Get Nookie by Ross Webb - Chapter 01

1975 Genre: Vintage Sleaze / Private Detective

Swing Spas were places where young swingers got to know each other...very well. They offered free love for a fee, massages that rubbed you the right way, and the kind of physical exercise that everyone loves to practice.

Suddenly, the spa swung the wrong way. People were being stabbed in the steam room, strangled in the sauna, and sucked to death in the whirlpool.

Nookie, the poverty-prone detective, took the case for money—and because she was tired of laying service charges on her boyfriends. But before she knew it, she was all balled up in a steamy conspiracy, and someone was out to...

GET NOOKIE!

CAST OF CHARACTERS

NOOKIE NARDUCCI - A private eye who is built along the lines of a centerfold. Her assignment: to find the killer who is knocking off the members of a chain of New York City health clubs called the Swing Spas.

JOHNNY DE MANN - TV personality and owner of the Swing Spas. Murder wasn't included in his sales pitch.

MISS FREEBIS - De Mann's secretary. Was she capable of taking more than dictation?

POMPIE FAMUCOCCA - Nookie's sometime lover and lover for some time.

MAVIS BOGGUS - A raucous black chambermaid, chock full of whatever is handy.

MOLLY McDOWELL - What did she discover in a pair of pants that shouldn't have been there?

SIDNEY POMERAY -A display queen who lives by hook and by crook... mostly by crook.

ADAM FLEETWOOD - An ad man who used the Swing Spas to pick up girls. Did he pick the wrong one?

DIXIE PENDLETON - What was she doing in the steam room with a corpse?

STEFAN KING - A gym instructor who, for all his macho bravado, was as gay as a Chinese typewriter.

LT. TERRANCE FERGUSON - Couldn't find a connection between the murders, but he found one with Nookie.

FRANK DIEGO - A locker room attendant. He had a secret fetish which he carried around in his lunch pail.

ELEANOR DARION - A plain jane who proved that too much weight-lifting can hurt a girl.

HARRY BOHM - Managed a Swing Spa. Could he also manage a murder?

WANDA GOMEZ - A Spanish gym instructress. She had more muscles than a paella.

THE MURDERER - Intent on turning the Swing Spas into Death Spas and getting a piece of Nookie on the side... the dead side!

CHAPTER ONE

"All right, ladies. Let's start with some leg raises. Lie down on the floor like so. Put your arms flat against your sides, Notice how those hips are losing weight, ladies? Now then, lift your right leg slowly off the floor—about a foot. No, no—that's too much. Just about a foot. Do it slowly—very slowly. That's right, ladies. Now do the same thing with the left leg.

Keep the legs stiff. That's right. Right, left, right, left, right, left."

The image of Johnny De Mann came clearly over the brand-new portable television set. Nookie Narducci lay on the black and white tile floor of her living room, going through her exercises with the famous expert on physical fitness. Johnny De Mann was a well-preserved man at least in his early sixties. His smiling countenance was known to millions of women throughout the country who joined him regularly at seven-thirty every morning to do a series of exercises and to listen to his tips on nutrition and health.

"All right, ladies. We'll take a short break."

Nookie sat up. "Whew," she said, pushing back her black hair which was clinging to her perspiring brow. She stood up, stretched, and sipped on her glass of grapefruit juice. Then she surveyed herself in the mirrored wall of her living room. She turned all the way round, examining her ripe, curvaceous body for any results from her two-week stint with Johnny De Mann.

Her hips did look smaller, and the softness she had felt creeping onto her upper thighs had all but disappeared. Nookie was a beautiful girl who turned men's heads wherever she went. Her face was oval-shaped, and her skin-tone was flawless. Her black hair was thick and shiny and fell to her shoulders, framing her face. Her eyes were very large and set widely apart. The irises were brown, lightly flecked with yellow. Her nose was a trifle too long, but well-formed. The mouth was large and full, and her lips were sensuous giving the appearance of pouting.

Johnny De Mann, after a commercial interruption, appeared again on the television set.

"Don't forget, ladies. We have a special offer all this week. Twenty percent off a full year's membership at any of my six Swing Spas throughout New York City. This offer is good for only one week, and, of course, at the Swing Spas, you have to be single in order to join. So get that good-looking boyfriend of yours to buy you a membership at Johnny De Mann's Swing Spa for a Christmas present.

And while he's at it, have him get one for himself. We have a special offer when you purchase two memberships."

"I wish I had the bread," muttered Nookie.

