Where the Action Is, page 1
part #29 of Cherry Delight Series
Cherry Delight #29
A criminal genius with occult powers putting, the Vegas casinos out of business… Cherry had to stop him!
WHERE
the
ACTION IS
by Gardner Francis Fox
Written as Glen Chase
Originally printed in 1977
Digitally transcribed by Kurt Brugel and Akiko K.
2020 for the Gardner Francis Fox Library
Cover Illustration by Kurt Brugel 2020
Copyright © 2020 by The Gardner Francis Fox Library.
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
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELEVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
EPILOGUE
Prologue
“Please fasten your seat-belts, and no smoking please,” the stewardess said. “We’ll land at McCarren International Airport in ten minutes.”
Donna looked out the window and saw the flaming desert glide by underneath the Boeing 747 as it thundered through the sky toward Las Vegas. She’s seen nothing but desert for the past half-hour, but now over the giant wing something was shining far in the distance and she knew that must be her destination.
“Look honey,” she said to Ed. “That must be it.”
“Where?”
She pointed. “There.”
Ed leaned against her and drew his face close to hers as he peered out the window. “Oh yeah, I see it. Wow, I wonder who decided to build a town way out here.”
“I don’t know,” she replied, acutely aware of his body next to hers, that handsome strong body that she’d touched and caressed so many times, but had never gone all the way with.
But now she was married to him—it’d happened at ten o’clock that morning in the First Congregational Church of Elmtree, Iowa—and she was going to go all the way with him at last in a matter of hours or maybe even minutes.
He kissed her cheek and moved back to an upright position, fidgeting in his seat a bit. She knew that his problem was tight jockey shorts and her problem was wet underpants but the problem would be over with for the rest of their lives shortly, or maybe longly would be a more appropriate word, for she’d felt it many times on their many dates during the three months they’d been courting and the nine months they’d been engaged, and it sure wasn’t short. She hoped she’d be able to do with it what a good wife was supposed to do with it, but one of her girlfriends in the office had assured her that a woman’s equipment would stretch a mile before it’d tear an inch, and Donna certainly hoped that was true.
Donna was eighteen years old, and her girlfriends had always razzed her because she’d never done it, but Donna was a religious girl from an old established religious family, and sex was a no-no until you were married. Ed was from the same kind of family. She hoped he knew the right way to do it because she sure as hell didn’t.
She’d read a few sex manuals and looked at the pictures in them so she basically knew the different positions and all, but what did it feel like? She’d never read the sex manuals for too long at a stretch because very soon her finger would be down in her cupcake and everything would get gooey.
She closed her eyes and shivered. Maybe she should go to the ladies room and calm herself, but no, now she was Mrs. Edward Burhham and it belonged to him. It wouldn’t be right.
“How do you feel?” he asked, a tremor in his voice.
“Fine. You?”
“Fine.”
She crossed her shapely legs, and felt a tickle in her cupcake. Her nipples were hard as two little pebbles, and fearfully she looked down to see if they showed, but her brassiere kept her secret well. All you could see were the outlines of her two juicy melons underneath. If she didn’t stain the crotch of her beige slacks she’d be all right. Nobody would know she was the horniest girl in the west.
She’d better do something to distract herself before she did in fact drip through and make her wedding day something that she and Ed would always remember with embarrassment. Looking out the window, her jaw dropped open when she saw the domes and spires of Las Vegas. It was so huge and weird sitting there in the middle of the desert. So that’s where the action is, she thought. It would certainly be where the action was for her.
Ed leaned against her again. “Wow,” he said, looking out the window.
“Please sit right in your seat.”
“What’s the matter.”
“You know very well what’s the matter.”
“Oh.”
He blushed and began chewing his lower lip, his most common nervous habit. He had other nervous habits, like scratching his nose and jingling the change in his pocket, but no dirty nervous habits, thank God. Maybe sometimes he jingled something else while his hand was in his pocket, but you couldn’t tell. Ed was a gentleman.
And he certainly was good-looking. He picked up the magazine on his lap and she admired his strong jaw, gently curving nose, and Warren Beatty lips. The girls in the office were crazy about him, and one of them, that damn Margie, always flirted with him. But Ed was a gentleman and acted like nothing wrong was happening.
The plane nosed down, and Donna looked out the window again. The airport was straight ahead; they were coming in for the landing. She could see cars zipping along the highways and tiny dots that were people.
“Here we go,” she said.
“Yeah. Do you think there’ll be a bus that we can take to our hotel?”
“It’ll be faster to take a cab.”
