Fire in the Hole, page 1
part #12 of Cherry Delight Series
CHERRY DELIGHT
Cherry turns the energy crisis into an energetic climax when she finds a gusher in death valley.
FIRE
in the
HOLE
by Gardner Francis Fox
Written as Glen Conway
Originally printed in 1974
Digitally transcribed by Kurt Brugel and Akiko K
2019 for the Gardner Francis Fox Library
Cover Illustration by Kurt Brugel 2019
Copyright © 2019 by The Gardner Francis Fox Library.
The Gardner Francis Fox Library has given Kurt Brugel the right to reprint Fire in the Hole.
All inquires please contact gardnerffox@gmail.com
Gardner Francis Fox (1911 to 1986) was a wordsmith. He originally was schooled as a lawyer. Rerouted by the depression, he joined the comic book industry in 1937. Writing and creating for the soon to be DC comics. Mr. Fox set out to create such iconic characters as the Flash and Hawkman. He is also known for inventing Batman‘s utility belt and the multi-verse concept.
At the same time, he was writing for comic books, he also contributed heavily to the paperback novel industry. Writing in all of the genres; westerns, historical romance, sword and sorcery, intergalactic adventures, even erotica.
The Gardner Francis Fox library is proud to be digitally transferring over 150 of Mr. Fox’s paperback novels. We are proud to present - - -
Kurt Brugel (1969 to Now) is the Custodian and Illustrator for the Gardner Francis Fox Library. Kurt is a lifelong resident of Wilmington, Delaware. All illustrations for this book were done in scratchboard. He considers the Howard Pyle tradition his greatest influence.
www.kurtbrugel.com
Table of Contents:
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
PROLOGUE
They say that every Irish family has a banshee all its own. Kevin O’Reilly always assumed he had one, too, though he’d never met him. Not until he blew into Las Vegas and made her acquaintance.
Her, not him. The sex is important.
Actually, she wasn’t his family banshee at all, but was more of a fairy godmother. She was a fairy godmother like you wouldn’t believe, as Kev O’Reilly found himself admitting a few minutes after he saw her.
It happened this way:
Kevin O’Reilly was dressing for dinner and for a bout with the gaming tables. He was a tall, husky Irish lad, with a fine pair of shoulders on him, muscles where they should be, and blue eyes that twinkled as if laughing at a perpetual joke. O’Reilly enjoyed life, and the pleasures it brought him from time to time, but right now, he was down on his luck.
He was fixing his black bow tie, wondering if it went with his dinner jacket, when a knock sounded on the door. Kev muttered a naughty word, let go of the tie and moved toward the door. He opened it to see a gorgeous blonde standing in the hallway and smiling at him, a mink wrap hanging from a finger, a gown of gold lame clinging like wet silk to her body. O’Reilly gulped once, then twice.
“You must have the wrong room, unfortunately, darling,” he said when he could. “And, faith! It’s a crying shame.”
She smiled a dazzling smile, making Kev’s heart pound a little faster. When she spoke, it was like listening to a brook in Conmare babbling, or perhaps listening to a sweet wind sighing its way across Killarney. She had perfect teeth, golden hair that was shaped into an up-sweep, and the bodice of her dress showed the inner slopes of pale white breasts.
“You are Kevin O’Reilly, aren’t you? Of the O’Reillys who came from Drogheda in County Meath?”
Kev blinked. “Well, yes. At least, my grandparents did, a long time ago.”
She seemed to relax, standing hip-shot, which made her breasts push into the gold lame, or almost out of it. Kev wished she wouldn’t stand like that; she had very beautiful breasts, and he fancied he could see her nipples standing up under the thin lame.
He had been a long time without a woman. The sight of her body in that thin stuff was taking his mind off the gaming tables, and he believed that a man, to win at games of chance, must have all his wits about him. He really did try to look away.
“Aren’t you going to ask me in?” she dimpled.
Kevin O’Reilly backed up, swinging the door wider. “You must forgive me,” he told her when he could. “It isn’t often that such a beautiful woman comes knocking at my door. As a matter of fact, I can’t remember its ever having happened before.”
She moved toward him, causing her breasts to bobble. Kev eyed them and licked his lips. The lame gown was very low-cut, and they seemed like globes of pure white marble. He drew a deep breath and stood to one side so she could move past him and into his room.
“It took me a long time to find you, Kevin. A very long time.” She said it accusingly, so that Kev felt almost guilty.
He grinned at her, saying, “If I’d known you were hunting me, I’d have come to a dead stop long ago.”
Her thin golden eyebrows rose. “You aren’t the sort of man to stand still, Kevin O’Reilly. Nor your grandfather before you, for that matter. He was always on the go, that man.”
“You knew my grandfather?” he gulped.
“And his grandfather before him, and his grand-pap, too.”
Kev drew a very deep breath this time, and scowled. “It’s some sort of trick you’ll be wanting to play on me. All right, I’m game for some fun before the gambling starts. Just let me tie this damned bow and—”
“Oh, let me do that.”