She often talked to herself as people who live alone are prone to do.

"Well, ladies, that's all for this morning. I want to remind you that if you want to increase your active life, and I mean on all levels," he added seductively, "send for my high-potency vitamins. Only six dollars and ninety-eight cents for a full month's supply.

The address is—got a pencil handy?—" Nookie switched off the television and went into the kitchen. She took two eggs out of the refrigerator and put them on to boil and made a cup of instant coffee. Then she sat down at the small round table and pushed the flowered curtains aside to check the weather. There was a parking lot located next to her first-floor apartment. It was a cold, gray day in late November.

"Gloomy Monday," she said to herself.

When her eggs were done, she ran cold water over them and carefully peeled them.

She swallowed the twelve vitamins she took daily, washed them down with juice, and finished her eggs and coffee.

"That was quite a workout this morning. I should be good and solid by Christmas."

As soon as she said the word "Christmas" she became depressed. Nookie Narducci was a private detective. She'd been in business for about five months, and in that time, she'd had only one important case, a murder case in the Chesterfield Hotel which was located near her on West Fifty-eighth Street. The murderer had methodically killed several elderly women and Nookie had been hired by the sister of one of the murdered women to work undercover at the hotel as a chambermaid. She came through with flying colors and caught the murderer, but not before getting almost done in herself. That had happened over a month ago, and she hadn't had another client since.

Her sex was against her. Many would-be clients refused to hire her on the basis that she was a woman. And going to her office daily and sitting around with no takers was a chore which was draining her optimism little by little. Her last case had gotten her temporarily out of debt, but now the bills were starting to pile up again. The telephone company was threatening to cut her off, and she was behind a payment on her new television set, and on top of everything else, she had a fight with her boyfriend, Pompie Famucocca. It had been because of his male chauvinist attitude toward her profession. Pompie owned a nightclub/bar called The Speakeasy which was located around the corner on Ninth Avenue. He was eternally trying to get her to come to work for him. Probably to keep an eye on her. Nookie knew that he meant well, but if she were to take the job, it would mean an end to her independence. And she wasn't having any of it.

After rinsing the breakfast dishes, she went into her bathroom and stripped off her leotard. The walls were completely covered in crunched-up aluminum foil. Her friend Sidney suggested using the foil to hide the pipes and the cracked plaster. It was a striking effect, but on a dreary Monday morning, it did nothing to heighten her spirits. She turned on the shower and waited for the rusty water to run clear before stepping through the clear plastic shower curtain. For a change, the water was hot.

"Tony must have managed to get his fat ass out of bed and turn on the boiler this morning."

Tony was the superintendent of Nookie's building. He was a short muscular man who never got tired of making sexual innuendoes to Nookie or anyone who would listen to him.

She wished he'd find himself a woman.

Perhaps if he got laid regularly, he'd manage to run the building smoother.

She towel-dried her body and rubbed an herbal body-cream over her soft flesh. Nookie's body had an unusual feature; she was completely hairless. But she didn't mind. She figured that it saved her a lot of money on depilatories, and her perfectly smooth mound turned men on. As she was drying her thick mane of black hair, she heard the phone ringing. She switched off the blower and ran into the bedroom to answer it.

"Hello?" she said breathlessly.

"Did I wake you, Nookie?"

It was Sidney Pomeroy, her friend who lived across the street. Sidney was a ne'er-dowell window decorator who lived by hook and by crook... mostly by crook. He was also an unattractive homosexual who didn't make out very well in the love department. But Nookie and Sidney had gotten along famously since she had moved into the neighborhood.

"No, Sidney, I was just drying my hair. What's up?"

"Not much, dammit. I haven't been laid for so long I feel like a rug in storage. Guess what?

Frack had her kittens last night."

Sidney owned two Siamese cats, Frick, the male, Frack, the female, and Frick had made Frack heavy with child, or as Sidney was fond of putting it, "Frick frucked Frack."

"Are they all right?"

"So far they're fine. She had four beautiful babies sometime during the night. I almost stepped on them this morning."

"Where are they?"

"In the bottom of my closet. I have all that velvet material I stole from work piled up there. Well, she went right in and had them.

Got the velvet a little messy, but what the hell!

Give the little mother whatever she wants,"

"You say there are four?"

"Yes, four. I was wondering if you'd want to run over and take a look at them and have a quick cup of coffee?"

"I don't want to be late at my office. Not that it matters. There's no one breaking the door down. And now that I've the answering service I don't miss any calls. But the only calls I've been getting are from bill collectors."

