“Thank you Mister Laganello,” I replied as I headed to the door. “And if you ever need a job as a clown, call me at my New York number. I might be able to do something for you.”

  A thunderstorm passed over his face. “Hey, nobody talks to Danny Laganello that way.”

  I stopped and turned around. “I just did.”

  “I think you need to be taught a lesson, young lady.”

  “Who’s going to teach it to me?”

  He pointed his finger at me. “Don’t think that just because you’re a woman, that’ll save you from getting your ass kicked.”

  “Who’s going to kick it—you?”

  “Don’t push me too far, lady.”

  “I’ll push you as far as I want, clown.”

  Laganello screamed at the two bodyguards who sat behind him. “Get her!”

  “But she’s a broad,” one of them protested.

  “I don’t care what she is! You getting paid to kick ass, and I want you to kick her ass.”

  Vanello got to his feet. “Now Danny…”

  “Shaddup! This cunt has insulted my honor and goddamn it she’s going to pay for it!”

  The two bodyguards came at me. The one on the left made a face that indicated he didn’t want to beat me up, but his job was on the line and he had to. The other one looked like he’d beat up his own grandmother and not give it a second thought.

  I waited until they got within kicking range, then leapt high into the air. On the way up I slammed the side of my left foot into the jaw of one of them, and on the way down I shot the heel of my right foot into the testicles of the other.

  They both fell to the floor and I think the one on the left might’ve been dead, but a Mafia bodyguard does a lot of nasty things in his life and I’m sure he deserved it. The other one might have a little problem going to the bathroom for awhile, and his sex life would be severely hampered.

  I waved goodbye to the other men who stared wide-eyed at me. “Have a nice day,” I said.

  Chapter Five

  I went back to my room to think things out a little, then called Vanello and told him I wanted to check out one of the roulette wheels that Gubishov had won on. He told me to meet him in the casino.

  Down I went to the casino, which was decorated like a Wild West saloon. The croupiers were dressed in ruffled shirts and cowboy-styled tuxedos. Dance hall girls danced up and down the aisles, and on the stage a cowboy sang a western song. The atmosphere made me want to hold up a stagecoach or shoot Matt Dillon.

  Vanello was standing beside a roulette wheel with a couple of working class types who had some electronic gear with them. Vanello smoked a cigarette and the lighting gleamed on his tanned handsome face. He wasn’t the friendliest guy in the world, but he was sort of good-looking. I’ve always had a weakness for Italian men.

  Perhaps I should explain that I’m Italian myself. Yes, I was born Cherisse Dellissio in a small city in the mid-west My father owned the only pizza parlor in town. I was raised on pizza, and to pizza I owe what I am today.

  Anyway, Vanello had his workmen take apart the roulette wheel for me, and explained its inner workings. He demonstrated that no outside force that he knew of could influence the spinning of the wheel and rolling of the ball. He used magnets, radio waves, and so forth. The instruments hooked up to the wheel registered no change in pitch.

  I told him to spin the wheel in the normal fashion, because I wanted to try an experiment. He did so, and I gritted my teeth, balled my fists, and concentrated my spiritual energies on the roulette wheel. At the D.U.E. Academy they taught us how to do this a little so we could have an understanding of how the heavyweight sorcerers and occultists operated. With all the strength in my body I willed the roulette wheel to slow down.

  “What’s she doin’ to the wheel?” asked one of the workmen looking at a meter. “It’s slowin’ down.”

  “By how much?” asked Vanello.

  “Only about a dozen rpms, but it’s slowin’ down.”

  I relaxed, because unless you’re a heavyweight sorcerer or occultist you can’t do that sort of thing for long.

  “Hey, it’s pickin’ up again.”

  Vanello looked at me with new respect. “How’d you do that?”

  “It’s just a matter of focusing your inner energies.”

  He smiled, and his teeth were straight and white. “You’ve got a lot of talents, haven’t you?”