She came across to him, her hips swaying, breasts shaking richly, and reached her dainty hands to touch his tie, to turn and twist it. Kev stared down at her, at the valley between her full breasts, and found himself lost in a sea of pale white flesh.
She stood very close to him, her thigh brushed his, and she radiated a magnetism that O’Reilly felt throb through his body. He was faintly embarrassed, but the woman did not seem to mind the fact that he was reacting to her nearness so like a healthy young male.
She tied the bow, patted it with her fingers, then smiled up at him with slanted eyes. Her eyes were green and sparkling. Kev lost himself in their depths for a few moments.
“You don’t come with the room, by any chance, do you?” he found himself saying.
“Oh, my goodness, no! You see—I’m your fairy godmother.”
O’Reilly thought about that for a moment. “Now this is a new approach, indeed.”
She gurgled laughter and pushed his chest with her forefinger. “Oh, you. Just like all the new breed of young people. You have no faith in the old tales.”
He put his hand to his curly black hair and pushed it back, perplexed and more than a little puzzled. “I don’t get it. I’m not rich, so you can’t be here to play some sort of badger game. If you are, you’ve come to the wrong room.”
It was her turn to seem dubious. “The badger game? I don’t know that one. How is it played?”
“Never mind. Just tell me what you want.”
The thin blonde brows lifted. “Why, I’ve come to bring you luck, Kevin O’Reilly. Much luck. You want to win money, don’t you? If you didn’t, surely you wouldn’t come to Las Vegas?”
He eyes her, frowning. Then the frown went away and that irrepressible Irish humor of his caught firm hold of him. “Faith, that I do. I need money desperately.”
“I knew it,” she declared, nodding her pretty head. “I caught the vibrations, and came to make certain that you do.”
“I need a drink,” he muttered, moving his hand across his eyes. “A double martini, for instance.”
“By all means, but don’t overdo. Your grandfather Sean could never handle whiskey, he was always falling down drunk in a gutter somewhere, before I finally cured him of the habit.”
She turned and moved toward an easy-chair Her buttocks wobbled gently, outlined by the clinging lame. O’Reilly stared at them, picturing the lame stripped away, and felt a dryness in his throat.
She sat down and crossed her legs. The gown was short, it was not quite a mini, but the lame rode up on her thighs so that Kev saw plenty of nyloned legs and a bit of bare thighs above the stocking vamps, as well as a fancy garter-clasp
“What about yourself?” he asked, taking a few steps toward a bureau that he had transformed into a portable bar with the simple addition of a bottle here and there, plus an ice bucket.
“The martini sounds good.”
He made them doubles, stirring the Beefeater gin and the vermouth before adding the ice cubes. He carried her glass to her, and sat on a hassock close by her slippered feet.
They sipped, and eyed each other.
O’Reilly said, “How about having dinner with me tonight? I find I’m in the mood for a celebration of sorts. If you really are my fairy godmother and intend to grant me a winning streak, as you say.”
“I fully intend to,” she assured him. “I’ve been away from the family for so long, trying to locate you, that I owe you something more than just a piddling little winning streak. I shall make you rich.”
“Then we’ll have dinner?”
She smiled at him over the edge of her martini glass. “Not tonight. Some other time. Tonight you must spend at the tables, doing what I tell you to do.”
Kev laughed,
“You don’t believe me, do you?” she pouted.
She had very full red lips, and O’Reilly thought them the most kissable lips he had ever seen. She uncrossed her legs and recrossed them. Kev felt his eyes go wide, since she had no panties on, just a garter-belt and stockings.
“Nobody ever had a fairy godmother like you,” he told her wryly.
Her eyes went sad. “That’s because no one really believes, any more. In the old days—oh, I could tell you stories!—everyone from Balycastle down to Bantry Bay believed in the leprechauns and the banshees, in the good fairies and the bad. Today—pah!”
She shrugged and her breasts trembled.
Kev gulped air. “Wait a sec. Do you mean to tell me you’re here to make me win at the tables downstairs? That you can really do that?”
“But, of course! It’s why I’m here, isn’t it?”
He stared at her, laughing despite himself. He had always considered himself a hard-headed Irishman, nobody had ever pulled a fast one on him, and he had made a reasonably good living by his wits. He was being taken, in some manner that he could not discover, no matter how much he thought about it, but since there is something fey in the makeup of every son of Erin, he decided he might as well go along with this game.
She gave him a slow, heady smile. Her green eyes promised much. She did not stir when he put his palm on her nyloned leg and stroked it slowly.
“You’re a very beautiful woman. I’m thinking that you and I could make such music together that all the folks in County Meath would forget the harp of Tara.”
She held the martini glass in both hands, nodding at him slowly. “It may be that it will come to that. It has been many years since I’ve known the embrace of a mortal man.”
“We could start with dinner,” he hinted.
She shook her head this time. “No. You must go downstairs and play at roulette, at blackjack and at the dice. I will be there in spirit, looking over your shoulder. I will tell you what bets to make, if I must. But you should be able to do it on your own, with no outward help from me.
“I shall have used my influence before you finish your meal. Whatever you attempt tonight, you shall win at.”
