Harry and the Bikini Bandits by Basil Heatter - Chapter 01

1971 Genre: Vintage Sleaze / Casino Heist

There's a lot to be said for my Uncle Harry. Mostly unprintable. All my life I'd heard about him, and from a distance, he was a kind of legend. But the moment I signed on as a one-man crew to his beat-up old bucket, Jezebel, I found my hero of the sea was really a pirate. Broads and booze kept him afloat between capers—and so far, his luck was holding...

But this new harebrained scheme—to heist the loot from an island gambling casino—was the daffiest—and most dangerous yet.

And there I was. Right in the middle. Up to my virginal ears in naked nymphs and Nitrous oxide—with nothing between me and the future but a leaky getaway and a pot of gold that was fast disappearing behind Harry's private rainbow.

CHAPTER 1

Jezebel was a beat-up old bucket. She looked as though she had been launched sometime before the turn of the century. As a matter of fact she had and, with her hogged sheer and her sails that had once been used to cover hayricks, she now looked ready to sink. But somehow Harry had kept her afloat.

About the all-girl crew. There was only one left when I arrived. If there was very little that was right with the boat, there was certainly nothing wrong with Miss Wong.

With her long black hair and beautiful breasts, she was a regular Playboy centerfold. She wore an orange nylon bikini consisting of about as much material as would have filled a shot glass. Stretched out on the cabin top, she was a sensation. A couple of dozen guys stood on the pier gazing down at her with open mouths and tongues sticking out like dogs chasing a bitch in heat.

But the peaceful scene was broken by a volley of curses from inside the cabin. Something small and hairy shot out of the companionway and plastered itself to the mizzen mast. It hung there yammering.

I thought at first it was a very small man and I wondered how this beautiful Oriental had succeeded in shrinking Uncle Harry to the size of a football. Then I saw that it had a tail and was in fact a very small monkey.

After the monkey came Harry. He is a lot bigger and about as hairy. His face and head and shoulders and chest are covered with this kind of like red pelt. I guess the only time he cuts his hair is when he can't see anymore, and then he kind of hacks it off with some old tin shears or something. He has long arms and sloping shoulders and kind of bandy legs, all of which make him look even more like a gorilla. When I first saw him I thought he must be the ugliest man in the world.

Harry is my old man's younger brother, but if there is any family resemblance, it certainly escapes me. My father is as bald and clean-shaven as a nut. And about as warm. Especially on the subject of Harry.

Because he is so hairy, I had to look twice at Harry to realize he was absolutely naked when he came through that hatchway after the monkey. I mean that is the kind of man he is. He doesn't give a damn. A kind of grunt went up from all those guys on the pier. ' The Chinese lady didn't even bother to look.

"I'll have that monkey's nuts if it's the last thing I do," he bellowed.

She didn't move a muscle for the longest time while he kept glaring at her with his big hairy balls hanging out there in public. Finally, she removed her sunglasses and sat up in one smooth motion and said, "Calm yourself, Harry. And do put your pants on. We don't want to be busted just yet."

At the sound of her voice, the monkey let go of the mast and landed on her shoulder. He nestled there while Harry glared at both of them. It seemed to us spectators on the pier like a kind of Mexican standoff, and we could hardly wait to see what would happen next. It was Harry who gave way. He reached behind him and dragged out a pair of denims torn off at the knees and yanked them up over his hips.

"Hi, Uncle Harry," I said.

He looked at me like he wanted to do the same thing he had threatened to do to the monkey. Then he sort of smiled. One thing about him; he is very changeable.

"Is that you, Number Three?"

"Yessir," I said.

"Well, flag your ass and come aboard."

He calls me Number Three because my name is Clayton Bullmore Third. It drives Harry wild.