"I know how you feel, sweetheart. I'm being a bit harassed in that department myself."

"Your charge accounts?"

"Lord & Taylor is after my ass. They say I owe them six hundred dollars. I was only in the store three times."

"Sidney, you should never have a credit card. It's like giving a gun to John Dillinger."

"I resent that," he replied laughing. "How soon can you be here?"

"Give me about twenty minutes."

"I'll be looking for you, love."

After hanging up, Nookie finished drying her hair, brushing it to try to keep it as straight as possible. She parted it in the center and let it fall casually over her shoulders.

Then she put on a light coat of pink lipstick, no other make-up. She had skin that always looked tanned. Nookie' s ancestry made her half-Chippewa Indian and half-Italian. Her real name was Nakomis Narducci. Nookie was a nickname given to her by her only living relative, Aunt Tommy, short for Tomasine, who lived in Queens and who believed that Nookie was a welfare caseworker and not a private detective. Since the old woman worried continuously about her niece living alone in the wicked city, Nookie had told her a harmless lie to keep her from worrying to death.

She dressed in a lemon-yellow blouse and beige pants suit which Sidney had "picked up" for her at one of the stores where he did display work. She threw a full-length black wool cape around her shoulders and was ready to leave her apartment. She turned on a light in her living room and a small portable radio to discourage the burglars. She walked down her long hallway which she painted white and had decorated with framed theatrical posters. Then she went through the elaborate process of locking her door. Nookie had three locks, including a police lock. There had been many robberies in the building, but so far, she wasn't one of them.

The hallway in the apartment building was dark and ill-kempt, but Nookie kept a hundred-fifty-watt bulb over her own doorway, much to the chagrin of Tony, the superintendent. She had been frightened once by some drug addicts who were using an empty room on the other side of the building to shoot up. Luckily they had run off without bothering her. Since then, she had kept her light bulb installed above her doorway so the hallway would be better lighted. The lock on the entrance door to the apartment building was still broken. She made a mental note to call the City Housing Authority once again and complain. Not that it did any good. Her building was owned by the Mafia, as were most of the buildings in New York City. Evidently, someone was getting paid off to keep her complaints from being effective.

Seated on the stoop of her building was a young boy whom everyone called Head because he was into the drug scene. He was slender and nice-looking in an offbeat way.

He had shoulder-length blond hair and was wearing a pair of jeans and a boat-neck T-shirt.

He didn't notice Nookie, but was staring amiably into space. Nookie thought that he looked like he was on some kind of trip.

"Good morning, Head."

He tilted his head and looked up at her benignly. "Good day, Nookie. I mean, wow, isn't it just a beautiful day, man."

"You're going to get pneumonia sitting out here dressed like that."

"Pneumonia on a warm, sunny day like today?"

Nookie gave up. Evidently, she wasn't where Head was at. She crossed West Fifty-sixth Street to Sidney's apartment building which was in better shape than hers, but not by much. She gave the buzzer their secret ring, three shorts and two longs, which was set up to discourage any of Sidney's doorbell trade from stopping by unannounced at any hour of the day and night. The front buzzer sounded.

She pushed the door open, crossed the drab hallway to the elevator and pressed the fifth-floor button. When she got off she ran into a middle-aged Polish lady who lived next door to Sidney. The woman looked at Nookie with disdain. She was absolutely positive that Nookie and Sidney were having a hot and heavy affair. Sidney told Nookie that he had explained to the woman that he was gay, but she didn't seem to understand. Nookie said good morning and got a cold shoulder in reply.

She rang Sidney's bell, and he opened the door immediately.

"Come in, darling," he said, kissing her on the tip of the nose. "Wait till you see the kittens."

Sidney had a tendency toward excess weight and was wearing an expensive-looking caftan which Nookie assumed he had "mopped" from one of his stores. He took her cape and led her into his cluttered bedroom and pulled the closet door open further.

Frack was lying in a cream-colored heap on top of velvet drapes. She looked fat and sassy.

Cuddled around her stomach and noisily chewing on her breasts were the four kittens.

They were the tiniest, most delicate-looking things that Nookie had ever seen. Their eyes weren't open yet, and instead of fur, they had a covering which looked like peach fuzz.

"Sidney," she squealed, "they're darling."

She knelt down. Frack widened her eyes and meowed.

"Don't worry, Frack. I'm not going to touch the kittens. Did she have any trouble delivering them?"