Her pale hand put aside the empty glass. “I must go now. I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”
“You could never do that,” he muttered gallantly.
She rose to her feet and Kev looked up at her, wanting very much to take her in his arms, to cover her face with kisses, to strip off that gold lame and see what her body might be like in just her stockings and that garter-belt
He did not, he remained the perfect gentleman. He saw her to his door and watched as she walked down the hall, the mink wrap tossed casually over an almost bare shoulder.
O’Reilly closed the door softly and stood a moment in deep thought. Someone was working a bummer on him, or was about to. By rights, he should forget this whole thing and go about his own way. Still! He had intended to gamble here in Vegas; it was why he was here in the first place.
His fairy godmother had said he would win.
There was no sense in not playing.
First of all, she wasn’t his fairy godmother. He was Irish, he might be slightly fey, but he wasn’t daft. She was a beautiful girl who’d popped in on him out of the blue and told him he’d win big. With such encouragement, what in hell was he doing, standing here in this room and moping about it? On to the roulette wheel!
Kevin O’Reilly ate well in the hotel dining room, ordering oysters Rockefeller and a filet mignon, topping off the steak with cherries jubilee. He sipped coffee and smoked a cigar, and told himself he would risk a thousand of the two thousand dollars he had brought with him to Nevada.
He converted the cash into chips, and went into the glittering hall where roulette wheels whirred, where men and women leaned over them, watching the bouncing ball. He stared around him, then began his walk toward a relatively unoccupied table.
A girl in fancy clothes that served as her uniform came up to him. “This way, sir. If you please.”
O’Reilly had the giddy feeling that he was in the lap of the gods. He went where the girl brought him, to a wheel that seemed almost surrounded by people. A man pushed from the counter in disgust to make way for him.
“Place your bets,” the croupier muttered.
And a voice seemed to whisper in his ear, “Double zero.”
He put a hundred dollar chip on 00.
00 won, he left his money on it, and it won a second time. Kev stared at the pile of hundreds he had accumulated, a faint dizziness working in the back of his head.
“Try twenty,” said the voice.
Twenty won, three times in a row.
People were staring at him now, talking among themselves. The croupier was scowling, muttering under his breath. A wild exultation was in Kevin O’Reilly at this moment.
“Double zero again,” the voice counseled.
He pushed every chip he possessed onto 00.
He watched the spinning of the wheel, the bouncing of the ball. Oddly enough, there was no tension in him, no worry. 00 would win, he was as certain of this as he was that the sun would rise tomorrow morning.
And win 00 did.
“I think I’ve had enough,” he murmured weakly, staring at his winnings.
“Go somewhere else,” the croupier growled.
A girl came with a tray to help him carry his chips. Heads turned as he pushed away and walked after the girl to the cage where he cashed in his chips for more money than he had ever believed existed. He tried to count it, but he was so excited, his fingers fumbled.
As near as he could guess, he had won something like a hundred thousand dollars.
“Peanuts,” said a voice, almost in his ear.
He looked around him, but he was alone. He could never have overheard that voice. Besides, it sounded very familiar. Was his fairy godmother invisible? O’Reilly shook his head, annoyed at himself.
“I’m going daft,” he muttered.
“Try the dice tables,” said the voice.
He was positive of it, now. It was the voice of his fairy godmother. He strolled around the room, between the tables, watching other people win, or lose. Most of them lost. Almost against his will, his legs carried him into a room where dice tables stood, row on row.
“Table ten,” said the voice.
He won three hundred thousand dollars at table ten.
O’Reilly was in a daze, by this time. He walked on clouds, he felt like King Midas, whose touch turned everything to gold. There was nothing he could not do in this mood. When he finally pushed away from the craps table to follow the girl holding a tray containing his winnings, he felt as though he owned a large slice of the world.
It was in this soporific daze that he noticed the redhead. She was just as spectacular as the girl who called herself his fairy godmother; indeed, she seemed even to have a somewhat more voluptuous body, to judge by what he could see of it inside a white lace culotte dress, as she stood beside one of the craps tables eyeing him.
She had a puzzled frown on her very lovely face, and a shadow of worry lay in her green eyes. A pile of chips was before her, and she toyed idly with them as she stared after him.
He wondered who she might be.
At any other time, he might have gone up to her and asked her to have a drink with him, for he felt a desperate need to celebrate his good fortune. Instead, after he had cashed in his chips and stuffed his pockets with thousand dollar bills, he wandered alone into the dimly lighted bar and sank onto a stool.
“Dry martini on the rocks,” he told the barkeep.
He nursed the drink, occasionally sipping from it, as he tried to think out what had happened to him. O’Reilly did not believe in fairy godmothers, not really, though his disbelief had been severely strained in the past few hours.
She had said he would win, but this was ridiculous! He must have hauled in close to five hundred thousand dollars tonight, all told. He could not lose. No matter what number he called at the roulette wheel, no matter what number he had to make with the dice, those numbers always turned up. Kevin O’Reilly believed in luck, but this was something more than that.