  “As a matter of fact I have, but in this particular instance, I don’t have nearly what Gubishov has. He’s a master of mind control and must have studied long and hard to be able to do what he does.”

  “How can we stop him.”

  “What do you mean we?”

  He coughed nervously. “I mean you.”

  “I don’t know yet. I might have to kill him.”

  “How’re you going to do that?”

  “There are several ways actually. I haven’t decided which one yet.”

  “Have you heard what happened to Frankie Mulassi from Chicago?”

  “As a matter of fact I have.”

  “I hope the same thing doesn’t happen to you.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re too pretty to die,” he said, fixing his big brown eyes on me.

  “Your friend Laganello didn’t think so.”

  “He’s a crazy old fool, a throwback to the days of the Mustache Petes. All he knows are fists, guns, and the rackets. A man like him doesn’t know how to handle a legitimate business.”

  Something occurred to me. “He owns the Silver Spur Hotel doesn’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  “Does he live there?”

  “On the penthouse floor.” He grinned. “You planning to pay him a visit?”

  “Maybe.” ‘

  A leer came into his eyes. “Why don’t you pay me a visit?”

  I smiled. “What do you think I’m doing right now?”

  “I mean alone.”

  I thought I’d break his balls a little. “Whatever business matters we could talk about alone, we could talk about here.”

  “I didn’t mean business.”

  “Are you trying to say that you want to propose marriage to me, Tony Vanello?”

  He blanched. “Marriage?”

  “Yes marriage. I’m Italian just like you are, and I’m not seeing any man alone unless we’re getting married.”

  “But,” he stammered, “I’ve heard that you’re a nymphomaniac and that you have sexual intercourse for at least four hours everyday.”

  “Lies!” I replied, throwing my hand in the air. “It’s tragic how people can destroy the reputation of a nice Italian girl.”

  Seeing my anger, he took a step back. Probably he was remembering what I’d done to the two goons in the conference room.

  “You mean you’re a virgin?” he asked.

  “Yes, aren’t you?”

  “Well… ah… no, as a matter of fact.”

  “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Tony Vanello. What kind of upbringing have you had anyway?”

  “A traditional Mafia upbringing. Whorehouses, call girls, and bimbos whenever I wanted them.”

  “Why aren’t you married, a handsome gentlemen like you?”

  He blinked his eyes bashfully. “I guess I never met the right girl.”

  “That’s not surprising, since you hang out with whores, call girls, and bimbos. Why, I’m ashamed to be seen in public with you, Tony Vanello. You’re liable to ruin my reputation even worse than it’s ruined already. I think we’d better get back to business, if you don’t mind.”

  “Okay,” he said, adjusting his tie. “What do you want to do?”

  “My next move is to actually meet Gubishov. When he shows up at a casino, I want to be informed immediately.”

  “I’ll go to my office and call the other casino operators right now. Where will you be?”

  “I don’t know—I thought maybe I’d go to the pool.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea. When Gubishov shows you’ll have to shower and change clothes and by then you might miss something important.”

  “Maybe you’re right. I guess I’ll wait in my room.”

  “You’ll get bored there. Why don’t you wait in my office?”

  “I might get even more bored there.”

  He looked hurt, and I was sorry I said it.

  “I mean,” I continued, trying to repair the damage, “that you’ll be busy with paperwork and all, and that might not be fun for me.”

  “Nonsense, I have a large office that’s more comfortable than most homes. I’ve got a movie projector, color television, and hey, I’ve got a lot of photographs of Gubishov. You probably should look at them to get a better measure of the man.”

  “Now you’re thinking, Vanello. Let’s go.”

  I followed him out of the casino and across the lobby to his office. Men looked up from gambling tables and one-arm bandits to ogle me, and I just shook my ass and wiggled my titties as I walked along, looking at Vanello’s broad shoulders and sleek hair. As I believe I said elsewhere, I’ve always had a weakness for Italian men.