They looked at each other and blushed.
The plane bumped on the ground, touched down again, and this time stayed down. It sped down the long runway, the pilot switched on the reverse burners, and they de-accelerated hard. The g’s pushed the newlyweds against their seat belts, exerting pressure in their loins where there was too much pressure already.
The plane glided to its gate and machinery moved the ramp to the door. As the ramp raised Donna thought it reminded her of—she had to stop thinking of things like that before she disgraced herself.
All the passengers debarked and went to the lower level to claim their luggage. Buses and taxis waited outside the terminal and Donna headed for one of the taxis, and Ed followed her, staring at her healthy round ass. He was having impure thoughts.
“Ever been in Vegas before?” asked the cabdriver, a short stout man.
“No,” said Donna and Ed in unison.
“It’s a helluva town. You can come here as a shoeshine boy and leave richer than a king, and vice versa. I’ve seen things happen that you wouldn’t believe. Money talks in this town. You can buy anything you want if you’ve got the money, and I mean anything.”
They were driving down the strip, and all the fabled hotels passed by their window. The architecture was incredible to Donna and Ed—there was nothing like it back in Elmtree. They passed the Golden Dollar, The Silver Slipper, and the Morocco. The signs outside advertised Frank Sinatra, Lisa Minelli, and Sammy Davis Jr.
“You two like to gamble?” the cabdriver asked.
“I don’t know—we’ve never gambled before,” Ed said.
“Then what the hell you doin’ in Las Vegas.”
“We’re on our honeymoon,” Ed replied as Donna jammed her elbow into his ribs.
The cabdriver grinned obscenely. “No kiddin’?”
“Ah… I’m not kidding.”
“Well, well, well. I hope you have a good time.”
“Thank you.”
He steered off the strip into the driveway of the new Ali Baba Hotel, which looked like an Arabian palace. It had minarets all over its roof, its walls were made of white marble, and every window was oval-shaped like the mosques in old Bagdhad. A doorman dressed like an Arab sheikh stepped forward to meet the cab.
The doorman stepped under the gold and white striped canopy and got out to unload the trunk. Donna stepped onto the mosaic sidewalk and couldn’t believe that in a few minutes she and Ed wo
Ed paid and tipped the driver, who kept winking at him.
“Give her one for me,” said the driver as he pocketed the money and headed for the driver’s seat.
The doorman carried their luggage into the vast lobby hung with tapestries and led them to the check in counter. Slot machines were everywhere and people of all ages in resort clothes stood in front of them and yanked the levers. Donna thought the levers looked like men’s penises and didn’t bother trying to stop thinking that way because she was going to have one of her own to play with in just a few minutes.
Ed signed the necessary papers and a bellboy dressed like a sultan in fez and baggy pants led them to the elevators. Donna hooked her arm in Ed’s and could feel him trembling. She knew what he was thinking about. She was thinking about the same thing. Soon the thinking would end and the reality would begin. She hoped it wouldn’t hurt too much. The girls in the office said it wasn’t a picnic at first, but then it’d be a real feast. Donna fully intended to gorge herself. Fully.
She rode up in the elevator and let her imagination run wild. She saw herself doing the most incredible sexual gymnastics with Ed. They’d do it in the bathtub and on the floor and in bed and on the chandelier if there was a stepladder around. And then she’d do it whenever she wanted for the rest of her life, providing he was agreeable of course, but she knew he’d be agreeable. Her days of sexual frustration were just about over and she was so overjoyed she wanted to scream and tell the world.
They walked down a long corridor covered with red carpet; the walls were painted gold. Each door was green, and at the end of the corridor the bellboy set down the bags and inserted a key in the lock. He opened the door and entered the room. In a daze, Donna followed him inside, and then received a terrible shock.
A black woman in a gray uniform was shampooing the rug with a machine that looked like a huge vacuum cleaner.
“This room ain’t ready yet,” the black woman said.
“The desk clerk said it’s ready,” replied the bellboy.
“You can see it ain’t.”
Donna saw her world collapsing. “Can’t we have another room?”
The bellboy shook his head. “We’re booked solid.”
Donna looked at Ed. Ed looked at the black woman. “When’ll the room be ready?”
“About another hour. Why don’t you leave your bags here and go down to the casino. It’s a real nice casino.”
“But this is our..
Donna dug her elbow into his ribs. “All right, we’ll go down to the casino. Is it okay if I use the facilities first?”
“What facilities?”
“The bathroom.”
“Sure, honey.”
