'Did you put any gin in this?' he demanded, holding out his empty glass. 'I couldn't taste it.'
I mixed a fresh drink and brought it to him. 'Chas, you didn't answer my question, How did the boy termite solve his problem?'
'I was kidding, for chrissake,' he said. 'Let's just drop it.'
'All right,' I said.
He looked at me. 'You never argue, do you?'
'Would it do any good?'
'No,' he said, 'it wouldn't. Tell me something, doc, Why do you waste your time with me?'
'I don't consider it a waste. I enjoy being with you.' 'You do? ' he said, sounding surprised. 'I can't think why.
I don't particularly enjoy being with myself.'
I regarded him thoughtfully. For some time I had been wondering if shock therapy might cure his impotence, which, I was certain, was psychic in origin. I decided, at that moment, to try it. But it would have to be framed as a request rather than a question he could kill with an explosive 'No!'
'Chas,' I said quietly, 'I'd like to make love to you.' it was the first time I had ever seen him blush. His naturally ruddy face took on a deeper hue, and I saw how shaken he was.
'What the hell is this?' he blustered. 'is this a new kind of treatment? Something you provide all your hung-up patients?'
'You know better than that. This is something for me.'
'I don't believe it.'
'Believe it,' I said, confused by my own motives.
'It's impossible,' he said hoarsely.
'Let's find out,' I suggested.
'No!' he cried. 'I don't want your pity.'
'I want yours,' I told him. 'Please.'
He sat there, face twisted, and I could see how this struggle was roiling him.
'No,' he repeated in a softer voice. 'I can't. I'm afraid.
'Of what?'
'Failure. Leave me alone, doc.'
I finished my drink and rose. 'You'll think about it after I go,' I said. 'I know you will.'
'You think you know everything,' he said furiously. 'Get the hell out of here and don't come back.' I left, wondering if that line from Hamlet could be correct. 'I must be cruel, only to be kind.'
WILLIAM K.
That evening a florist's box was delivered to my home. inside was a luscious bouquet and a brief card from Chas, 'Come back.' don't care how smart you are or how rich you are, if you haven't got The Luck you've got nothing, zip, zilch.
Now take me, I've always had The Luck. All my life.
Like I was running a small crib out in
Denver.
Nothing flashy, but clean.
I had four girls three white, one black and a boy.
None of them dopers. I also had a police sergeant on the pad, a nice enough guy who was as straig lit as a crooked cop can be.
One night Phil comes up to my place and I poured him a Chivas which was all he drank.
Willie,' he says, 'I think you better get out of town.'
That was all he had to say.
I closed up shop and caught a plane the next morning.
My kids got away, too.
I read later the Denver vice cops had made a sweep the afternoon I was flying east.
All the skin peddlers I knew got cuffed, and some of them ended up doing time.
See what I mean by having The Luck?
I went to Miami and looked up some wiseguys I knew to see if I could work a deal. But they were all in heavy stuff like drugs and guns.
Not my style. So I went to Fort Lauderdale and located Big Bobby Gurk who was my cell mate once when I did a little bitty stretch in a Frisco clink.
Big Bobby had a good thing going. He was a bookies' bookie.
Like if a street bookie had a real heavy play on a horse or a football team, he could lay off some of his bets with Bobby. For a fee, of course. Gurk was like a reinsurer and doing okay. But he had no place for me in his organization.
'But I heard of something you might like, Willie,' he said to me. 'I got a client and his brother-inlaw is in the tile business. Floor and wall tiles. It's Italian stuff and expensive. This guy has got a competitor who sells the same tiles at a discount and it's killing him.
The same importer sells to both of them and swears he charges both the same, but my client's brother-in-law don't believe him. He wants someone to crash his competitor's office and swipe the guy's invoices so he can find out what the guy is paying the importer for the tiles.
Know what I mean? '
'I follow, Bobby,' I said. 'I'm no B-and-E guy but there may be another way to work it. What's he offering? '
'He says he'll pay a grand, but I think he'll spring for two.'
'What's his name and where do I find him?'
It took me a week to cozy up to the competitor's secretary.
She was a spacey broad who was saving up to put the down payment on a white Caddy convertible (used).
For five yards she delivered to me photocopies of all her boss's recent billings from the importer of Italian tiles. I delivered them to my client and collected my two grand.
The Luck again.
Anyway, that was my first caper in what I learned later was called industrial espionage. It was like spying but no one got hurt, and the take was so good I bought myself a condo, a new Infiniti, and more clothes than I had ever owned before -suits and dresses. if that stops you, I might as well confess I've been into cross-dressing most of my life. Now, in the bucks, I've got women's shoes, silk stockings, pantyhose, lingerie, evening gowns, sweaters and skirts, even a mink stole.
There are a lot of guys with the same hobby, and I stay in touch with some I've met all over the country. We mail each other Polaroids of ourselves all dolled up. There are cross-dressing clubs in every city I've ever been, and we have cocktail parties and fashion shows with prizes for the most attractive outfits.
You're probably not going to believe this, but none of us are gay or have had sex-change operations. We're just normal, average guys who happen to enjoy wearing women's clothes. Hey, it's not a crime, there are no victims.
I've met several good clients at cross-dressing soirees, and one I met about a year ago-wearing an absolutely stunning strapless silver lame sheath-was the CEO of a company that sold cosmetics, grooming aids, suntan lotions, and stuff like that. I told him I was in the commercial information business, and he was very interested in what his competitors were having developed at the Mcwhortle Laboratory. He asked me to find out.
The Luck!
I tailed Marvin Mcwhortle for a week and discovered he was keeping a bunny named Jessica Fiddler. I ran a