  In his office, Vanello told his secretary to call all the other casino operators and have them report the sighting of Sergei Gubishov. Then he took me to a large, comfortably-furnished room and closed the door. There was a desk at one end and he went to it, opened a drawer, and removed a folder. He brought the folder to me and sat next to me.

  I opened the folder and went through the photographs of Gubishov and his little chickie taken at various casinos throughout town. The more I looked, the more I thought I’d run into Gubishov before. Maybe he’d had plastic surgery or was heavily disguised in some way, but the essence of somebody I knew was undeniable. Maybe I’d seen him in a mug shot someplace. He had all the earmarks of a master criminal and looked dangerous as a rattlesnake. And somehow I had to stop him before he ruined Las Vegas, the Southwest, and the entire North American continent.

  I looked at my watch—it was one in the afternoon. Gubishov might not show up for hours, so there was a lot of time to kill. I happen to have a favorite way to kill time.

  “Do you know how to give a back-rub?” I asked Vanello.

  “Back-rub?” he asked quizzically.

  “I seem to have moved my spine out of whack a little bit,” I explained. “You see, when I was conducting my mind power experiment with the roulette wheel, I was drawing the energy from my nervous system, and as you know the human nervous system surrounds the human spine sort of the way a jockstrap surrounds a man’s testicles. I have this nasty little pain there, and I wonder if you’d massage it for me.”

  He looked like he didn’t know whether to shit or go blind. “Well I don’t know,” he mumbled, “I’m afraid I don’t know anything about that. I might hurt you. I have a very good lady masseuse here—why don’t you let her do it.”

  The poor son of a bitch didn’t know it, but he’d just turned down a hot piece of ass. Well, that’s the way it goes. You don’t get a second chance with Cherry Delight. I must’ve scared him pretty badly in the casino.

  “All right,” I said. “Where is she?”

  “I’ll have my secretary take you to her. If Gubishov shows up anyplace, I’ll notify you down there.”

  The secretary called the masseuse to advise her of my arrival, then took me downstairs past the indoor swimming pool, tennis courts, and health club to the massage parlor. The walls were pink porcelain and there were a number of little rooms where the massages took place.

  The secretary knocked on a door and it was opened by a tall lanky blonde with small breasts and her hair done pageboy style. She wore a white dress and from the way she looked me up and down, I could tell that she was a lezzie.

  Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t have anything against lezzies. In fact I kind of liked them. To tell the truth, I’ve been to bed with quite a few. No one knows how to please a woman better than another woman, although men, despite their ignorance, are much more exciting for me anyway.

  The secretary introduced me to the lezzie, whose name was Frieda. Then the secretary left.

  Frieda and I were alone, standing and looking at each other. She was trying to play it cool but the flush in her cheeks told me that she found me stimulating. Well, she wasn’t so bad herself. She reminded me of a gangly teenage boy, and I love gangly teenage boys.

  “How can I be of service?” she asked in a faint German accent.

  “I’d like to have my back massaged, if you don’t mind.”

  “Certainly. Please remove all your garments, and lie on the table.”

  I hung my shoulder bag on the peg, pulled down the zipper on my jumpsuit, and let my breasts hang out. She stared hungrily at them.

  I walked toward her and turned around. “Would you help me take this off?” I asked. “It’s rather tight and I’m afraid I might tear it if I do it myself.”

  “I’m happy to serve you in any way I can,” she murmured.

  She took the garment off my shoulders and peeled it down to my waist. Then getting on her knees before me, she pulled the garment down to the floor. As I stepped out of it, I saw her staring at my crotch. Struggling to maintain her cool, she carried my pantsuit to the closet and hung it up as I lay on the table.

  She returned and looked down at my incredible body. I spread my legs so she could see more pink. She appeared to be having difficulty breathing. I rolled over onto my stomach, since my back was my pretense for being there.

  “Miss Delight, do you mind if I remove my dress?” she asked. “I’ll have more freedom of movement without it, and be able to do a better job.”

  I turned my face to the side. “Take off anything you like.”