Ed tipped the bellboy and Donna went into the bathroom, locking the door behind her. She opened her pocketbook and took out the sanitary napkin she carried around in case of emergencies. This certainly was an emergency. She pulled down her pants and then her underpants.
Her fuzz was soaking wet. She wiped it with toilet paper and nearly had an orgasm on the spot. Nearly swooning, she thought if she didn’t have sex soon she’d die. Applying the sanitary napkin, she pulled up her pants and looked in the mirror. She saw a beautiful blonde with glazed eyes and cheeks that glowed red hot. Somehow she’d have to pull herself together. If only she had a tranquilizer to calm herself down, but she didn’t. She’d have to carry on somehow without one.
She left the bathroom, and her every step made the sanitary napkin feel like Ed’s penis. If only it was. If only they could be alone. Twenty years from now they’d joke about this but right now it wasn’t funny.
“You okay?” Ed asked.
“Sure,” she said bravely. “Let’s go down to the casino.” Maybe that’d distract her. She had to find something that’d distract her.
They rode down the elevator and asked the bellboy where the casino was. He pointed and they walked down a long corridor lined with paintings of Arabian horses. At it’s end was a huge door. They passed through it and entered the newest casino in Las Vegas.
It was a huge room with a high ceiling, made to look like the tent of a prince. Expensive fabrics hung everywhere, and the floor was covered with gaming tables and people gambling at them. Beautiful girls did belly dances in the aisles, and gamblers placed their bets while croupiers raked them in.
“Should we gamble?” Ed asked her.
“We’d better do something.”
They went to the bank cage and Ed bought a hundred dollars worth of chips.
“What do you want to play?” he asked.
“You know what I want to play.”
“I mean gambling.”
“I don’t know how to gamble.”
He shrugged. “Let’s find a roulette wheel. I think you just bet on a number and if it comes up you win.”
“Isn’t that a roulette wheel over there?”
“As a matter of fact it is.”
“Could you kiss me first?”
“I don’t think I’d better.”
“You’re right—we should think of other things.”
“Maybe we should find a church to go to.”
“I don’t think we should get too far from our hotel room.”
They walked to the table, and the gamblers made room for them. Donna looked at the roulette wheel which was spinning so fast it was a blur. The croupier flicked the ball on its path and it went round and round. Donna looked at the croupier, a slender dark-haired man of thirty, and noticed he looked worried. Flanking him were two older men also dressed in tuxedos, and they were worried too. She looked at the table and there were a few chips on several of the numbers, and a huge pile of chips on fourteen red. Wondering who was betting all that money, she looked at the other gamblers. They all looked more or less alike—middle-aged people in casual clothes—except for one man, and her eyes fastened on him.
He wore a tuxedo and smoked a cigarette in a gold holder. About forty-two years old, he had a pale complexion that contrasted sharply with his short black beard. His hair was of medium length and parted to the side, and he looked over six feet tall, but the most arresting thing about him were his eyes, which glowed as if there was electricity behind them. A smile played over his lips as he watched the wheel, smoke from his cigarette curling up around his face.
The steel ball dropped into a slot, and the wheel slowed down.
The croupier set his saw. “Fourteen red,” he said hoarsely, looking at the man with the beard. “You win again, Mister Gubishov.”
“So I see.”
His voice was soft, but deep and resonant. It sent a chill up Donna’s spine. Who is this man? she wondered. I’ve never seen anybody like him in my life.
The croupier counted a huge quantity of chips and pushed them to Gubishov, who gathered them to the vast pile of chips in front of him. Then he looked up suddenly, and Donna felt his eyes boring into her brain. She sucked in her breath and felt as if he’d turned her to stone.
“Place your bets, ladies and gentlemen,” the croupier said.
Gubishov pushed all his chips on twenty-three black.
The tuxedoed man to the right of the croupier puffed out his chest and placed his hands behind his back. He had a thick black mustache and wore glasses tinted light green.
“I’m afraid we can’t accept any more of your bets, Mister Gubishov,” he said.
Gubishov looked up and smiled faintly. “Oh?”
“You’ve won enough, don’t you think?”
“No.”
“Well, we think so. I’m sorry.”
Gubishov puffed his cigarette and looked at the man for a few moments. “I thought this was a public casino licensed by the state of Nevada.” He had a strange foreign accent that Donna couldn’t identify.
“It is.”
“Then surely you know that according to the laws of Nevada, you cannot refuse play to anyone unless they’re cheating. Do you think I’m cheating?”
“I’m afraid I do.”
“How?”
“I don’t know, but under normal circumstances no one can possibly win consistently as you have this afternoon, sir.”
