It's my pet, really. The girls here all treat me nice. They wanta stay here. Sheer luxury, huh.'
Bolan had to agree. They passed a double tennis court and a golf-putting green. 'How many girls?' he wanted to know.
'There's twenty-two bedrooms,' Turrin replied proudly. 'Sometimes we have more girls than that, sort of rotate days off and get the most out of the property. Real businesslike, you know.' He glanced at his companion. 'We sell memberships to this place. Like I said, it's a club.
They went in through a side door, and Bolan found himself standing ankle-deep in the carpeting of a wide hallway. 'Library in here,' Turrin announced, rapping lightly on the wall as they proceeded centerward. 'Looks nice, but wasted space. Couple of thousand books in there just turning to dust'
They entered a smartly furnished room with a vaulted ceiling and two enormous crystal chandeliers. Couches and overstuffed chairs were placed here and there, in threesomes and foursomes, with accompanying side-tables, ash trays, and various bric-a-brac. 'This's the clubroom,' Turrin told him. 'We tried to cozy it up some. It's a God- awful big room, and cozying wasn't easy.' He tugged at an ornately woven pull cord. Bolan heard soft chimes echoing somewhere in the quieted mansion. A statuesque woman with flaming red hair piled high, empress fashion, strode into the room, a warm greeting on her lips.
'Leo dar- ling!' she cried happily. She ran to him and embraced him, pulling back immediately to look warmly into his eyes. Bolan noted that she was a half-head taller than her employer, then took into account the impossibly high heels of her shoes and mentally calculated her back down to Leo's general height. She wore silk skintight hip-huggers that clung to her every suggestion, from belly button to ankles, and Bolan allowed that there was quite a bit of suggestion there. A silk jacket completed her attire. It had flaring, slitted sleeves, nicely exposing the rich skin tones of her arms as she moved them, and ended several inches above the waistband of the pants. The front of the jacket did not come together -three scarlet ties were provided as closures, but only one, squarely at bustline, was being employed. The gap at the center was a span of inches, and the ties no bulkier than a shoestring. The effect was startling, and found an interested audience in Mack Bolan. The redhead ignored him completely until Turrin made note of his presence.
'I want you to meet my new top-kick, Rheeda,' he said. 'Mack Bolan, Rheeda Devish.'
The redhead looked him over then, and it was done in a single flash of interested eyes-yet Bolan had the uncomfortable feeling of being completely invaded in that brief inspection. She smiled and said, 'Hi, Mack. How's the weather up there?'
'Warm,' he replied, grinning.
'Oh, it's the environment,' she said soberly. 'Once you get acclimatized I'll have to get to know you better.'
Bolan was unsure of the ground, but there was no mistaking the invitation of that friendly declaration. He wondered, but only briefly, about the degree of quote emotional involvement unquote between the girl and Turrin.
'And I guarantee you'll never be the same again,'
Turrin added quickly, chuckling, and removing the wonder from Bolan's mind.
'I can hardly wait,' he replied, staring into warm, violet eyes. He felt a shiver at his spine, and hoped it was not observable from the outside. He had never known that women such as this one were to be found in the oldest profession.
'You'll have to,' Turrin said, still chuckling. 'Remember what I told you. All eyes, no hands.' He moved his head closer. 'Look, Sarge, Rheeda and I have business together. You're on station right here. Understand? Right here.'
Bolan nodded soberly. 'I'm on station, Captain.'
Turrin winked and clapped Bolan on the shoulder. 'God
Bolan shrugged his shoulders and paced about the big room, gazing at the paintings adorning the walls and wondering idly who had posed for the nude studies hanging everywhere. He decided that if the models were also residents of Pinechester then there was quite a world of prostitution he'd never been exposed to. The clubroom itself was sumptuous. He wondered if the bedrooms were equally lavish in devotion to the details of animal comforts-and decided that they probably were. The place reeked of luxurious flesh-pampering, which meant money with a capital 'M,' and Bolan wondered how much it did cost the monied American aristocracy for a night's indulgence in the pleasure palace. He could almost appreciate the grim satisfaction of a Sicilian 'Matthew' peasant who had risen to the proprietorship of such a magnificent 'cunt castle,' as Turrin had referred to it, and who could so gladsomely relieve the rich of some of their riches and pass them on to some of the
Such were his thoughts when the blonde appeared, and she jarred every trickle of sanity from his suddenly shrieking synapses. She was fully as tall as Rheeda and made up in vibrant youth and oozing sex what Rheeda took from her in poise and beauty. The golden hair fell in a torrential sheen to below the creamy shoulders, reappearing in a loosely braided effect with the tail draped casually across the back of the neck and down onto the throat in a light curl. The eyes were widely spaced and sparkling blue, the nose and chin delicately chiseled, the jawline soft and barely defined. The richly sensuous mouth was provocatively ajar, the pink top of a tongue thoughtfully extended onto the upper lip.
'Who the heck are you?' she inquired in a soft voice.
'I'm waiting for Mr. Turrin,' Mack told her. It seemed an idiot thing to say but, under the circumstances, it seemed also quite apropos. The golden goddess was, for all practical effects, unclothed. A transparent gauzelike stole was draped across her shoulders and in a free fall down the front of her, crossing at the arch of her thighs and drawn under, back, and around and tied loosely at the hips. The effect was altogether casual and altogether revealing and, in the altogether, stunning to male awareness. Huge globular breasts with strongly defined areolae surged restlessly beneath the gauzy film, scarlet tips only emphasized by the luminously white material. The soft midsection and soaring hips dramatically back-dropped the obviously darker shading of the swollen Mount of Venus, hardly more than accented by the transparent bow overlacing. The legs and thighs seemed to explode upwards with no loss of continuity between that below and that above, and Bolan found himself nervously wetting his lips like a schoolboy at his first strip show.
The blonde was regarding him studiously, getting his measure, and obviously approving of what she saw. She hooked curled fingers of both hands into the vee formed by the crisscross of material and slowly tracked the upward route, enlarging the open area of fleshy display. Bolan the unshakeable lost command of his eyes as the rubied tips jerked free and bounded toward him.
'You may as well wait upstairs with me,' the blonde said, obviously sure of her effect on the straining male consciousness. 'You may as well,' she repeated coaxingly, in a husky voice. 'Leo always takes about an hour. C'mon. Well get a drink and take it upstairs.'
'I'm sorry,' Bolan said, already wondering about the genuineness of the encounter. 'He told me to wait right here.'
She moved against him then, and the delicate scents of her edged stronger into the male of him. His hands automatically moved onto the soft roundness behind her, then twitched away as the magic of chemistry had its way. She tossed her hips in a recognition signal, her lips nuzzling toward his ear, and whispered, 'He always takes at least an hour. I'll bet it wouldn't take us five minutes.'