"Apparently not. I slept through the whole thing. I've been nervous as an expectant father for the past week. I even had the vet tell me exactly what to do in case anything went wrong, but they all look fine and healthy to me."

Nookie scratched Frack on the head, and she purred contentedly.

"Good girl. Where's Frick?"

"He's in the kitchen having breakfast. He seems rather noncommittal about the whole thing. Are you sure I couldn't interest you in a pussycat or two?"

"I don't know, Sidney. I can barely afford to feed myself, but I'll think about it. They certainly are cute."

"Well, I just thought they might be good company now that you've had a fight with Pompie."

"Oh, that won't last. Pompie's Pompie, and I'm me. He's just pulling his usual M.C.P. routine."

"M.C.P.?"

"Male Chauvinist Pig."

"Well, let me know if he ever gets tired of girls, love?"

Nookie laughed. "I will. Now how about that coffee?"

"Coming right up. I've also got a Sara Lee coffee cake on the table. Sit down, Nookie, and I'll get the Juan Valdez juice."

Sidney brought the coffee to the table, cut each of them a healthy chunk of the cake and sat down.

"I thought you were on a diet, Sidney."

"I am, just food."

"God, I hope I get a client today."

"There's nothing at all coming up for you?"

"Not a damn thing. If this keeps up, I'm going to have to get some sort of job over Christmas. Perhaps I could work in a store as protection or something."

"Maybe I could get you some freelance job helping with display. We're into the real sweep of the Christmas decorations now and they could probably use somebody else. It pays five bucks an hour."

"But I've never done that sort of thing."

"It wouldn't matter as long as you're with me. I'll check it out for you."

"Thanks, Sidney. I appreciate that. I hope something breaks for me soon. I spent all the money I made off the last case. The television payment's due and I still haven't paid off Sol for all the office furniture. And now I've got this answering service. Oh, well. I'll try to think positive. Everything will work out."

"Are you still doing your exercises?"

"Yep, up every morning at seven-thirty to catch Johnny De Mann. You should try them.

It really makes you feel terrific."

"I don't know if I could get up that early for any man, unless he were in my bed."

"I wish I could afford to join one of his Swing Spas."

"I noticed they opened one up in the old Chesterfield Hotel. That must make around six in town. He must be doing pretty well."

"They have a special deal on now. Twenty percent off from now until Christmas."

"Why don't you drop a hint to Pompie. It would be a great Christmas present for you."

"If I speak to him again."

"Oh, you will. You've had these spats before. As a matter of fact, why don't you come over for dinner tonight and we'll drop by and see him. It seems to me like you could stand a little tender loving care."

"Oh, Sidney, you're always making dinner for me."

"What can I say? I like to cook, and as adept as I am at stealing from the A & P, the dinner costs practically nothing."

"You talked me into it. What time should I arrive?"

"Around eight o'clock. I'm going into work today at Bonwit Teller's at ten, and I'll probably work there till around five. I've mopped practically all my Christmas presents."

"I've only got a few to get. Pompie, you, and Aunt Tommy, and maybe I'll get Mavis a little something."

"Is Mavis still working at the hotel now that it's been converted into apartments?"

"Yes, she's working for private clients now."

"How is she?"

"Just as foul-mouthed as ever." Nookie sipped her coffee thoughtfully and added, "I damn well hope a job comes up soon... "

"Why don't you try placing an ad in the New York Times or in New York Magazine? That might bring some results."

"I never thought of that. That's a very good idea. I'll also state that I'm a woman so I won't have to go through a lot of bullshit." Nookie got up from the table. "Sidney, I've got to run.

I'm already late. Thanks for the coffee and cake. I'll see you tonight at eight."

"I hope you get an assignment today. I'll keep my legs crossed for you."

"You do that."

Nookie got her cape and left Sidney. She walked to Eighth Avenue and turned uptown.

At the corner of West Fifty-seventh, she picked up a copy of New York Magazine and the New York Times. When she reached West Fifty-eighth Street she found herself standing in front of the old Chesterfield Hotel which was now just called the Chesterfield. It had been converted into efficiency apartments.

Part of the basement, the kitchen, and the dining room had been remade into one of Johnny De Mann's Swing Spas. Nookie was staring at a large blowup of the television personality when she heard a familiar voice behind her.

"He sure is well preserved, ain't he?"