  Blushing, she unbuttoned her dress, peeled it off, and stepped out of it. Throwing it over a chair, she stood in bra and white bikini underpants. Reaching behind her, she unhooked the bra and wiggled out of it. Her nipples stuck out like little cones on her small but firm-looking breasts, and through her sheer underpants I could see the puff of her pubic hair.

  A bit unsteady, she walked to the table and ran her fingers over my back, sending thrills from the top of my dome to the end of my toenails.

  “You have a very beautiful body, Miss Delight,” Frieda said. “One of the most beautiful I’ve seen in my life, and in my line of work I see a lot of bodies.”

  “Thank you for your kind compliment, Frieda.”

  She poured some fragrant oils onto my back, and began rubbing with a firm circular motion.

  “What do you do to keep in such good shape?” she asked, kneading my flesh with her strong fingers.

  “I jog, practice karate, and have a lot of sex.”

  “No kidding.”

  “I’m completely serious, and I think you have a very beautiful body yourself, Frieda.” ,

  Her hands became erratic on my back. “Oh, I don’t have such a nice body. People tell me I resemble a boy.”

  “But boys are beautiful, aren’t they.”

  “Yes, but I’m supposed to be a woman.”

  “You are a woman, and a very beautiful one.”

  “It’s nice of you to say that, Miss Delight.”

  “I’m not being nice—I’m telling the truth.”

  Her hands became rhythmic again. “How’m I doing with your back.”

  “Very well, but do you think you could go a little lower?”

  “Here?”

  She caressed the small of my back, and I happen to be very sensitive there. Things were getting warm and wet between my legs.

  “Go a little lower,” I asked.

  She touched her fingers to my buttocks. “Do you mean down here?”

  “Yes.”

  She poured oil onto my firm smooth cheeks and began to rub them down. Since she was working so close to the center of my sex life, I was getting very horny. I spread my legs and raised my ass in the air a bit.

  Frieda took the cue, running her devilish fingers up and down the crack. With her forefinger she made little circles around my bunghole, and then stuck her finger in. I mused that sometimes something small can give you as much pleasure as something big, because small things are insidious and subtle and can tie your brain into knots.

  “Don’t you have anything softer you can use?” I asked, leading her on to do what she most wanted.

  With her hands she spread the cheeks of my ass, and then I felt the tender touch of her little pink tongue. She inserted it all the way, and massaged my clitty with her fingers. I began to rock back and forth, and heard moans issue from my throat. We played that naughty game for awhile, and then she drew away.

  “Could you roll over onto your back please?” she whispered.

  I rolled over and spread my legs. She looked down at my body and I thought she might pass out. With trembling hands she pushed down her underpants. Then she crawled on top of me, hugged me, and touched her pink to mine. We rubbed against each other, clitty against clitty, and if you haven’t tried it, girls—don’t knock it. It’s very gentle and sublime.

  We kissed, and I cupped her hard little butt in my hands. We were rubbing harder now, really getting with it, and our little pinks were getting red hot. Her juice and mine oozed down my thighs, we huffed and puffed, tried to go faster and faster and faster and oh, oh, OH, OH, YAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH

  The pleasure had been so great I almost passed out. Shaking my head, I felt Frieda crawling around me. When I was able to focus my eyes I looked up and saw her blonde thingy right above my face, and simultaneously I felt her tongue lick my own thingy.

  “You’re so delicious,” she sighed. “I want to stay with you like this forever.”

  I kissed her fuzzy lips, and they tasted like seaweed. I thrust my tongue in and felt the warmth and tenderness of this truly charming young woman. We squirmed against each other and the massage table teetered from side to side. She came in my face and I came in her’s. We lay in each other’s arms, sighing and whimpering.

  But something was wrong. What we’d done was extremely enjoyable but somehow it wasn’t completely satisfying. I guess the only thing that would really subdue me was ten inches, and in a pinch I’d settle for eight inches, or six, or even a little weenie.

 

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