She turned. It was her old friend Mavis Boggus, a raucous black woman. They had met when Nookie was posing as a chambermaid in the Chesterfield Hotel in order to crack a case. They had taken a liking to each other immediately. Nookie threw her arms around Mavis and hugged, her, warmly, "Sidney and I were just talking about you. I had coffee with him this morning. His cat gave birth to four kittens last night."

"Ain't that somethin'. I'm glad somebody's gettin' it. Now, what are you doin' standin' out here starin' at that muscle builder?"

"I was just wishing I had enough money to join the gym. I've been getting up every morning at seven-thirty and doing the exercises on television, but it's not like the real thing.

"Uh-huh, honey, that's for sure!"

Nookie laughed. "I didn't mean that, Mavis. How's your work going?"

"Wooo-eee, they're workin' my ass off.

Today I'm workin' for Bruce Pierce. He's that humpy actor on that daytime television serial.

You ever see him?"

"No, I never did."

"He's somethin' else and built like a brick... "

"Yes, I know," said Nookie. "You'll never change, Mavis."

"You headed for your office?"

"Yes, I was just going there. I sure hope I get a job today."

"Nothin's broken for you yet?"

"No, I thought they'd be breaking down my door after I did such a good job on the Chesterfield murder case, but not a bite."

"You gonna’ be in the office for lunch?"

"Sure thing. You want to come up?"

"I'll stop by Chock Full O' Nuts and pick us up some sandwiches."

"Don't bother getting anything to drink.

I've got some soda and milk at the office.

Pompie gave me a secondhand refrigerator from his club after he got a new one."

"You still seein' him?"

"Well, yes and no. We had a little bit of a spat, but I'm sure it will blow over."

"Honey, don't let that hump slip through your fingers. If you do, pass him on to ol' Mavis. I sure could stand a man. Well, I'd better get my tired ol' ass to work. Maybe I can catch Brucie runnin' around in his skivvies."

"Mavis, you're incorrigible," Nookie laughed. "I'll see you at lunch."

Nookie reached West Sixtieth Street, turned left and walked toward Ninth Avenue. She passed a group of ramshackle buildings, most of which were closed down by the city. The windows were marked with crosses and the fronts were covered with layers of molting posters. Number three-eighteen wasn't as rundown as the others and it housed several businesses. Nookie' s pride and joy was a highly polished brass sign which was affixed to the brick of the building. It read:

N. NARDUCCI DETECTIVE AGENCY THIRD FLOOR It was the only classy thing about the building. The hallway was dirty. Plaster was falling from the ceiling and the overhead light was only a twenty-five-watt bulb: The elevator was continually out of order, so Nookie had to walk to the third floor. When she reached the second floor, which was occupied by Carmen's Beauty School, she saw the usual group of slender, dark-haired young men attired in white, who were students of the school and were pursuing the art of hairdressing. They were passing a thickly rolled joint. One of them waved at Nookie as she passed.

"Hello, Mario, starting a little early in the day?" Nookie asked.

"It's not too early. Today we're doing hair striping and we've got a load of Jewish matrons in there from the Bronx. They all want to be Hollywood blondes. It's going to be one helluva day. You want a drag?"

"No thanks," Nookie replied. "I'm trying to taper off."

Mario and his friends emitted a high-pitched giggle, and Nookie continued on her way. When she reached the third floor, she unlocked her office, flipped on the lights and went inside. Nookie loved her small one-room office. She had decorated it herself. The desk, filing cabinets, coffee table and couch were all in brown tones. She had a folding screen off to one side which concealed a hot plate and the full-size refrigerator that Pompie had given her. Standing in front of the screen was a giant palm that Sidney had managed to smuggle out of one of his display jobs. Nookie hung her cape on the coat rack and phoned her answering service.

"Hello. This is Nookie Narducci. Any messages?"

"Just one, Miss Narducci. A man named Sol called twice and requests that you call him back."

"Thank you."

Sol was the man who owned the store where she had bought her office furniture on time.

She was still paying for it and was behind.

She looked his number up in her book and got him on the phone.

"Sol, this is Nookie. Before you jump down my throat, I know what you're calling about. I'm late again."

"Nookie, honey, I've got a business to run.

When am I gonna' get some money?"

"Sol, I just got a client today," Nookie lied.

"As soon as I get paid for my work, I'll send you off a check."

"Try to make it soon, will you? Honey, things are getting tough around here."

"I'll try to send it out this week, Sol."

After she hung up, Nookie remarked glumly, "I may have to go down to Forty-second Street and sell my blood."